Chapter 3

Hermione made her way anxiously to the Great Hall. As she woke that morning, the only thing on her mind was finding out what had happened between Harry and Draco. She could tell from the way he had angrily stomped up to his room the prior night, that there had been some sort of exchange between the two enemies. The only problem was that Harry proceeded to his room so quickly that Hermione couldn't get a single word from him. He had brushed off all her attempts by stating that he was exhausted and just wanted to get to sleep.

To an onlooker, it wouldn't look like much. As Quidditch captain that year, Harry was constantly at practice. And when he wasn't there, then he was generally with either Hermione or Ron. So to a person who didn't know him that well, they might simply suspect that Harry was indeed tired.

But to Hermione, it was a completely different case. She saw the way that his eyes dodged hers. When he couldn't make eye contact with her, then Hermione knew that something was up with him. She also knew that he wanted and was planning on talking to Malfoy. So the question was what had happened?

She had caught up with Dean and Seamus, who had told her that Harry was long gone by time they had gotten ready. It was odd for either Ron or Harry to be down at breakfast on a Saturday before nine, unless there was Quidditch that day. So for her two friends to be down before her meant either one of two things, they wanted to avoid company, or Ron was starving. And while the ginger boy was often hungry, Hermione suspected it was the former in this case.

She walked through the doors to the Great Hall and saw Ron stuffing his face with a muffin, while Harry stared glumly down at his plate. Hermione took a seat next to the 'Chosen One', as the Daily Prophet had taken to calling him.

"Harry what happened?" she asked quietly. While there was next to nobody in the near hearing distance, the last thing she wanted was for someone to overhear any of their conversations.

"I talked to Malfoy yesterday," Harry said quietly. That was it. He didn't offer any more or less details, so Hermione knew that she would need to pry.

"And what happened?" she asked, prompting the boy to her left.

"Hermione, I talked to Dumbledore about it yesterday. He agreed with you, and said that Malfoy was probably under a lot of stress from Voldemort. He said that Voldemort was angry with the Malfoys for the incident at the Ministry of Magic and now he was taking it out on Draco. And as much as I hate him, he doesn't deserve that. But just talking to him yesterday made me so tempted to change my mind. Why should I try to help someone who doesn't give two cares about the rest of us?" Harry said, pausing.

Hermione cringed. It wasn't as if she hadn't known that this would happen. What else did she expect after asking Harry to talk to the boy who often made her life Hell at school?

"I'm sorry Harry. I know how hard it must have been to set aside your differences and talk to him," she said sympathetically.

"What else did I expect? Why would he put aside his prejudices and choose to fight for a bunch of blood traitors, half-bloods, and muggleborns? I bet he's secretly happy to have received the task that he did. I mean now he finally gets to take part officially in the act of killing those he finds to be below himself," Harry spat out bitterly. He took a bite out of a croissant from his plate to avoid having to say anything for a little while longer.

Hermione was in a half mind to yell at him. Maybe if he acted according to a thought out plan, then it would have gone slightly better. But Hermione knew that it never would have happened. Harry was far to rash in some of his actions and gestures. While the guy usually had great intentions, they weren't always perceived as such.

But to be completely fair, Hermione knew it wasn't Harry's fault, well at least not entirely. It was after all Draco Malfoy that he was dealing with. And while the Slytherin was generally known for torturing the muggleborns of the school, Hermione knew he was no killer. So with that said, it was fair to say that she didn't believe Harry's thoughts on the matter. Yes, he was a bit of a monster at times. And yes, she hated him more than anything for it. But he was not a killer, was he? She knew that while it was her sixth year as a part of the Wizarding world, she was still relatively new to the entire situation. But if there was one thing she knew, for both muggles and wizards alike, was that most people made the choices they did for a reason. And Draco Malfoy was no Hitler. He did not go around killing people for being beneath him. Curse yes, but killing did seem like a bit of a far stretch.

"I don't know why you guys care so much about this," Ron said through a stuffed mouth. He spat out bits and pieces of the food from his mouth, but thankfully due to the distance from him, they were saved from being showered in food. Real attractive.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. She knew that she would be dreading the answer, as she often did when he spoke. Ron and she never have had the best of friendships. They were often fighting over the littlest of things, and the words they exchanged were more than often words out of spite for the other. But there was still something about the freckled boy that drew her in. And no matter what she tried, she couldn't seem to get him out of her mind.

"It's just that he's Draco Bloody Malfoy," Ron explained, using his wise words. Seeing the blank looks upon his friends' faces, he chose to elaborate. "It's Draco. He's made our lives hell, Harry. You said it yourself, he probably loves the fact that he's a part of Daddy's club now. Why would he want to stop and join our side?"

Hermione scoffed at this. "Do you really think that he enjoys being forced to do what his Master wants him to do?" Hermione asked sceptically. She could hardly wait for the answer he came up with.

"Yes, I really do. Hermione, you don't get it. You're a muggleborns after all. Draco is a pureblood; probably one of the purest of the purebloods. So why would he want to give up his status, and the entirety of his fortune, which I assure you is quite a lot, so he could join us?"

"I don't see your point Ronald. What if he hated what he had to do? What if he simply wanted to get out of all of it, and try for a chance for a future where he could do what he wanted, and not what everyone around him wanted him to do?" Hermione asked the boy hotly.

"My point, is that why would someone like him, want to listen to someone like you Hermione?" He said out exasperatedly. The way he spoke made it seem like the most obvious thing in the world.

And don't get her wrong, she knew. She knew that she was far different from the Malfoys. She knew that they considered her to be a freak of nature. And that someone like her who possessed magic didn't deserve to be in their world. As far as those purebloods were concerned, Hermione was no better than scum. And she knew that. But it was one thing hearing it from them, and another thing hearing it from Ron.

"I don't see how my blood has anything to do with him wanting to change sides Ronald Weasley. Just because I happen to be a mudblood, doesn't mean that he is happy doing what he is right now. And as far as I'm concerned, I will try and help as many people as I can. I will do whatever it takes to help Harry defeat Voldemort, and if he thinks that Draco is up to something, then I will do my best to stop him from doing so," she said glaring.

"Hermione if you think that you can do anything to stop him then you are bloody nuts. Malfoy is a monster, and he will never even give you a second glance. People like him, and people like you just don't mix. The Malfoys are a part of a world that might as well be different from the one we are in. You and he are different, not just because of your blood, but because of your personalities. And if you so much as try and say anything, then he will hex you," Ron said hurriedly.

Hermione stood angrily from the table. She couldn't believe the audacity of the boy in front of her. How dare he belittle her? Like he was any better than she was. "Well Ronald, it is a great thing that I just happen to be the best witch in our year, now isn't it?" she said annoyed. She turned around, and walked out of the Great Hall. The last thing she wanted was to have to listen to him any longer than she had to.

Harry watched glumly as his best female friend stomped off angrily. Did she and Ron always have to break into fights?

"Ron, I know that what you are saying is true, but do you think you could work on your phrasing a bit? Hermione hates it when she is put down due to her blood status. It drives her crazy and you know that," Harry reminded him.

Ron shrugged nonchalantly and resumed stuffing his face with a bagel that he picked up. Harry simply shook his head at the sight before him, feeling a bit disgusted and the loss of an appetite.

Hermione walked with a fast pace. How dare Ron degrade her as if it meant nothing whatsoever? Yes, she knew that she was of muggle descent. But did that really make her less than everyone around her? So what if she was? It didn't mean that she was a freak of nature or anything as such.

It didn't matter that she worked so hard to achieve the highest grades. It didn't matter that she was the best in their entire year. No matter how hard she tried, people were not able to see past the fact that she was of muggle descent. In their eyes, she was worse than scum; better for nothing than to be stepped on. And with Voldemort on the rise, more and more people were starting to believe that.

She would never admit it to anyone that she felt insecure about this. It would only give them ammunition against her should they need it. But it really scared her. Every time she received the owl post, she dreaded going through it. Part of her was half afraid that she would receive a letter telling her that her parents had died at the hands of Death Eaters. And that thought killed her. She was so afraid that she would be the cause of her parents' death. It didn't help her case that she was Harry's friend. While she loved the boy to death, a part of her was afraid that they would try to get to him through her. She knew that it would kill Harry as well to know that he was the cause of her suffering, so she never voiced her fears to him. Of course she would never stop being by his side because of it. The only way to make it all end was to help him destroy the thing that scared the Wizarding population.

She was so engrossed in her conversation, that she hadn't even noticed the boy around the corner heading with the same speed as she. She ran straight into him, and the collision caused her to fall straight to the ground, her books falling everywhere. She looked up, apologising profoundly to the person she had knocked over, only to find herself staring into the grey eyes of the person who had indirectly caused her foul mood.

Draco looked up to see who it was that had caused him to fall over. Upon lifting up his gaze, he saw that it was none other than the mudblood that the Gryffindors had deemed to be their princess. Of course it would be her who caused him to be knocked over, with that bushy head of hers she probably couldn't see past the mass amount of hair.

"Watch it Mudblood," he hissed out at her. She looked up at his words, and he could see the flash of pain through her eyes. But it was immediately covered up by a neutral expression, so quickly that Draco wasn't even sure if he had even seen the pain to begin with.

"Sorry," she muttered again. She was kneeling on the ground, spreading her body to reach the books that were lying on the floor with no organization.

"You should be," he said, sneering at her. But still, he couldn't help but feel half-heartedly with his efforts to degrade her. Something about talking to Myrtle made him feel hypocritical about insulting Granger. After all, to be fine talking to one mudblood, and then be here the next day and insulting another, left him feeling a bit wary, "After all, you are nothing more than a lowly mudblood. How dare you knock someone such as I down to the ground?" he said, in an attempt to sound normal.

But that didn't sit well with the brunette. "Would you just quit it Malfoy? I get it, I'm a mudblood, and I'm complete and utter scum. Whatever. It's not like it's anything new. So do you mind just going your own way for once, without saying anything else? The last thing I want right now is to have to listen to you, and your crap," she seethed, with her eyes going wild.

Woah, what got her wand all up in a twist? He watched as her hair seemed to get more untamed by the second as she gave him a glare. There was something very attractive about watching her, but he couldn't place his finger on it. It wasn't like it mattered anyway; she was after all a mudblood. But just saying that word seemed to hold less meaning than it usually did.

He picked up one of her books from the ground and went to hand it to him, but as he did, she snatched it up from his hands. She examined the book quickly, to make sure that all was in order, before giving him another look of puzzlement.

"Cool it Granger. Like I care what you think or feel," he said, drawling more than usual. He felt a bit offended by her manner toward him, but then, what had he expected?

She gave him a glare before pushing past him, and storming off.

"Granger, wait," he found himself calling out before he could stop himself.

She turned around, with a puzzled look upon his face. "What do you want now Malfoy?" she asked, sounding a bit wary. And she had every reason to be. He had not once in the past given her any reason to believe that he was compassionate. So why would she believe that he could be? 'Because you aren't,' a cold voice in the back of his mind dictated. 'You are nothing but a cold-hearted monster, and could never care about anyone else.'

He felt a bit irritated at the sound of the voice in his mind. Yes, he could care less about her and the rest of the Gryffindor posse, but that didn't mean that he wasn't compassionate. After all, he had only joined up with Voldemort in the first place to protect his mother from death. Was that not compassion? So how dare that voice in the back of his head undermine his feelings?

"A-Are you alright?" he asked, once again shocking himself. Seriously, why did just ask that. First he was going off and talking to Myrtle, and now here he was asking the friend of the boy he hated more than anything, how she was.

"Why do you care?" she asked him sceptically. She held a book tightly to her chest as if to create an invisible barrier between her and him.

"I don't know," he said. He felt internally torn at the moment. He could see that there were the ghost of tears haunting her face. But at the same time, this was the Mudblood Granger. Why should he care if there was something wrong with her? She was no better than trash in his eyes. It was why he had joined up with Voldemort wasn't it, to help stop the spread of such trash? So what did it mean for him, to be so torn up about merely talking to her? 'She's a lowly mudblood," the voice hissed once more. 'Curse her, hex her," it demanded him.

"Shut up," he told the voice in the back of his head. The last thing he wanted right now was to listen to more crap from someone else.

"Well seeing that you have no idea what you're going on about, I might as well leave," she said, oblivious to the inner argument he was having with himself, and turned to go.

He watched as she left, practically running away from where he was standing. How was it possible that someone as annoying as her was able to leave him feeling more confused than he ever had been before?