A/N: Sorry for the wait!

Draco was looking down at a sleeping Hermione. He was so blissfully happy with himself, and yet blindingly angry at the same time. When he was sitting out in that storm he was so certain that his mind was made up. He was a stone wall, unfeeling, never moving from his present state. He didn't deserve to really. He found himself having to be brave and an utterly cowardly person all at the same time. It wasn't all that different than his everyday life if he was being honest with himself. He was a master of disguise. He wore the face of a bully to his classmates; the face of a loyal and obedient son to his father, and to himself he wore the mask of someone who wasn't bothered by the constant burying of his own feelings and beliefs. He was a man going through the motions, and he was sick and tired of it. What a great time to suddenly be fed up. He thought bitterly to himself. Because now yet another mask was being tied over his face, the mask of a murder. But if he threw this mask to the ground, as he wanted to, he wouldn't have to worry about masks anymore. Dead men don't worry about masks.

He looked down at the beautiful girl sleeping underneath his arm; the girl whom he had decided he would protect from getting entangled within the mess that was his life. He knew he had failed miserably. He had no idea what to do now. He let things go too far, because he had always wanted the events of this night to happen, to have her exactly where she is now, in his arms. It was on a shallow level at first. But now, he didn't know if he could stay away from her, she was his strength.

If he were to leave her now, would she be better off? She would definitely hate him, forever. There would be no fixing things. He knew that. He wished he had had the will power to just stick to his original plans. But he would never think of this night as a mistake. Of course he still didn't know how he would handle himself when she woke up.

He couldn't pin point exactly when he abandoned his plan to keep her as far away from him as possible. This night had been an intense blur. He found himself wishing for a simpler life, one without blood status, one where his last name would doom his life, one where he would have flirtatiously teased her. A world in which when he finally got the girl he was after, he could just enjoy it, not be up worrying about what this would mean for both of them. It would no doubt put his life in danger; he was on thin ice already. He already had to do horrible things just to put his family back in good standing with the Dark Lord.

He didn't care what happened to his father. It would make him a very happy man to have him rot away in Azkaban for the rest of his life; of course he knew all too well that wouldn't be the case. He only cared about three people in his life.

His mother, who he would do anything for, who he was doing anything for.

Blaise, who has been his only real friend, and who would never ask him for anything.

Hermione, who he needed, and cared for in a much more intense and complicated way than the previous two. But who ironically would be irrevocably hurt by what he had to do to keep his mother safe. She would hate him. She would feel betrayed, afraid. He hated himself knowing the inevitable emotions that she would feel whenever she heard his name.

He couldn't tell her the truth. They couldn't be publicly together; surely even she would know that complication.

He wished he knew what was going on in her head, or what would go through her head when she woke up. He stared down at the girl he would no doubt cause immense pain.

He hated himself more and more by the second. He was taking self-loathing to a whole other unimaginable level. She looked so peaceful, pure, and perfect.

Her gold tinted brown curls were still damp from the storm. Her cheeks were rosy and supple. Her pink lips were slightly parted, as he watched her soft breath move her chest up and down. Why did she have to find him tonight? Why did she have to tell him to kiss her?

He found himself wondering if she was some sort of magnet for trouble. He just had no idea of how to get out of this without hurting her.

He had thought of just leaving her here, to wake up alone. But he couldn't hurt her like that.

She stirred in her sleep to roll closer to his chest. She was lying on her stomach; the sheet was now slightly covering her face. He slowly moved his hand to curl the sheet down from her face. He pulled it down to the small of her back; it was a little hot with the fire still burning. He brushed her hair from her face; he began moving his hand along her back. He stopped just along her right should blade when he felt a smoother patch of skin. He leaned his head down to examine it more closely. It was a scar. It was smooth and a light shade of pink, it was about a half of an inch wide, and it ran along the curve of her shoulder blade. He was almost certain this was caused by magic; he could feel it as he ran his fingers along it. He must've done this one too many times because she woke up.

She turned over and starred at him with half opened eyes.

"I'm sorry go back to sleep." He said apologetically.

"Oh no, it's ok." She said still half asleep. She moved over to rest her head against his bare chiseled chest. "You weren't like leaving were you?"

"No, no I sat up to look at your scar." She sat up slightly in the bed when he said this.

"Oh yeah that it's nothing."

"Nothing? Hermione that's a pretty big scar, how'd you get it?" He asked still wondering if his assumptions about it were correct.

"Um well the whole department of mystery thing last year." She said averting her eyes from his icy steel blue ones; she would melt at the sight of them.

"Oh." Was his only response. That was the night his father got locked up. He suddenly found himself very angry that someone had hurt her, someone who he probably knew. Someone who he was joined with forever now, he felt his lower left arm burn with sheer pain again. It hadn't bothered him since their kiss. He looked up at her and asked, "Who did that to you?"

Warm chocolate eyes met steel icy blue as they looked at each other.

Her hands fiddled with the sheets, but she couldn't pull her eyes away from his. "I-I don't remember." She lied.

He laughed lightly. "Hermione you remember anything, c'mon just tell me."

This would be the draw back of her brain going all fuzzy around him, she couldn't think of anything but the truth. She wasn't a very convincing liar to begin with, but around him, it was ten times harder. "You're father." She said quickly, hoping he wouldn't catch it and drop the subject. But she knew he would catch it. She watched his face go blank.

He was so indescribably mad, but he didn't want her to know the violent side of him, at least not any more than she already knew. He was sick to his stomach. He had a few scars from the same man. But on her the scar was completely out of place, she deserved to be untouched by anything truly evil. On him he simply saw them as marks he got because of an angry man, he didn't care. Hell after what he was doing he thought he deserved most of them now.

How am I going to get her out of this unscathed? She doesn't deserve more pain. Especially more pain from anyone with the last name Malfoy.

TBC