Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

The walk back to the Heads' dormitory was not supposed to be a long one. Though at the speed she was going, it wouldn't be a surprised if she never got there at all. She paused in the hallway, drifting to the side of the halls that held the large windows looking over the grounds. She sighed and lent against the edge focusing on the sleek white that had permanently settled on the earth below her.

"I suppose you've already beat me to a morning visit."

She half turned and watched Pansy walk slowly toward her.

"Snape is with him." She nibbled her lip, "He should probably sleep afterwards."

Pansy nodded, her dark hair swayed at the motion. She took the opposite end near the window, kneeling at the small ledge at the bottom of the glass. They sat in silence. Neither one of them knowing what exactly to say to the other. She contemplated leaving, going back to her dorm to sleep for an hour and then coming back to check on Draco. She was about to excuse herself when Pansy cleared her throat.

"I'm glad that you care enough to look out for him."

"You're glad a Mudblood cares about Draco?" She retorted fast, before biting her tongue. It had come out scathing, and she hadn't intended her bitterness to be quite so visible through her words.

Pansy inclined her head just enough for Hermione to catch a slightly bemused and bewildered expression on her face.

"I don't care that you're a Mud-Muggleborn Granger." Pansy sighed, turning to face her full on then, "Blood superiority doesn't matter much to Slytherin anymore."

She moved to protest, but Pansy quickly interrupted. "Granger, you do know there are half-bloods in Slytherin, and I cannot tell you how many of them come to me, Draco, Blaise, or even Theo hoping to bargain for protection. Only, they find, that we give it anyway." Pansy took a breath, "We protect our own even if no one else will."

Hermione was struck by the familiarity of the words.

This is really how they feel. This is how they survive.

"That's how it started, and then Draco pushed it along." Pansy said more to herself than to Hermione before she pursed her lips, "So to answer your question. Yes, Granger, I'm glad that you, a Muggleborn, gives enough of a shit about Draco to make sure when he was sick that he didn't..." The girl's voice cracked. Pansy's eyes were shining and she closed them, letting out a shaky breath.

"How do you know about that?" Hermione said.

"Blaise can lie to many people, but he can't lie to me. None of us can really lie to each other like that anymore." Pansy whispered. She took another breath before continuing. "I've known Draco since we were in nappies and chasing each other in the Malfoy nursery. I know when he's not telling me something. I can live with that, because I know that when he decides it's time that he will tell me. Not a moment before. I…" Pansy turned away for a moment before meeting her gaze.

"I'm a simple person Granger. I like parties. I like having fun and seeing the people I care about happy. I like weddings and pretty clothes and so many other frivolous things. And I know that a time is coming when all these things are going to be impossible, and I feel better knowing that someone other than me is worried about the people who are going to get caught in the crossfire in a war they did not choose."

"Pansy." Hermione began.

The girl turned her head away.

"That's all I care about right now." Pansy spun on her heel before stalking away to disappear down the corridor.

We've all had to grow up so fast, and the war hasn't even happened yet.

She hugged her sides before nearly running all the way back to her dorm. She collapsed on her bed, suddenly extremely exhausted. The moment her eyes closed, she knew she would drift easily to sleep, which she did, waking two hours later. Classes had been cancelled until tomorrow, after a mandatory Perfects meeting with Dumbledore. Then, a few days and the students would be free for the holidays. The thought of leaving now made her feel sick. She sighed, running her nimble fingers through the tangles in her hair.

She needed a distraction. She gazed intently at the frost creeping at her window and determinedly she stood and walked to the kitchen. Hot chocolate. Hot chocolate always had a way of making everything bleak in her life melt away. Her thoughts strayed.

She wasn't the only one who needed the pick me up.

The thermos was in her hand before she could even think. With it filled to the top and two mugs stashed in her bag, she left the room and headed back to the Infirmary.

He was stretched across the bed, an arm haphazardly thrown over his face. The rise and fall of his chest told her that he was not asleep. She blushed as she thought it. It felt intimate. The knowledge that she could recognize the patterns of his breathing. She shoved her musings aside and cleared her throat.

He lifted his arm slowly, blinking as he focused on her. The green in his skin had been replaced with a yellow tint that did his normally fair complexion no favors.

And yet he was still beautiful.

She scoffed at the thought, forcing a friendly smile on her face. He sighed lifting his body up to a sitting position. He winced after a moment. She walked the rest of the way to the bed. She sat on the bed over and placed the thermos on the stand between them.

"Pomfrey is keeping me here for another day." He said bitterly.

"It's just to monitor you." She said with a slight grin before becoming serious. "You haven't been sick again have you?"

He scratched the back of his head before tugging at the wisps of hair that brushed his neck. "Twice."

Her eyes widened.

"I don't think it's because of hitting the table." He continued quickly, "When they get bad, I…" She nodded before folding her arms. "We can be quiet if that helps."

He shook his head a thin smile on his face. "No, the talking distracts me."

She nodded before taking the mugs out. "Well maybe this will also help." She unscrewed the thermos and poured. He took his mug with a raised brow.

"Hot chocolate."

She smiled and sipped at her mug, enjoying the warmth of the liquid as it washed down her throat. He took a sip. He sighed, clutching both hands around the mug.

"Your friends aren't what I expected them to be." She said swinging her legs up on the bed and crossing them.

"You'd rather them belittle and threaten you?" Draco said with a smirk.

"I'd have expected it." She said with a weak smile. He laughed lowly, taking a generous sip from his mug.

"The first few years maybe, growing up reciting a doctrine and brought up not to question it does that to you." He said with a wryly smile, "but we all had doubts Granger." He bent his head low, his bangs falling across his face.

"I know." She whispered, "I can see that now." It occurred to her then how many times that she'd managed to be wrong in the past few months, all leading to this moment. Brightest witch of her age. It seemed like a joke now.

"Draco."

He glanced up at her.

"Why do they want to mark you?"

He looked up and in a single motion he cast a Silencing charm around them. He looked tired, though resigned.

"They've threatened to mark me since sixth year. I'm lucky that I've lasted this long without it." He sighed rolling up his sleeves and tracing circles around his left forearm.

"My mother told them I was too young to properly serve. She probably invented a million reasons, and he was satisfied for a while. Ever since I turned of age, he's been adamant I receive it."

"But you're still young, barely of age…"

"The deeper we descend into this darkness Granger," He interrupted, "the more you'll realize that war is always fought and paid for by children."

She couldn't deny that. She'd known. She'd know from the summer. He placed his empty mug on the table. Her eyes stayed fixed on the rim.

"But you still didn't answer. Why you? There are others." She swallowed roughly, "Other sons…"

"I'm everything he wants." He said dryly, "My blood is old. I'm the last from the Malfoy and Black lines. The culmination of two of the oldest wizarding bloodlines that, between the both of them, have left their marks spanning all across the continent." His voice dropped, "And the Black line, no matter how faint, holds a single thing that raises their importance above the rest…the ability to trace the line back all the way to Salazar Slytherin."

Hermione leaned closer to the edge of the bed.

"That alone makes me desirable." He said running his hand through his hair, tugging in frustration. "Then you add in everything else. Son of one of the inner circle. Top of the class, second only to one."

She felt his eyes on her, but didn't move to meet them.

"And that second is separated by such a thin margin that some might argue is only due to the favoritism that governs the staff at Hogwarts." Her eyes darted up to meet his then. They were unreadable at that moment. All she could discern was how uncharacteristically bright they were. "Even if it's not true, and I don't think it's true; People will say it. More people will believe it." She bit her lip. "I'm the image he wants for his next generation of Death Eaters." His voice was barely a whisper, "And he will get what he wants."

"I'm sorry." She said then, "I shouldn't have asked. I…"

Her voice trailed off as he shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's all true, and he'll prove it when I receive the mark over the holiday."

At her sharp intake of breath, he shifted his position so that his legs were draped over the edge. He leaned over and clutched one of the hands in her lap.

"Just…Just remember that everything that happens from here on out is nothing like it seems."

The plea was deep in his eyes. "But I'm going to be here. I'm going to know… I…" her eyes widened, "You're not going to let me help you."

He dropped her hand, and she mourned the feel of his warm palms. "We can't be seen together any more than necessary."

"You're not a good enough actor to play that part. You don't have it in you like the rest of them do." She said softly.

There was a weak smile on his face. "I don't know what you're talking about. I am great at everything that I do."

His words were weak, and free of his usually sharp delivery. Without his trademark arrogance, they rang hollow. They were meant to lighten the mood, but she found it upset her further.

"And if I'm not," He continued, "then I'll have to learn, and you know better than anyone that I'm a quick study."

She decided to play along; if only to forget about the heaviness that was lodging itself in her chest and rising to her throat. "Well you have been my only real competition in all our years here."

He puffed his chest out proudly. "So you admit it."

"It's always been true." She said fondly.

He smiled, the only true one of the day before settling back into the bed and stretching his legs out.

"You should sleep some more."

He turned to his side, facing her. He shook his head absently. "Yesterday I was so exhausted, I knew I'd go right under and sleep without a single dream. Tonight though, I will dream, and I can't leave. I tried to, when I got a moment alone, and I couldn't take two steps without the room spinning."

She understood the request.

"I'll stay."

He looked up at her, and he seemed so young with his eyes wide and trained on her.

"Hermione you have to wake me. If I say anything, if it seems like…."

"I will." She insisted, laying down on the mattress, "I will I promise." Her repetition must have put him at ease because he nodded and let his eyes close.

She watched as his breathing settled and his features relaxed slightly, but not enough to completely unwind. She fell asleep like that, watching him and repeating her own words back to herself.

I promise

I promise.

I promise.