It had only taken Draco a few moments to connect the dots, to understand the conspiracy against him when he'd seen the front page of the Prophet that morning. But that had been some hours ago and he was currently standing on a platform at Hogsmeade station waiting for the train that would take him back to London.

Still feeling quite numb, he climbed aboard. Choosing the first compartment he saw he went inside and shut the door. He didn't bother putting his trunk in the overhead bin. He simply sat by the window contemplating consequences.

Draco came back to himself and found that he was standing in front of the stone wall that opened up into the Slytherin common room. Professor Slughorn was standing next to him.

He couldn't for the life of him remember how he'd got there though, nor the last few hours. All he could remember was watching Hermione on the front page of the daily prophet kissing Adrian polyjuiced as him on replay.

Pucey of course was just a pawn; a pawn in a much more dangerous game. Draco should have expected this though. He knew her well enough to know that this was something she would do.

She was a Slytherin after all; sly, cunning, resourceful.

Draco wondered how someone who once claimed to love him unconditionally could stoop so low to betray him. It's what happens, he supposed, when a man chooses one woman over the other.

He looked to Professor Slughorn unable to mask the confused expression on his face. Had he forgotten something he needed for class?

"Well," said Professor Slughorn, clearing his throat. "Along you go then."

"Sir?"

"Your things, Mister Malfoy."

Draco frowned. So he had forgotten something for class. "What things?"

"Your trunk, your clothes, don't you want to take anything?"

Feeling quite daft, he asked, "Take what where, sir?"

At this point, the professor was eyeing him as if he were a potion that had gone horribly wrong.

"Home, Mister Malfoy. Usually where one goes when they've been suspended."

Draco gulped. "Suspended?"

"Yes, suspended. Now go on. Take your time. The train doesn't leave till after noon."

Draco turned and stared dumbly at the stone wall, Professor Slughorn's footfalls echoing behind him.

After a few moments, he went obediently to his room and began packing his things despite not knowing why he was being forced to do so.

A little while later, Theo and Blaise burst into the dormitory. By the look of relief on their faces, they'd clearly been looking for him. When Draco confessed that he didn't remember what had happened, Blaise narrated the events of that morning, with Theo interrupting all the way through, correcting his friend when he omitted detail.

Once they were done, Draco simply stared at them, gone mute. They seemed wary of him, not scared, but not entirely comfortable in his presence.

"How can you not remember?" Theo asked gently. "It happened just this morning, not even a few hours ago."

Blaise clicked his fingers as if an idea just occurred to him. "Are you faking some type of amnesia thing or an imperius — that's wise — go with that, it's a good idea. Maybe you can get out of it."

He turned away. "I really need to pack."

But Theo wasn't having any of it. "Can we talk about the Gryffindor in the room?"

Draco spun back around, his brows furrowed staring at his half-empty trunk.

"You just potentially threw your life away for this witch, and you're telling us you don't remember?"

Last night replayed at the forefront of his mind and he felt a terrible headache coming on.

"Mate, this was meant to be a bit of fun. Not—"

"Can you do me favour?" Draco cut in abruptly. "Can you visit Myrtle for me while I'm gone?"

They both blinked in unison at him as if they'd rehearsed it.

Blaise cleared his throat. "Pardon me?"

Draco snapped. "Just do it alright!" Then feeling a little bad for taking his terrible situation out on them he added, "Please."

Theo shrugged. "Alright… sure."

Blaise sighed. "Don't worry, we're going to fix this."

After that, Draco didn't speak. He simply finished packing his trunk. He didn't even say goodbye when they left again to go 'fix it', whatever that meant. He had merely given them a nod of his head in acknowledgment that they were leaving and he'd be gone by the time they got back.

Because what he had done, he knew they couldn't fix.

He heard the whistle of the train. Looking out the window, he waited. Then he felt the jerk of the train as it pulled out and the scenery before him began to move. It was a relief in a way, to have been suspended, to not have to face the other students or anyone else for a while. His friends had questions he didn't have the answers to.

He turned away from the window, from the beautiful landscape, and looked at the empty seat across. Something was wrong with him. He had felt it that day in Muggle Studies. Flitting in and out of awareness, time a simple blur.

Then Hermione had made all that go away. He wasn't invisible anymore. He would occlude and hide in images of her smiling... laughing. Other thoughts were brushed away, swept under a heavy Persian rug. They didn't need to be looked at. It was just dirt and dust bunnies… dead skin and secrets. Save the cleaning for another day…perhaps springtime.

What he did remember very clearly were the events of last night, of Hermione's warm, sweet, supple… he pressed his eyes shut. Half of him hated how close he had gotten to having her, hated himself for entertaining the idea that he could. The other half wanted to try again.

Merlin how he missed her though. Missed her already as if they'd been apart for months, as if she'd been with him his whole life, irritating him, tormenting him… Now that Draco thought about it, her entire existence was one big universal dig at him. Was it her that was doing this to him? Making him forget?

Had she cast a spell on Draco, to make him weak, make him yearn?

Draco had never lost time in his Occlumency, at least, not like he had this morning. The only other time he could think of was when Professor Burbage was floating above the dining table, begging Severus to save her, and then suddenly Professor Burbage wasn't there, and they were serving dessert; chocolate torte. That had only been a handful of minutes, but hours… no never this long.

Just at that moment, Draco heard the click of the compartment door unlocking. He thought the day couldn't get any worse but when he looked up, he knew there was much more grief to come.

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

There he stood, heroic as ever in his formal Auror robes.

Draco rasped, hearing the bitterness in his own voice. "Come to see the show have you?"

"I'm here to escort you home."

Draco scoffed. "I'm not a child, I don't need a chaperone."

"You broke the rules of your probation, Malfoy. What do you expect?"

"So of course they sent you."

"Actually," said Potter, taking the seat opposite him. "I volunteered. Better me than Ron."

"I'm not afraid of Weasley."

Potter's forehead creased. "But you are afraid, aren't you Malfoy?"

"I have no desire to go to Azkaban, if that's what you're asking."

"Yet you thought it would be a good idea to curse two students."

"Funny that," spat Draco. "I specifically remember you almost killing me and going along on your merry way."

Potter's cheeks flushed an ugly red. "That was an accident," he mumbled.

"Bollocks!"

"It was."

"You and your little trio. You rarely ever paid for any of the rules you broke."

Potter simply shrugged. "Well, I guess things change."

Draco looked at him searchingly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Potter shook his head in disbelief. "You're an idiot, Malfoy."

"An idiot who's beginning to suspect that you didn't volunteer to be here to save me from Weasley."

"You're right," he sighed gravely as if preparing himself for battle. "I have a request."

He cocked an eyebrow at the Auror. "What's that?"

"Leave Hermione alone."

Draco, despite everything he was feeling, burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" he growled back.

"Don't worry," he snickered. "You can rest at ease. Hermione and I are no longer together."

Potter's eyebrows furrowed, bemused. "You two broke up?"

"Last night," clarified Draco.

The Boy-who-lived had a perplexed look on his face as if something didn't quite add up. But all he said was, "good."

"Now if you don't mind, bugger off. It's been a spectacularly bad day."

He watched as Potter clenched his jaw. "I can't, I told you; I have to escort you home. Just be grateful I didn't waltz into the castle and cause a scene — oh and don't worry, your mother's been summoned to collect you at the station so we won't have to put up with each other for much longer, just this train ride."

Draco rolled his eyes with irritation. "Great."

He turned to look out the window and he stayed like that till his neck began to cramp. He excused himself to go to the toilet halfway through the journey and went brick-red when Potter stood to follow him.

"You're not coming in surely?" said Draco through clenched teeth.

Potter on the other hand was suppressing a smile. "I'll wait outside."

To say that the rest of the journey was filled with awkward silence was an understatement.

When the train finally rolled into Kings Cross station, Draco had a stiff neck and was in an even worse mood. He rotated his head stretching out his neck muscles and rolled his shoulders back. He'd need a potion of sorts to work out the knots.

Potter moved to block the compartment door. "Wait here," he ordered when Draco stood to leave.

"Why?" he grumbled angrily. Suffice it to say that he was a little more than anxious to get away from the Gryffindor.

"Because you're not safely tucked away at Hogwarts anymore and a lot of pureblood sympathizers have reason for wanting you dead."

Draco shook his head. "What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"Well, let me think," he said feigning deep thought. "Your father has given up a lot of wizards in order to weasel his way out of serving a long sentence, there's also the fact that you're a Death Eater—"

"Former Death Eater—"

"Who is dating a Muggleborn—"

"Was dating," he growled.

"You get the picture though, right Malfoy?"

Potter removed his wand from his robes and left without another word. After what felt like hours to Draco but was probably only a few minutes, he returned.

"All clear."

With a sigh of relief that at last his journey with Potter was coming to an end, Draco left the train compartment.

As Potter had said, Draco's mother was waiting for him at the station. She was the first person he saw as he disembarked the train, Potter still following closely behind him.

"Mother," he said as a way of greeting.

Narcissa Malfoy ignored Potter altogether. "Draco."

He was so livid with her that he didn't care they had an audience. "I'm surprised to see you here."

She looked around at the Muggle passer-bys and dropped her voice. "I'm wearing a trace. I was given special permission due to the…" she cleared her throat, "unusual circumstances."

"I take it McGonagall sent you an owl."

"She did," clipped Narcissa, "I hope you've finally learned that your actions have consequences, Draco."

"Subtle innuendo, mother. Well played. I know it was you behind that vile article."

Potter stepped around him, suddenly. "You're responsible for that?"

Narcissa sighed, her eyes cast down not looking at either of them. "I know what it must seem… what you must think…" she looked back up at Draco. "What I did… I didn't do it out of anger or spite. I did it to protect you."

"Bollocks," scoffed Draco, tears pricking his eyes. His suspension hadn't been his mother's fault, but the part she played still hurt.

"Word of your affair with the —" Narcissa caught herself, throwing a glance at Potter. She pursed her lips into a tight line. "Word of your relationship with Hermione Granger has reached your father's ears. I was hoping that the article would effectively end it before it would."

"What do I care, he's in Azkaban."

"Be that as it may, he is still lord of Malfoy estate and all its wealth."

Draco looked at Potter and then at his mother. "Perhaps we should continue this conversation once we're home." He made to pick up his trunk but she stopped him.

"I've come to tell you; you cannot come home, Draco. You are not welcome anymore."

He blinked and then, strangely enough, he found himself looking at his nemesis, searching his face for some measure of reassurance that this wasn't really happening.

"You're kicking him out?" spat Potter in disbelief.

She spoke to him and not Draco. "No… his father is."

Potter gulped and to Draco's distaste could see his expression of pity.

"I'm so sorry," his mother said, still speaking to Potter and not him. "I am powerless to do anything."

It hit Draco suddenly that he no longer had a home. Half angry, half afraid he demanded, "Where the hell am I supposed to go?"

"My hands are tied, Draco. I tried to reason with him, but…"

"Yeah. I get it." He shook his head. His mother had never been able to stand up to his father. On the rare occasion that she did, it never ended well for either of them.

"You can take the night bus and go to—"

"I know a place where he can stay, not too far from here. Come on, Malfoy."

And Potter didn't wait. Walked on quickly without him. Draco clenched his jaw and followed. He chose not to say goodbye to his mother. He knew it was cruel, but it was purposeful. When he heard her calling his name, he walked faster without turning back.

Silently, because he was still in some shock, he walked through the threshold of a front door sometime later. He hadn't even paid attention to the way they'd come or where they were. Observing his surroundings, he noticed a small yet tasteful chandelier hanging above them, the walls bare, the room scarce of furnishings or ornaments, as if the owner had just moved in or was redecorating.

"Where are we?" he asked. For some reason, the place seemed familiar although he knew he'd never been here.

"My place."

Draco paled. "What!"

Potter wheeled around suddenly infuriated. "Is this the part where you refuse to stay here because you're an obnoxious, arrogant prat who puts his pride before everything else? You have nowhere to go, Malfoy!"

"I could go to the Leaky Cauldron."

He threw his arms up in frustration. "No, you can't. Anyone could get to you there. You don't even have your wand."

"Why in Merlin's name do you care if I'm homeless or safe," he growled. "I reckoned you and the Weasel would be having a bloody tea party and toasting my downfall."

Potter's eyes narrowed on him. He raised his index finger, pointing it at him. "You don't know me, Malfoy. You never have — and really?" He snatched Draco's trunk from his hand and started up some stairs, leaving him helpless to follow him. "You didn't see this coming? You started kissing a Muggle-born and you didn't think that Lucius Malfoy would take issue with it?"

Draco merely glared at Potter's back, because frankly, he didn't have a good answer for anything the bloke was throwing at him.

"No, of course you didn't think," continued Potter, going up to the second floor, stomping every step of the way. "You didn't think it would be strange if a Death Eater and a witch who helped imprison other Death Eaters started making eyes at each other — that wouldn't get any attention!

"Here," he plonked Draco's trunk down unceremoniously in front of a door. "I trust that a brat like you at least knows how to make his own bed." Then he left, shouldering Malfoy on his way down.

Draco ran a hand through his hair and proceeded to punch the corridor wall. Not hard enough to damage the wall, of course, just to hurt his own hand. He bent down to pick up his trunk in exasperation and opened the door to a bedroom. Evening light fell in through a small window by the bed. It was a reflection of the rest of the house. Plain, half furnished, but surprisingly clean.

A stack of linen was left folded at the end of a double bed. He slammed the door shut, fell onto the bare mattress, and screamed into the pillow without bothering to put a cover on it.

Then he turned over on his back and wished Hermione were there with him. He wondered what she was doing at that very moment, if she was thinking of him, or if what she had witnessed him do made her afraid to be anywhere near him.

He also hated her. Hated her right down to his bones. The exhaustion of that hate lulled him into a restless sleep filled with blurry dreams of which when he woke up the next morning, he couldn't remember.