Draco sat in the library and poked at his books morosely. He felt a headache coming on. In two short days he would be back at Malfoy Mansion for the Christmas holidays. He shuddered; the prospect was less then inviting. No wonder his head hurt so much.

For the past six years, his father had always taunted and questioned him about his permanent single status. It wasn't that he wasn't liked by girls. He'd recently laughed at a second year Ravenclaw who'd been so distracted that she'd walked into a wall. He just couldn't seem to reciprocate their affections. God, it was embarrassing.

His father continually went on about how even Goyle (god forbid) had managed to scrape himself a girlfriend. It didn't matter that Goyle was the most dim-witted slug to ever grace the planet or that his girlfriend had a face like a pug. It was the principle of the matter. Anyway, trust Goyle to take what Draco had rejected. Draco had never really liked Parkinson so he wasn't all that fussed. His father, however, would rant about it for hours. These rants never ended pleasantly. Violence was a family trait and unfortunately for his son, Lucius Malfoy was an expert.

However, that was before his father had been caught by Aurors at the Ministry last June. He hadn't seen his father for at least five months. Not that he was complaining. Since then however, his mother had been distraught. Over the summer Draco had been called to Voldemort. He'd been dragged to the side of his 'Lord,' and forced to bow and do his bidding. The pride that Lucius had instilled in Draco from birth had bred resentment. He had no loyalty to Voldemort. He had no loyalty to his father. His mother was relatively distraught at him. She was terrified that he would die at the hands of either Lucius or Voldemort himself. Both Narcissa and Draco knew that Lucius could escape at any time. He would probably aim for when Draco was home. When he would confront Draco about Voldemort's mission and why it wasn't yet complete.

Draco sniffed, hating the idea of returning home. He pushed aside the school books; he'd only come down here to get a bit of peace. The Slytherin common room was buzzing; the current news of Voldemort was the main conversation. He'd basically had to fight his way through the huge amounts of sixth, fifth and seventh years who had all been told about his secret 'mission' from Voldemort. He twitched involuntarily as he groped around the table. He grasped an empty space and muttered at it. As he did so, a book appeared. The book was leatherbound and obviously expensive. It had, of course, a large silver engraving of a snake embossed on the front. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. His father truly was a complete moron.

He glanced around surreptitiously before opening the book and taking out a pen. He hated the idea of anyone knowing he kept a journal. It was quite embarrassing really. He'd only kept the stupid book because his father gave it to him and would know if he chucked it out. He strongly suspected that he'd only done it so Draco could record what evil stuff he'd done that day.

There was a thud from the doorway. Draco slammed the book shut and muttered again. The book disappeared and Draco turned around and glared at the doorway. What kind of idiot came into the library at this time of night?

There was a whispered, 'Lumos,' and a face with glasses appeared. Still unsettled, Draco snarled, 'Problem, Potter?'

'Huh? Who's that?' Harry's voice rang clearly through the darkness.

'Oh shut up.' Draco was fed up. Quickly grabbing his books off the table he stalked out of the library, pushing past Harry on his way out the door.

Harry was confused as he watched Draco leave. They usually preferred hexing each other to actual conversation. But as he watched the form retreat into the darkness of the hallways, no snide retorts were made. He shrugged. So what if the albino wasn't talking? He didn't care. Not really.

He sat down in the recently vacated table and waited. Hermione and Ron were supposed to be meeting him there at eleven. He'd wanted them to catch up at a normal time but with their busy schedules during sixth year this was near impossible. Hermione was stressed out about the upcoming exams and they were still at least five months away. He checked his watch, it was five to eleven. Still too early, he thought to himself. Draco might have stayed, however obnoxious he was, it was very quiet alone in the library.

He stretched out his arms and placed them on the table, exhausted. Quidditch training had been hard again and he'd rather be asleep. However, catching up with his friends was important. He ran his fingers along the grain of the table until they hit a solid object. He stared uncomprehendingly at nothing and picked up the shape. "What is that?" he mumbled to himself. Unbeknownst to him, Hermione and Ron entered. Ron coughed unsubtly, unsure of how to alert him to their presence. Harry looked around vaguely before waving them in.

"Uh, Hermione…" Harry mumbled, still distracted by the strangely solid patch of nothing.

"Yes? What is it?" she answered, looking at him strangely.

"Could you have a look at this for me?"

He picked up the shape and held it out towards her. She looked at him uncomprehendingly for a second before poking the seemingly empty space in front of him with a finger.

"That's very strange," she mumbled to herself, seemingly oblivious to Ron and Harry's presence. She then took out her wand and mumbled at the solid space of air in Harry's hands. Even she looked surprised when a book appeared.

"How did you do that?" said Harry and Ron in awed unison.

"You'd know how to do that too if you read your charms books more carefully!"

Making an immediate resolve to look over his charms books tomorrow and find out how to make mysterious invisible objects visible, Harry leaned closer as they stared at the heavily embossed cover.

"Slytherin's I bet," muttered Ron, taking in the ornate silver and elaborate plating. "'S entirely over the top…"

"It's Draco Malfoy's." announced Hermione.

"How do you know that?" said Harry, wondering whether that was in the charms book also.

"It's written on the front cover." She replied, rolling her eyes.

Back in the dorms, Draco was panicked. He'd searched through all his school books and still couldn't find it. Cursing under his breath he pushed all the neatly organized piles on his dressing table over. He'd only taken it down there so he could write in it in private; and now, this had happened. He pushed his blond hair out of his eyes, it was unusual for him to be this stressed, especially about something so stupid. He had to stay calm. Shaking slightly, he stacked the books back onto his dressing table and walked silently out of the room.

Down in the library, Hermione and Ron were in a fierce argument over the diary. Hermione glared at Ron as she hugged it to her chest.

"No matter how evil he is, he does have the right to keep a diary." She screamed.

"Yeah," Ron retorted, "Well he shouldn't have left it where we could read it then, should he? Why don't we just read a little?"

Behind them, they heard a muffled cough. They hadn't realized how loudly they had been arguing. Shocked, they both turned to look at Harry, who shrugged and then turned to the door where Draco Malfoy was standing.

"Excuse me." He drawled, "But that's mine!"

"As if we're going to give it back to you." Ron said defiantly as he glared at Hermione. "So says you, but not the mudblood!" Draco snapped angrily.

Hermione looked crushed for a moment, but then covered it. With a mumbled, "Excuse me," she rushed past Draco, still holding the diary. The remaining people in the room stared after her.

"But that's mine…" Draco said plaintively, "She can't do that!"

"She just did," said Harry, still staring after Hermione, "And it serves you right."

"But I need that," Draco complained, "Its mine…"

"Well then you better hope to hell that she gives it back." And with that Harry and Ron exited the library and left Draco standing stupidly next to the empty tables.

Hermione walked quietly up to her room, immersed in thought. The taunt still hurt; it wasn't her fault about her ancestry. She tried so hard to prove herself. And still it came back to her so-called impurity. She hugged the diary. The stupid blond wouldn't be getting this back without a fight.

She was shocked when she reached the dormitory door, she hadn't even noticed where she'd been walking. She stepped quietly up the spiral staircase and turned into the curved bedrooms. Sitting down on her bed she laid the diary out beside her and got into her pajamas. Then, leaning back against the pillows, she began to read. They were

23/12th

My father has broken all previous records of generosity. Not to be confused with his normal theory of generosity which is, 'I must display the Malfoy Wealth through copious amounts of large and noticeable objects,' but generosity through giving me a diary. Not to be confused with a regular diary in which you write about your thoughts and feelings; this diary is for the sole purpose of recording all the evil things I've done each day. Speaking of which, today I tortured kittens and puppies and made a seven year old cry… Yes, I really am going to grow up just like father. I'm so screwed up I don't think I can live up to my father's sadistic expectations. It's not like I'm intentionally doing this. I hate him sometimes.

30th/12th

My mother's never going to stand up to him. I hate her. I hate him. But most of all I hate myself. I can't do anything right. Father was lecturing me again on something, I don't remember what, and I just ran upstairs. He shouted at me, "Malfoys don't run. They stand and fight," And followed me to my room. God I hate it when he follows me. Then he stood at the door and shouted, 'Crucio!' I can't remember most of it. But I remember white-hot pain volts running through me. There are bruises all over me and I can't remember what happened after that. God, I hope no one can see me. This is humiliating.

Hermione skipped ahead until she reached the diary entries written in June of last year.

29th/6th

He's gone. They took him away to Azkaban today. But worst of all as I saw him being led off by the Dementors, I didn't feel bad. I didn't feel anything except a hot sick swoop of relief. What kind of person am I?

Hermione felt sick as she put the book carefully down on the bed beside her. She knew she shouldn't of read it but now that she had, what was she supposed to do? She started feeling pangs of sympathy for Draco. Was it possible that his father's influence had made Lucius and not Draco responsible for all the horrible comments? This thought made her immediately resolve to return the diary to him. But she needed to do something first.

Later as she stowed a copy of the book alongside the original, she was still wondering whether she'd done the right thing. Both copies were magically forced to replicate each other. This meant that anything that Draco wrote in his diary from now on, would be immediately replicated in Hermione's copy. Hermione felt briefly guilty as she thought of this violation of privacy, but quickly suppressed it as she turned over and tried to go to sleep.

Draco, meanwhile, was still standing shell shocked in the library. Begging Granger to return the book would be useless; she, like himself, would probably remember all the horrible insults and confrontations over the years. He had insulted her only an hour ago as she had tried to return the book to him last time. As he started walking towards the dungeons he inwardly shuddered as he thought what would happen if she happened to read the book. The thought of someone reading those entries made Draco feel sick. Why did he have to write in that stupid book anyway? It was all his fault. He stood up and began to pace, absorbed in his own thought. He felt nauseous and sat down again. Why didn't he just pick up the book with his other possessions? What could have possibly possessed him to leave it there? His father was going to kill him for sure. "You let a mudblood read your diary, Draco? My, my, you have sunk to new lows haven't you?" There would be a short pause before, "This is for your own good Draco…" and a whispered, "Crucio."

He paused, feeling his whole body descending into despair. Not again. He couldn't handle it again. The feelings like he was about to drown in emotions of guilt and hopelessness; the horrible sensation of wanting something or someone to hurt him. God, he'd even let his father hurt him to get rid of this. He stood up abruptly and wandered downstairs to the dungeons. He'd get the blade and be done with it. It'd be fine. He'd feel better. He paused again, with the nauseous feeling in his stomach, and shuddered involuntarily. He'd reached the Slytherin common room; he'd just pass through, pick up the knife and head to the bathrooms. He mumbled the password and stepped in, not looking to either side of him as he walked.

Scrabbling through his drawers he managed to locate the silver knife with a serpent on its hilt. He pushed it into his pocket underneath his robes. By this stage, Draco, was almost oblivious to all other things. He heard a muffled voice calling his name from the nearby bed but ignored it. He walked quickly, almost running to the closest bathrooms and opened the door. His hands were shaking as he sat down and got out the knife. This is pathetic, he thought to himself as he held it next to his wrist, just pathetic.

The next morning, Hermione took the diary out from under her bed. She hadn't managed to read past the first two entries, consumed in guilt. She resolved to give it back to Draco the moment she saw him that morning. It was unofficially the first day of holidays but all the students would commence going home the next day. All of the students were wearing a mixture of casual and muggle clothes. She was no exception. On her way down to the great hall, she searched the busy hallways for the blond head, but couldn't see him any where. Exasperated, she waved Harry and Ron on as they motioned for her to come to breakfast and continued looking.

As she wandered towards the Slytherin dungeons, she noticed the stone seemed to get colder and greyer. It was quite depressing down there. Lost in thought she didn't see a figure coming towards her. It pushed past her, clothed in a large green jumper. She turned around abruptly, "Malfoy?" The figure turned around. It was Draco, pale and sick looking. "Yes Granger?" He answered, but with none of his usual malice.

"I brought back your book." She stammered unsure of how to act. He took a step towards her and grabbed the book almost urgently. He muttered thanks and turned to leave.

"Draco?" Hermione said to his back. He turned back around, and looked at her but couldn't seem to keep her gaze. "What is it?" he mumbled, staring at the floor. Hermione stared at his stooped form. He was so unhappy looking. Why didn't she see it before? "Are you alright, Draco?" she asked. He turned back, his hands visibly shaking through to the fingers that protruded out of the jumper's sleeves. "Fine, I'm just fine." He muttered and wandered down the dark stone steps and out of sight.

When Hermione returned to the breakfast table, Harry and Ron noticed her unusual silence. It wasn't that she was always talkative, in fact, more often than not she had her nose buried in a school book. But usually, there was something more than this.

"Um," said Ron questioningly, "Are you alright Hermione?"

"What? Oh, no I'm fine Ron. Just fine." She answered somewhat vacantly.

"Have you still got Malfoy's book? I just can't wait to read it. He's probably recorded all the sadistic things he's done in it," said Ron dreamily, "Then we can get him sent away to Azkaban for life." Harry joined in the laughing but stopped as he realized Hermione wasn't laughing with them. She was still sitting and staring at her breakfast.

"Hermione, where's the book now?" Ron asked, unsure of how to respond to her silences. "I, I gave it back to him." She muttered, not meeting Ron's eyes.

"You did what?" Harry said incredulously, "What did you do that for?"

"I felt bad for him." She whispered, "He has as much right as we do to have emotions."

Harry stared at Ron who stared back, just as blankly. "Hermione, might I remind you that he is Harry's mortal enemy who probably attacks butterflies with curses by night who's father is in fact, a death eater." Said Ron skeptically, "So why on earth would you care about his feelings?"

Harry looked at Hermione who looked at him beseechingly. "Did he hurt you Hermione?" he asked. She stayed obstinately silent. He glanced at Ron again. They both got up and started to walk back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione stared at her plate for a couple more seconds and then got up and left the great hall in the direction of the library.

Draco stared blankly at the canopy of his four poster bed. He'd passed out in the early hours of the morning in the bathroom of the downstairs dungeons. It was uncomfortable waking up on the stone floors. He'd had to do an emergency cleaning spell on all the blood. He'd gotten kind of freaked out at first and forgotten where he was but then he'd remembered the horrible incidents of last night. It was all he could do not to stay there.

But he knew he had to get up and when he was on his way back to the common room he'd met Hermione Granger in the hallways. She'd looked at him a little oddly but had given him his diary back and didn't comment on it. Then he'd run off back to the common room. It was such a relief to have the book back. Draco didn't realize how much he actually needed it. He'd put so much personal stuff into it. He'd been so worried when that girl had wandered off with it. The idea that she had read his personal stuff really bothered him. Well, at least she didn't say very much about it.

His wrists were badly cut from the night before. He had no idea what to do about it. He could go and see Madame Pomfrey, but the idea of that was mortifying. Draco really hoped no one would find out before he went home. The prospect of going home and hiding it there was much more of a challenge. The house elves were always too willing to perform first aid and his mother would ask too many questions.

He reclined slightly resting his head back on the green pillows of his bed. It was much better to have the book back where it belonged. The prospect of going home, however, still loomed. The house would be empty and silent and forced conversations with his mother were always horrendous. Or worse. His father would be there; already broken out of Azkaban with ease and ready to take punitive action. He turned over onto his side and his wrists stung badly as he put pressure on them. He bit his lip to stop himself yelping; he really needed to figure out how to do rudimentary healing magic...

Harry caught up with Draco later that morning. He'd found him alone, which was an unusual occurrence and wandering the grounds. It was cold that day but he was looking especially unusual in a heavy green jumper that swamped his frame. Draco usually prided himself on being resistant to cold and therefore managed to wear much more shapely clothing then the rest of the student population.

Harry tried to ignore this and addressed the immediate problem. "Draco," He shouted to get the other boy's attention, "Come here." Draco glanced up. Harry stared in astonishment. The boy was deathly pale. Well, more pale then usual. He turned his face with dark rings around his eyes towards Harry, "Yes Potter?"

"What the hell did you do to Hermione?" Harry asked, trying to ignore the fact that a pale haunted stare had replaced the sneering, derisive expression that Draco usually wore. "Why what's wrong with her?" Draco replied innocently.

"She's silent and worried, ever since last night. What the hell, Draco?" retorted Harry angrily. Then, still watching Draco's thin face, he watched the other boy as his knees seemed to give way and he keeled over on the path.

"Draco? What? Oh god!" Harry leant forward to where Draco had partially collapsed on the path. Grabbing his jumper sleeve, Harry tried to pull him up. This provoked an anguished moan from the boy on the ground. Harry turned Draco's wrists to face him and found there was blood seeping through the thick wool.