Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own the books, which, in turn, means that I do not own Draco. Depressing, isn't it?

Chapter 1

Changes

Sweat sluiced down the body, covering the faintly tanned skin in a brilliant, moist sheen that seemed to glow in the dim light. The strong but small arms shifted with each movement, pumping in rhythm with the mile-long, lean legs that constantly moved. The black tank-top was glued to the person's chest, outlining their faintly hourglass shape, breaking just short of their pants, exposing a thin line of their flat stomach. A pink tongue darted out to moisten Cupid-bow's lips, red and full, while hazel eyes surrounded by thick, dark lashes focused on a single point on the wall ahead, concentrating solely on the task at hand. Long brown hair, so wavy to the point it was nearly bushy, was tied back into a ponytail and swayed with each movement, following the same motion as the woman's curvy hips, swishing side to side where her breasts bounced up and down as she jogged in place.

She had to keep in shape, to keep training and getting more and more fit. It had become almost an obsession of hers, to constantly train and try to get stronger and stronger with each passing day. They knew her name now, each time she came into the gym, and each greeting grew more cheerful and familiar with every day.

Some had feared that she was a fit-nut, trying to lose as much weight as possible, trying to work out to the point where every calorie she had ingested that day would be burned and not stored as fat.

As a matter of fact, that was not the reason for it. She enjoyed unhealthy foods, despite her parents' constant reminder that eating too much sugar was bad for her, and she slowly began to thrive on caffeinated beverages, but not to the extent where she needed on a day.

One a week was good enough for her.

Panting heavily, she turned off the treadmill and stepped off of her, going over to the side where her white towel lay, picking it up and using it to dry as much sweat as she could.

With her heart beating rhythmically against her ribs, her breath shortened from the run, she tried to soothe her body, trying to ease it into a mode of relaxation, where her heart rate would slow down and her breath would become easier to catch.

Each day she pushed herself to her limit, lifting weights, running as hard and as fast as she could. She went to various locations where she was learning how to defend herself and fight back strong enough to kill.

She needed to be strong, she needed to know how to fight, and she had spent the entire summer doing so.

Come Fall, when she returned, there would be a war like no other, and she was no longer planning on being a bystander, watching the battle rage on.

Hermione Granger wanted to be in the thick of things, and wanted to prove to herself, and to everyone else, that this war affected her just like it affected every one else.

She didn't want to be the girl, to be pushed aside and told to stay there and hide; she wanted to fight like Harry and Ron, to stand her ground and show her enemies just what she was made of.

More than that, she needed to know how to protect her friends and, especially, her family.

Having made her way into the changing rooms, she had quickly stripped, and now stood under the hot spray of the shower, the warm water soothing against her achingly sore muscles. They cried out from her abuse, screaming at her, and she knew that she would be sore for the next few days and be unable to do any physical training in that time.

Looking down at her body in the shower, she couldn't help but smirk in a sudden burst of arrogance and approval.

Hermione Granger had developed and changed, she was lightly tanned, lean, willowy, and permanently charmed. She was hairless in places that ought to be, in her opinion, hairless, and it made her feel sexual.

Sexuality was something she had not considered up until last year.

Leaning against the wall now, closing her eyes as the mist from the spray fell against her face, she tried to not remind herself about last year. What she had seen that day, near the end of the year, had shocked her to the point that she was forced to acknowledge her sexuality, and had done so with fear, embarrassment and, eventually, confidence.

She was, fortunately, not longer the girl she had used to be; the training had toughened her, gave her abs under the flat skin of her stomach, gave her strong muscles that she could use to fight back, and it had given her a self-confidence that she had never before, in her entire life, had succeeded in obtaining.

Drying her body off, having finished the process of washing herself, she proceeded to dress quickly, dabbed a touch of makeup on her face, and tied her hair back into a long pleat that nearly fell to her waist. It was necessary, or it would simply knot and be a wild mess when it dried and she went to untie it.

Waving goodbye to the people at the desk, she adjusted her bag on her shoulder and made her way out of the gym, lost in her thoughts. Lifting a hand to her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun, she thought how it was such a nice and clear day. A perfect day to walk home, get into a comfortable pair of shorts and t-shirt and do some gardening.

Or sit in the shade of a tall oak tree and lose herself in the throes of a magical, fictitious story where death was imagined and love was always found.

Love.

As she walked, she thought about that word, knowing that it was something that she had never had a chance to experience. Certainly, she had undoubtedly felt a platonic, brotherly-sisterly love for Harry and Ron, but it had never grown into something more, which she was rather grateful for. Being in love with your brother was something she wanted to keep off of her list of life experiences.

The pocket of her jeans vibrated noisily, and she jerked, laughed at herself, and answered the cell phone that had been rather persistent in its loud buzzing.

"Hello?"

"Hey 'Mione, it's Harry."

A smile toyed at her lips and she continued to walk, unaware of the few stares she received from nearby males. The constant swaying of her hips was nothing forced; it was simply natural. Perhaps no one had noticed it before because she had hidden behind loose clothing and baggy pants.

"Hey Harry. So, how did you manage to get near enough to a phone to give me a ring?"

"The Dursley's aren't here so I kidnapped the phone." He sounded rather pleased with himself. "I just, you know, never got the chance to call someone before until you wrote to me about your cell phone."

She now heard the longing in his voice, knowing that he had had a much harder childhood than her. It was hard, growing up without your parents, in a near abusive relationship with your guardians, and it was even harder when your contact with friends was limited to words scribbled down on a paper, emotionless and bland.

She understood now why he had called her; he had just wanted to talk.

"You seem proud of yourself," she teased, trying to lighten the sudden sour mood. "So, what have you been up to this summer? Anything interesting or just the usual?"

"Oh, just the usual, hiding, sneaking food, writing to you guys. It's been hard, with all the stuff, but, you know, there …" He broke off, and she knew that he didn't want to admit what was in all of their minds right now.

They were unable to do anything. They were stuck in one place, in a limbo, where time passed around them, but they could do nothing to stop the inevitable. They were useless, and felt that, no matter what they said or tried to do, they would never become as useful as everyone made them out to be.

They had, after all, been unable to stop Dumbledore from his untimely death, or Snape from joining the Death Eaters, or, and she hated admitting it, stopping Malfoy from being dragged into a world of death and hatred.

Harry had told her about Malfoy, he had told only her and Ron about the shaking, terrified, blond boy who had been supposed to be Dumbledore's killer. Harry had told them about his eyes, about how he didn't seem to want to do it, and, while Ron had coughed and laughed at the prospect of Malfoy being, possibly, good on the inside, Hermione had known otherwise. She was, after all, a girl, and very in-tune with sentiments and emotions.

She had also seen and heard something that she had refused to tell either of her best friends.

Shaking her head, trying to get the image of water and a deep voice out of her head, she found a pair of sunglasses in her bag, slipping them on before continuing with her conversation with Harry. He was distraught, not knowing what to do, and she knew that he hated sitting still, staying in one place for too long.

She needed to ease him, to remind him that there was still some time before they were needed.

Maybe she ought to tell him about her training…

No, it could wait until later, it wasn't important, what was important was soothing the Boy Who Lived and trying to placate him to the point where he would stay in spot for the next week, until they were to head to Ron's home for the last week before school started.

"Have you seen the new classes this year?" She recalled seeing one rather odd one; more Muggle-like than any of the other classes she had ever come across.

"Yeah," he laughed, "it's hard to believe that we're going to have some kind of Sex Education class."

The smile was back at her lips, and she power-walked across an intersection before the lights changed. As always, it was normally sex that made people laugh and grow lighthearted.

At least, for boys it was.

"I wonder why McGonagall decided to have a Sex Education class," Harry pondered aloud. "It's kind of weird, don't you think, to have a class dedicated to sex in a school of wizards and witches."

The smile broadened, and she saw her apartment from a distance. Ever since the end of last semester, Hermione had constantly feared that Voldemort would be after any and all Muggles with connections to the wizarding world. It was because of this fear that she had used a special charm on her parents, making them believe that they were a newly married couple, spending they honeymoon on the beaches in Florida, and that they had never, not once, had a child named Hermione Granger. She had even changed their last names to something less European and more American, choosing the simple, plain name of White, almost in memory of Sirius.

This was something she had immediately told to Harry and Ron, and she had spent several hours writing letter after letter, trying to give off the right amount of soothing tone to let them know that she would be all right living on her own.

It still hadn't stopped them from sending even more letters a week.

Think about sex, silly, you're not talking about your housing situation.

Wow, that was probably the first time she had ever told herself tothink about sex, and not the other way around. It made her laugh softly, more like a quiet giggle, so low that she knew Harry would not hear it.

Back to the topic at hand…

"I bet it's because sex has become such a huge part of media today." Fittingly enough, she passed by a billboard of an unnaturally skinny woman, endowed with fake breasts, demonstrating just how to pose when wearing a bra and thong from Victoria's Secret. She rolled her eyes; she had obtained self-confidence, but still felt that modesty would be far better for a woman's image than being too sexual in appearance.

"I guess you're right, I mean, all the guys ever talked about last year were snogging and, well, you know." She could see him blushing in her mind.

Adjusting her phone, holding it with her shoulder, she placed the key into her lock, checking for her Muggle-style signs that someone had been in her apartment. The tape was secured at the top and bottom of the door, the paper still in place as it fluttered to the ground, and the small string was straight and parallel to the floor at it hung a few inches above the surface.

Waving her hand around, now able to perform her spells silently after much practice, she turned off her magical spells and alarm systems before shutting her door, and locking it.

"Well, you know, all we ever see today is stuff involving sex. The media, television, movies, music, just about everything that kids our age look at or listen to has to do with sex."

She could see Harry shrug as he thought of a response. "I guess, but I thought that it was a bit different in the wizarding world, you know. Maybe, I don't know, less … sex or stuff, maybe." She could now see him blushing again, hearing the embarrassment in his voice.

Chuckling softly, she began the process of going through her pantry, trying to double check that she would clear everything out by the end of the week, all the while chatting cheerfully with Harry. They discussed the delay on Fleur and Bill's wedding, how they were having it the next year instead of this one and wondering just who would be teaching the Sex Education class.

They stayed on simple, safe topics for the good portion of an hour, until Harry hurriedly told her the Dursley's were home and he hung up without a goodbye. She could just see him running down his stairs to place the phone back on the hook, and then hurrying back to his room.

Standing in the middle of her living room, looking at the surroundings, she couldn't help but sigh.

She couldn't wait until all of this would be over, and then, she would maybe suggest that Harry move in with her. Maybe then, her, Harry, and Ron would be able to have relatively normal lives.

For now, she had to focus on getting ready to leave.

It was hot. Really, really, really damn hot. Too hot for it to be the first week of September and that made him rather cranky. He hated being cranky; it meant that he would eventually grow irritated, and then, the slightest thing would set him off and he would be in a pissed off mood for the remainder of the day.

When he was cranky, he got a good smack from his father, as well. He couldn't forget about that part.

Running his hands through his blond hair, which he had let grow a touch longer over the summer, he adjusted his clothes. He didn't know why his father had been so insistent that he return; he was considered to be some kind of demon, the reincarnation of Satan, a man with a cold, black heart and he knew right away that he would get the coldest, angriest looks ever known to man.

He was, after all, what they liked to call Dumbledore's Killer.

The sad part was, and he had to admit that it pissed him off that people were so prejudice, he had actually been trying to delay the inevitable.

Sitting down in the compartment, he buried his face against his hands as a headache gnawed at the edge of his brain, pressing at his temples and threatening to unleash its full fury on him before the train even began to move.

He tried to distract himself, to think about anything other than being an accomplice to murder.

But he couldn't stop his mind from roving.

Of course they hadn't jumped the gun about Potter; they had called him a Hero, the one who had tried to save Dumbledore from his death, the martyr, the one who had witnessed a horrendous crime and had tried to sacrifice himself to save Dumbledore.

The stupid prat had just stood there, unable to even break a simple body binding spell, and had watched as Snape had taken away his only hope of redemption.

His thoughts went to his father now, the man who was hiding in their mansion, who only left at night to go on strange escapades in the darkness, cloaked to the match the shadows, returning before the first rays of light shone on the horizon.

The man had been very direct before he had left the home, giving him details on just how to act, what to say, and what to do.

"Boy, you are under strict orders to obey my every word, you understand?"

"Yes father." He hadn't wanted to be submissive but when he caught sight of the man's cane, the black ivory pole that hurt like a bitch, he felt his survival instincts kick in.

God, he was pathetic; he couldn't even stand up against his own father.

"You are not to talk to anyone aside from those on your list. You know what to say and what to do when the 'Others' talk to you, right?"

"Yes father." His bowed his head, unable to stare into eyes that were same cold, grey colour as his own.

Were his eyes really like grey ice? Were they as cold, calculating, and evil as his father's?

Why was he suddenly asking himself such strange questions?

Lucius was oblivious to his son's sudden internal struggle and nodded curtly.

"I will send you an owl weekly, and you will obey every instruction I give you, do you understand? I will not have you disgrace this family again!"

Anger had now risen in his voice, and the only emotion that ever filled the cold eyes made them glow, as though they were dark storm clouds with lightning flickering violently within their depths.

He braced himself for the inevitable.

"I was embarrassed to return! Humiliated in front of the other Death Eaters! And why? Because you are nothing but a coward! You will never disobey me ever again, do you understand? You will never disgrace and humiliate this family anymore. We serve the Dark Lord, we live to protect and aid him in his quest, and he does not welcome cowards."

The smack was harder than he had expected and he jerked back unwillingly, taking a half step back to try and regain his balance and rebuild his wall. His cheek stung where his father had, femininely, slapped him.

It was typical of the man to slap when a punch could do more damage; slapping someone was far more humiliating than slapping them. Slapping someone meant that you considered them weak, that you felt that they were not strong enough to withstand a punch.

He fought back the flush of embarrassment that threatened to flood his cheeks.

"By the end of this school year, we will have overthrown the school, I will be made Headmaster, and you will receive the Dark Mark." His father stepped closer and, despite his own height, the older man loomed over him. "You will not refuse."

His eyes burned with hatred, a deep self-hatred that made him wonder just why he had even gotten himself into such a situation.

"Yes father."

His father was an asshole; that was something Draco Malfoy could not and would not deny. The man was controlling, verbally and physically abusive, and thought only about his reputation. If anything posed any threat to his reputation, his father would do anything to try and destroy that threat, no matter what the consequences were or who got in his way.

Letting his head fall back against his seat, eyes still shut, he exhaled softly to blow a few strands of hair that were irritatingly tickling his cheek.

He had once admired his father, once looked up to him with awe and respect, but now that he had seen his father's darker side, he could barely stand to look at him at all. Beforehand, he had been proud to be defiant, to be cruel to those of mixed blood, those who were not Purebloods as he was, but now, he almost regretted it.

Almost.

There was still that part of him, the part that had been educated all of his life to hate, that made him hate them. He didn't know why, maybe it was because his father had been his main influence, but he knew that while he couldn't come to totally despise them, he still lacked a certain caring for them as well.

This bothered him to no end.

What was wrong with him?

He groaned aloud, burying his face in his hands for the second time in ten minutes, cursing himself for being so strange, so messed up in the head, and for thinking such things.

The compartment door slid open, and he heard a few quiet gasps before the door slid shut with a loud bang. Within seconds, he knew that the train would be buzzing with the latest gossip.

Draco Malfoy, the Dumbledore Killer, was coming back to Hogwarts.

The headache came back with a vengeance.

It's hot. That's why. It's just so blistering hot.

Those were the excuses she kept repeating in her head as she moved, trying to give herself excuse after excuse for her sinfully short, black skirt and the cleavage enhancing, white blouse.

Her legs felt like miles long, her feet encased in simple sandals gifted with small heels, and her stomach was shown each time she lifted her arms above her head, which she tried to limit as much as possible.

Ginny had given her the skirt as a present, and had only given it to her on their last day at the house, after much inspection of Hermione's newly sculpted body.

She had to admit, she had been quite pleased with herself when Harry and Ron had stood and gaped, staring at her figure which seemed taller, leaner, and stronger than last year.

Then again, she had to also admit that it was strange to be stared by two boys who felt more like brothers to her than anything. They had gaped openly, and even when Charlie, who had been visiting for the month, arrived, she had watched his mouth drop and eyes widen.

She wanted to laugh softly to herself; that day she had simply worn jeans and a sleeveless turtleneck, something that should not had initiated the response she had received.

Then again, she had changed considerably in the past two months.

Adjusting her skirt, pulling it a touch lower to her knees, which it stayed about an inch or so above, she nearly squealed when a sudden gust of wind whipped around the train station, toying with the edges of the skirt before fluttering off to tease a few other women her age who seemed to relish in the sudden attention.

Frowning with disgust she wondered if she appeared to be like them, standing there in her short skirt, small heels and blouse, but, as she touched her hair, twisted back into a comfortably tight bun, and felt the simple jewelry she had placed on, she felt more sophisticated as opposed to overly sexual.

Sophistication could also be sexual, she smiled to herself, but it was more modest in a way.

At least she didn't like knowing that world would see her underwear if the wind decided to play with her skirt a second time.

Pushing her way down the platform, she carried her trunk with ease, using the trolley for the second trunk, which contained her school items as well as a few weights and some other equipment she could to train during the year.

She couldn't let her studies get in the way of keeping up her routinely workout.

Turning her head, she caught sight of Ron and Harry, who were currently being pampered ceaselessly by Mrs. Weasley, who, for some reason, had not noticed that Hermione had wandered off.

She smiled at the sight, Ron's ears glowing a brilliant crimson as Mrs. Weasley licked a handkerchief and dabbed at his cheek, while Mr. Weasley gestured to Harry in a fatherly way, probably lecturing him on one thing or another.

Sighing softly, she made her way into the train, searching for a relatively empty compartment where she could store her stuff and leave room for Harry and Ron.

It was then that the buzz hit her.

Words were being whispered or shouted all over the train, the students who had already arrived talking loudly in their compartments or rushing to other compartments, searching for someone who did not know the latest gossip.

Finding an empty compartment, she stowed away her trunk and case, silently sending out a prayer to Crookshanks, who was currently in the care of her mother and father in Florida. She would never have dared bring her precious cat along if it meant her life might be at risk.

Turning around, she watched as students ran about, shouting words to the Heavens, and she felt the urge to find out just what was going on.

She stepped out of the compartment. Frowning, she reached out and tapped the shoulder of a student who she recognized to be a fifth-year Hufflepuff. He spun around, saw her, and seemed rather startled, but quickly composed himself, adjusting his clothes, making himself appear more or less presentable.

Well, at least he knew who the Head Girl was, but she wanted to see if he knew what was going on…

"What's with all the commotion?" She tried to keep it light but serious, making it seem as though it might be her duty to try and qualm the disruptions and stop whatever had caused such a ruckus.

The boy smiled broadly but there was a suspicious gleam to his eyes. He leaned forward, and whispered into her ear; "Malfoy came back."

Jerking back, eyes wide, she frowned down at the boy, aghast and confused.

What had caused Malfoy to come back to school after the events of last year?

"You'll take care of him, won't you? You're Harry Potter's friend! You guys are undefeatable, and you're the best witch at Hogwarts. You could take him in one shot!"

She saw the eagerness in his eyes and, instead of firing her, getting her ready for battle, it actually disgusted her. This boy, who claimed to be on the 'good side', was screaming for blood and vengeance on someone who had done nothing. He was so quick to assume, so fast to ask for blood, and so easily entertained by the notion of someone being in pain, that it actually made her feel slightly sick.

Sighing softly, she closed her eyes for a moment to try and think. Malfoy was her enemy, he had to be, but…why was she feeling such pity for him? She had not even begun her last year at Hogwarts and already she was feeling … bad.

Well, whether he had really had a hand in Dumbledore's death or not, she could not kick a student off of the train for just sitting in the train. She knew that the teachers would deal with him when he showed up at the school.

For now, all she would have to do was wait.

"Look, I'm going to be honest, I can't do anything. Attacking him would be illegal and I could get expelled for doing it. You should know that. So, for now, everyone's just going to have to deal with him being here."

"With who being here?"

She spun around, finding Harry and Ron standing beside her, having made their way through the train until they found their bushy-haired friend.

It had been Harry who had asked the question, and, as she looked at them, she found that she didn't want to bother them. If the teachers allowed him to stay, then they would know. But for now…she didn't want Harry remembering Dumbledore's last minutes alive. She didn't need to have to hold back Ron as he fought his way through the train, cursing like a sailor and threatening all those who stood in his way.

Ron could be so childish.

"Malfoy! Malfoy's back!" She wanted to smack the damn fifth-year for being such a loudmouth. "He's somewhere in the train, but Miss Granger can't do anything to get him off…"

She wanted to hex him.

Goddamn people who seemed to have the common sense of a five-year-old.

Ron's face flushed immediately, a dark red that signified not embarrassment but sheer anger, his hands clenched into tight fists, and he dropped his trunk on the ground, causing the fifth-year to cry out as it hit his foot – serves him right!

"Where?"

This came from Harry, who had gone white in the face, an absolute opposite of Ron, but whose body had become just as taut with tension and what she could discern as anger.

Sighing softly, she began to try and placate them as any woman would, but the boy's quick, yet vague, directions caused them to head off to the rear of the train, Ron pushing students out of his way, Harry following behind.

Crying out in dismay, she cursed, and, without thinking, removed a good twenty points from Hufflepuff before tossing the boys' luggage into their compartment, shutting the door, and she proceeded to chase after them.

Running through the crowd, she watched as they checked each compartment, searching for the one that held the being they were searching for. She really did not feel like fighting against her friends because she felt some inkling of pity for a creature that showed only contempt for her. But something inside of her told her that this was wrong; they should be as bloodthirsty as the fifth-year, they were good guys, they were supposed to be level-headed, calm and good.

They stopped at a compartment, and she heard the glass shattered as Ron and Harry violently threw the door open. Gnawing on her lower lip, she shoved students out of her way, muttered a quick spell that put an impenetrable curtain around the compartment, before stepping in after Harry and Ron.

Crying out, she found the blond-haired boy caught in Ron's grasp, his throat currently be squeezed by the redhead, while the brunet had tugged his wand free from his jeans, pointing it at Malfoy's heart.

This was wrong.

The good guys were not supposed to be like this.

The light shifted and she caught sight of a dark bruise along Malfoy's right cheek, having been hidden before by Ron's shadow. It was strange; Malfoy had always been terribly frightened when threatened by someone stronger than him, sniveling and whining like the rat he was. But now he simply sat there, allowing Ron to squeeze his throat, his eyes cold and calculating, hiding any and all emotions within their icy, cool depths.

He didn't even fight back…

It was wrong…all wrong…

Harry stepped closer to Malfoy and she saw his wand begin to glow a dark green…

Stop it…

Stop it.

"Stop this right now!"

Her voice even surprised her; it had sounded so strong, so commanding, and had successfully managed to get Harry and Ron to turn their gaze towards her. Unfortunately or fortunately, she wasn't sure yet which it was, it had also drawn Malfoy's gaze to her.

She met his eyes for a moment, looking into the grey depths set into the chiseled, angular face surrounded by white blonde hair, and she quickly diverted her gaze, looking at her two friends.

"Attacking a student is against the school rules, and since we are, technically, on school grounds, I will have to take twenty points away from each of you."

This caused Ron to let go of the blond, who quietly wheezed for air. The redhead marched defiantly towards Hermione, anger glowing in his eyes.

"Why? Don't you get it? He killed Dumbledore! He doesn't deserve to live! We should kill him, right here, and right now."

Thank Salazar he could breathe again; not only had Weasel's rather feeble grip on his throat had somehow managed to constrict his air pipe, but whenever he did breathe, all he could smell was the overpowering, unnaturally strong cologne that seemed to pour out of Weasel's pores.

Gasping in fresh air, quietly and in a dignified way, he turned his gaze to the woman who had just saved him from being suffocated by cologne.

It had to Granger, no one else would dare stand up against Potty and Weasel unless it was a teacher, and even then, the two of them always had the teachers in their hands.

But, it didn't look like Granger.

This girl was taller, leaner, and more tanned than the Granger he had known. Her skin had achieved a faint bronze, something girls yearned for but always overdid, and he could have sworn that she wore mascara and a dab of lip gloss.

This definitely could not have been Granger, not with the short skirt showing off the sinfully long legs, or the white blouse that, when the light hit it just right, exposed the black bra underneath and flashed her cleavage.

He had to admit that, from a male's perspective, she had developed well.

Cursing himself for thinking such a thing, his 'darker' portion of his mind took over, repeatedly calling her a Mudblood, cursing her for being Muggle-Born, and hating her for being the one person who would have dared save his life. How dare she think she had the right to barge in and try to rescue him when he could have rescued himself without aid?

The part his father had raised was slowly overcoming whatever kindness his mother had put within him, and, instead of feeling grateful, as one normally would, Draco began to feel more and more irritated towards this girl.

Did she think that he was the same sniveling coward he had been back in his third year? Did she truly think he was a defenseless wuss?

The words were spat out of his mouth before he could even consider and reject them.

"What the hell was that for, Mudblood? Did you think that you might 'save' me and expect some favour in return?" The vile from his father's poison filled his voice, etched in the lines of his face, pouring out of his body as he stood, finding himself just as taller at the scarred brunet dumbly holding his wand. "I would have done just fine without your help, Mudblood. Now that you've graced me with your vile presence, leave me the fuck alone."

She jerked back at his words, eyes widening in obvious shock before glowering with disdain and disgust, and soft, pale embers of hurt behind the stronger emotions that conveyed her anger.

Her fists clenched tightly at her sides and her face flushed a dark red. Draco actually momentarily feared retribution and took a step back, finding that there was no way to run.

"Why you … I come in here and save your arse, and what do you do? You call me… that name! Don't you feel the least bit grateful? You're so…you're such a damn prat! You stupid git!" She swung around, waving her wand around, removing the spell that had muffled their voices and blocked them from the view of the curious students. "Next time, I won't be there to save your arse, and if I'm in the area, I'll watch with pleasure while they kill you."

Charging out of the compartment, Draco watched as Harry and Ron glared at him, doing their best attempt of appearing evil and intimidating, before rushing out and after the scorned woman.

Sitting back down, he tugged out his wand and waved it at the door, muttering, "Reparo." The glass flew back to fill the pane, returning to its previous form as a window before the Weasel and Pothead had appeared to wreak havoc.

Letting his head fall back, he closed his eyes and willed himself to try and think, or do something that might stop the headache from reaching its maximum strength.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he had the strangest feeling that several pairs of eyes were watching him. He knew that the students were standing at his door, looking at him, watching his every movement. It irked him, and he tried to ignore it.

Draco Malfoy had little patience.

Jumping to his feet, he heard a hushed gasp and the shuffle of feet as several students rushed from the door, heading for their compartments or some place of safety. Making his way to the door, he shut the sliding door and hung his cloak on the hook above it, blocking the window.

Sighing heavily, he sat back down, thinking of the students with their friends, thinking of how they felt safe with them, how their parents thought that they would be safe within the grounds of Hogwarts, and he couldn't help but think that they were wrong.

No place was safe for anyone anymore, not even the fearless Harry Potter and his friends, or for the son of a Death Eater, the Killer of Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy.

His father's words echoed in his mind, "Son, at the end of this war, someone will be dead, and it will not be the Dark Lord. I know, I know that Harry Potter will die, and the Dark Lord will prevail. It's His destiny."

Destiny was a bitch.

I know that the first chapter is a little slow, but I wanted to show how Hermione and Draco both thought, mainly Hermione, though.

I wanted her to recognize that she was feminine, that she was sexual, and I also wanted her to realize that in order to fight, she had to be strong.

Don't worry, I'm not making her out as a 6-pack female character who's stronger than all of the other male characters. That would be just wrong. I just want to make her seem more … in-shape.

I hope I get enough reviews so that I will want to continue.

Oh, and if you see any spelling errors, feel free to correct them for me in your review and I will quickly edit the chapter.

Thank you.

Please review, as I tend not to post another chapter until I've gotten roughly three reviews. (I do not look at the hits, I look at REVIEWS!)

Ciao.