Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or anything else from Harry Potter

Summary: Harry and Ron go off on the Horcrux Hunt by themselves, leaving Hermione alone. Remus encourages her to return to Hogwarts to help protect the students during the next year, and she reluctantly agrees. There, Hermione is faced with the hostile punishments of the Carrows, and in the midst of all the chaos of Hogwarts, she finds an unexpected ally: Draco Malfoy.

A/N: Hello all! Just some important info for the story: the Muggle-born ban at Hogwarts isn't a thing, and neither is the Muggle-Born Registration Commission. These obviously had to go for the sake of the story, given that Hermione is at Hogwarts. Okay, I think that's all. Enjoy!

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Chapter One: Too Young

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We're taught all about the great world wars that color the pages of our history books. We're taught about the horrible deaths, the admirable triumphs, and the bloody battles. We think we know everything about war, what it's like, what to expect.

This was what Hermione Granger spent years of her life believing. Though, she never realized how wrong and naive this thought process was until she was thrown into the bloodshed herself. The thing about war was you never know what to expect, you never know what it's like until you experience it yourself.

She faintly remembered her childhood self looking at pictures of the smiling soldiers holding overflowing mugs of alcohol. The men in those pictures were basically brothers, and they had looked so happy in the midst of all the chaos that plagued their lives.

The happiness expressed on the faces of the black and white soldiers was far from something she could say she felt. Harry and Ron were like brothers to her, yes, but for Hermione, fear was a much more prominent feeling than happiness.

Every day, Hermione carried the fear of being slaughtered because of her muddy blood, the fear of being captured because of her association with the Undesirable No.1, the fear brutally tortured for fighting on the wrong side. Fear held a permanent presence above her head, and joy seemed miles away from her desperate grasp.

War wasn't happy. It wasn't a time to have fun and bond with friends. It wasn't a time to drink and party. The old pictures she admired were filled with lies. War was awful. It was filled with death and blood and despair.

Hermione was quite glad she came to this realization early on. She would never want to be in Ron's shoes, who was currently drinking a bottle of expensive firewhisky, laughing with his brothers, one of whom with a freshly removed ear. Ron was oblivious to it all. Even with his family scarcely managing to avoid death at every turn, Ron still managed to have a smile plastered on his face.

She didn't know whether she should pity him or be jealous of him.

Hermione hid a small grin in the pages of her book while the three boys roared over the hilarious comedies of some Quidditch match from the eighties. Something about a spectacular sort of injury that they would pay any amount of Galleons to see in person. Hermione found it hard to focus on her book with everything that was happening around her. For the past hour, she had read the same page over and over, not digesting any of the words. With the Weasley brothers's boisterous conversation and Molly's distant yelling from the kitchen, it was immensely difficult to focus on anything. Not to mention her thoughts which were running rampant inside her head. Hermione couldn't expect to read one paragraph, much less an entire page.

Sighing, she closed the hardcover book with a quiet slam and let her gaze trace the candle lit living room of The Burrow, pausing on Harry's slouched figure near the window. He stared solemnly out the window, looking into the vast darkness of the night.

Today took a toll on him, Hermione was sure of. With George's injured ear and Moody and Hedwig's deaths, she fully understood his sorrow. She just wished he wouldn't take all the blame himself. It's an awful burden to carry the guilt that Harry does, especially when it's not Harry's fault. Not really.

Yes, they were doing this for Harry, but it was much bigger than that. This war was about defeating the prejudice and evil that plagued the world. It was about ripping apart stereotypes surrounding Muggle-borns, Half-Bloods, and even Purebloods. For Hermione, this war was about putting an end to beliefs about how Muggle-borns are by default inferior. Hermione was fighting for Harry, but she was also fighting for herself.

She got up from her warm spot on the couch and walked towards her sullen friend. Staying silent and angry wasn't going to help Harry. He needed to talk to someone, to anyone.

Ron, Fred, and George hardly took any notice of her as she stepped in between their conversation, making her way towards Harry. His eyes were so focused on whatever was outside the window, he didn't look up when she approached him. She gently placed a palm on his shoulder and his head snapped towards her, eyes in alarm. Harry's expression softened when he saw it was her.

Hermione tried her best to give an encouraging smile. "Hey, Harry…" she said. She nodded her head towards the door. "Come on, let's go outside."

She didn't leave much room for him to argue, as she linked arms with him and practically dragged him towards the front door.

It was awfully cold outside, unusual given that it was still the middle of summer, but Hermione knew Harry needed to get out of that hot room of The Burrow as much as she did. It would have driven them both insane. Hermione led Harry to a small picnic table a few yards from the Weasley home, and they sat down on the hard, aging wood.

A steady breath escaped her pink lips as she stared at Harry. "It's better out here, isn't it? It was too hot, too loud in there. I couldn't quite take it anymore. I just needed a― I needed a break. It's all too much… Everything is…" she trailed off. Harry's attention was elsewhere, somewhere above her head. Hermione swallowed, and said, "Harry, are you alright?"

His green eyes met her own, and he gave her a look that implied he thought her question was insane.

Hermione faltered. "No… No, of course you aren't. Sorry, that was a stupid question." She shook her head and broke their locked gaze, deciding to instead focus on the intricate lines of the wood on the surface of the table.

They both said nothing for a long while, staring anywhere except each other.

"Hermione…" Harry began, breaking the silence. "Is it my fault?" His voice sounded scratchy from disuse, and the devastated tone of his voice caused Hermione's heart to wretch.

"No, Harry. None of this is your fault," she murmured.

"It is though, isn't it? None of this would have happened if―"

Hermione cut him off. "Harry, stop. You can't let yourself think like this."

"It's because of me that Moody is dead. It's my fault that George is without an ear… My fault Hedwig…" Harry choked, his voice gradually growing louder.

"Harry, listen to me. It is not your fault. He did it. Not you. If you're looking for someone to blame, blame him," Hermione begged, clamping onto his hands.

Harry opened his mouth to give a retort, but thought better of it and shut his lips once more. His eyes were wet with tears that were too stubborn to fall. After a moment, he gave a small nod. He needed to understand this. Since Cedric died, all Harry had done was blame himself. It was the same thing with Sirius. The same with Dumbledore. He had a horrible habit of blinding himself with guilt, unable to see any logic or reasoning.

Hermione exhaled a sigh of relief. "It'll all be over soon."

"But when?" Harry croaked out, despair filling his eyes.

There was no way to tell. It could be weeks, months, years. Though with the growing power and number of Death Eaters, years seemed to be the most probable answer. It was also the least desired. The hardest part of their situation was that this night, these deaths, they were only the beginning. An unimaginable about of sorrow would inevitably come their way, and there was no way to predict when or what or how.

"Soon," Hermione said lamely, not knowing what else to say.

Harry nodded, not completely believing what she said, but he tried to accept the false hope Hermione gave him.

A loud scream came from The Burrow that caused both Hermione and Harry to jump. Fear and dread crept through Hermione's bones. The worst thoughts raced through her mind. Death Eaters invaded the Burrow. George's injury proved to be much worse than they had originally thought. Someone had stealthily managed to poison their dinner.

It was only Ginny.

Hermione watched from the small squares of the window as the youngest Weasley chased Fred through the house with a long loaf of bread, a devilish grin plastered on her face. Hermione smiled at the siblings as they circled around the small living room, both redheads exploding with laughter.

Unlike Hermione, Harry looked at the entertaining sight with a grim expression. He shook his head and looked down at his lap. Hermione knew he was still hurting after he cut things off with Ginny last June. Harry was rather in love with her, and Ginny was with him. Hermione could't imagine what it was like. To be separated from the one you love because of reasons that cannot be controlled… It seemed awful.

Hermione couldn't understand. Not truly. She's never been separated from someone she loved. She hasn't loved anyone before, as far as she knew.

Whatever she had with Viktor was purely and simply a crush. He was older and dangerous. Viktor Krum was everything Hermione wasn't, and that's why he fascinated throughout her fourth year.

And then there was Ron… Hermione did love Ron, but it was the same sort of love she held for Harry. A platonic love, nothing more. Any romantic love she held for Ron was simply an adolescent, hormone induced crush. Hermione was totally and completely confident of this.

She didn't even know what love felt like, not really. Hermione had read countless of romance novels over the summers, each with a similar notion of what love was, but Hermione had no clue as to what love was for her. She could theorize it, of course, but―

Hermione tore herself from her thoughts. No, she wasn't going down the deeply philosophical path of love and the definition of it. "What's wrong?" she asked Harry instead, hoping he hadn't noticed her dazed expression.

"It's nothing… I'm― I'm worried, Hermione. For Ginny. And it's not even just for Ginny, but for everyone who's going to back to Hogwarts this fall," he said. "Part of me thinks we should stay. Go back to school with them…"

Hermione felt Harry's same concerns. Hogwarts wouldn't be the same, with Dumbledore dead. Albus Dumbledore was the only wizard who could put fear into Lord Voldemort's evil veins. In many ways, they were the only true matches for each other. Both equally dangerous and threatening.

Dumbledore was essentially the heart of Hogwarts. With him gone, Hermione knew the safety she had felt her past six years of schooling would disappear. Especially with the uncertainty of who was going to take his place.

There still hadn't been a formal announcement on who was to be the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. The Order of the Phoenix held out hope that McGonagall would be given the position, but Hermione wasn't so optimistic. Lord Voldemort's hold on the Ministry grew stronger with everyday that passed. After last June's revelation about Professor Snape allegiance to the Death Eaters, Hermione was certain McGonagall would not be handed the coveted position of Headmaster. She strongly believed that Voldemort would name Snape as Headmaster once his hold on the Ministry grew to be unfaltering.

It didn't help, of course, that her, Harry, and Ron wouldn't be returning for their final year of school. Much to Hermione's dismay, she was leaving to search for Horcruxes within the next few weeks. The idea of leaving school irked Hermione, but she knew it was necessary for Voldemort's downfall.

She sighed at the thought and focused her attention towards Harry. "As long as they stick together, I think everything will be fine. I hope so, anyways."

"Do you think Malfoy will go back? Crabbe and Goyle, too?"

"Maybe… It's hard to say," Hermione said. "I guess it really depends on if You-Know-Who needs them at his side. I doubt any of them hold an especially high rank, though. Why do you ask?"

Harry let out an indifferent sigh. "I'm was just curious…"

Hermione nodded and said nothing, tucking a piece of her brown curly hair behind her ear.

"After all of this is over, do you think you'll go back? Finish seventh year?" Harry began again.

If it were up to Hermione, she would put the entire war and threat of Voldemort on pause and go to Hogwarts next month in an instant. Hermione wanted nothing more than to put on her black robes, and sit in the beautiful classrooms of Hogwarts for the next ten months. She wanted to spend her time studying too hard, while yelling at Harry and Ron for not studying hard enough. She wanted to spend her afternoons watching her best friends practice relentlessly at Quidditch. She wanted nothing more than to settle back into the comfortable routine of the past six years.

Hermione wanted it so, so bad.

That was impossible, though, and Hermione understood that. Harry needed her now more than ever, but there was no doubt in her mind that she would run straight towards Hogwarts once Voldemort was dead and the war was won.

"Yeah, of course." she said with confidence, while Harry scrunched his nose in mock disgust. "Are you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. We'll see."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. Harry and Ron had never been as devoted to their schoolwork as they should have been. If he had the chance to skip out on an entire year of school, Harry would take it in a heartbeat.

"Well, Harry, if this all works out, you'll be a war hero, and I don't think you'll have to go back if you don't want to," she smiled.

Harry returned her grin with a wide, genuine smile. "Really?"

"Really," Hermione laughed. She forced her expression serious and looked straight into Harry's eyes. "What about Ron? Do you think he'll go back to Hogwarts?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, both their expressions placid and somber. It was Harry who broke first. A small smile crept across his lips until he was soon roaring with laughter. Hermione joined him, laughing so hard her stomach hurt, trying to ignore the grim thought that was sitting in her mind.

When will we have an innocent moment like this again?

There was nothing that Draco Malfoy hated more than being a Death Eater.

Nothing.

Draco could remember looking at pictures from the First Wizarding War as a child. He had been so fascinated with his father and all his friends, and he wanted nothing more than to have the same experiences. Lucius Malfoy had always looked so happy in the black and white photographs. Smiles painted the faces of his father, Regulus Black, the elder Theodore Nott, and even Severus Snape wore a toothy grin in the pictures.

It had seemed so glorious.

But now that the Dark Mark was etched into his forearm and he wore a metal mask, Draco realized too late that life as a Death Eater was absolute hell. The Death Eaters from his father's pictures were smiling because the liked it. They liked the killings, the rape, the torture. It enlightened them.

It was sick. The Dark Lord's entire operation was sick.

Draco wanted out. He wanted out when he spent hours on end working on that damned cabinet. He wanted out when he stood on the Astronomy Tower with Albus Dumbledore that June night. He wanted out when he sat and watched as people were murdered. He wanted out when he saw the same people being raped.

It didn't matter what he wanted. There was no way out. The only thing he could do was avoid getting killed and hope that Potter manages to kill the sadistic bastard.

Two years ago, Draco could have never imagined himself wishing Potter would do anything, but everything was different now. If he had the opportunity, he would drag the Dark Lord's body to Potter's doorstep and cheerfully say 'Here you go, Potter! Now go work your scarhead magic or whatever the fuck you do and kill this monster! Thanks so much!'

Draco laughed at the thought. He would probably be hexed before he could even get an arm's length away from Potter, but less right in front of him. All he could really do was sit on the sidelines and wait for a miracle. Until then, it was Draco's duty as a devoted Death Eater to sit and participate in the awful activities.

Today, the awful activity involved some women who the Dark Lord apparently thought deserved whatever torture she was about to receive. Every Death Eater was present, expect for Snape, who was already ten minutes late. The Dark Lord insisted on waiting for Snape, so they all sat in a severely uncomfortable silence. The more callous Death Eaters, such as Draco's Aunt Bellatrix, smiled menacingly at the others in the room, giving the occasional ruthless laugh. The quieter Death Eaters, like Draco himself, kept their lips sealed and avoided locking gazes with anything besides the expensive table. This was how most meetings went.

The door on the left side of the dining hall opened with a sudden and loud bang. Every head in the room turned to look at what cause the noise, only to see Severus Snape standing there wearing an indifferent expression.

"My most sincere apologies for delaying the meeting, My Lord," Draco's godfather drawled.

"Take your seat, Severus," said the Dark Lord.

Snape gave a curt nod and walked briskly to his seat next to Lucius Malfoy. The Dark Lord spoke no words until Snape was seated in his chair with a brilliantly neutral expression that Draco only wished he could hold.

The Dark Lord cleared his throat, and his red eyes scanned over every face at the table. "I regret to confirm the mission to kill Harry Potter proved to be unsuccessful. However, a key strategist for the Order of the Phoenix was slaughtered by none other than myself." He stressed the last word and paused, giving another long stare to his followers. "Alaster Moody was his name, I believe." He took another long pause and smiled.

Bellatrix laughed obnoxiously at this, causing many to join her in nervous, hesitant laughter.

He stood up, ceasing any and all noise that filled the room. "I regret to say that my own wand has been destroyed in committing this death. I need a new a wand."

The Dark Lord began his slow walk around the table, holding each follower's gaze for a second longer than necessary. "Would anyone be so gracious as to offer their own wand to me?"

No one spoke. No one offered their wands. No one dared to say or do anything.

"No one? What a shame," he hissed, as he continued his agonizingly slow march around the long, black table.

Draco felt his heartbeat pick up as the Dark Lord neared closer to where his father and he sat. He didn't dare make eye contact with him in fear that it would be interpreted as an open invitation to take his wand from his fingertips. The Dark Lord's footsteps echoed throughout the four walls, growing louder and louder as he neared Draco.

He kept his eyes glued to the lines of the table, desperatly trying to keep his breathing under control. That's when he heard the footsteps stop. Draco didn't have to turn around to know the Dark Lord stood right behind him.

The Dark Lord's long fingers clamped onto Draco's shoulders, and Draco forced his whole body to go still. The last thing he wanted was for The Dark Lord to see yet another weakness of his.

His hands maintained their strong grip for what felt like hours, but could have only been seconds or minutes. Draco couldn't tell.

Finally he heard the menacing voice from behind him tsk, and he said "No, no, no. I'm afraid that won't do." And the footsteps started again, allowing Draco to let out a small, undetected sigh of relief.

However, it wasn't long before the footsteps stopped again. When Draco saw who the Dark Lord stopped in front of, his heart plummeted. Directly in front of his father's face, the Dark Lord stood palm out.

"Your wand, Lucius," the Dark Lord ordered.

"My―my… what?" Draco's father stuttered.

An awful grin appeared on the Dark Lord's pale face. "I thought I made myself quite clear. I request your wand."

From the corner of his eye, Draco watched as his father's face paled. Lucius pulled his wand from his robes and reluctantly placed it in the Dark Lord's waiting palm. His father did nothing to mask his nerves, as his hand shook tremendously, and Draco silently scolded him for it.

His father was a coward and a bigot. Draco had come to terms with this while trying to complete his suicide mission the Dark Lord had so generously given him. It was also during this time when Draco realized everything he'd been taught, everything his father stood for might have also been wrong as well. To be quite honest, Draco didn't know what to think. He did know, however, that he hated his father almost as much as he hated the Dark Lord. Almost.

"Draco," a voice called.

He snapped his gaze up to the Dark Lord, who now was standing on the other side of the room. His ominous red eyes bore into his own grey eyes, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, my Lord?" Draco mumbled, trying desperately not to break eye contact.

"I couldn't quite hear you… What was that?"

"Yes, my Lord?" Draco said louder.

The Dark Lord smiled in a convoluted sort of approval. "Do you know who this is?" he asked, arm extended to the tattered women floating in midair.

"No, my Lord."

"Crabbe? Goyle? Do you know the identity of our lovely guest?" The Dark Lord questioned, his gaze moving towards Draco's housemates who were sitting directly across from him.

An echo of "No, my Lord" came from their mouths.

"Ah, yes. I wouldn't expect you to," the Dark Lord said. "This, my dear friends, is Professor Charity Burbage. She teaches Muggle Studies at our beloved school Hogwarts."

Recognition hit Draco like a slap in the face. The matted dirty blonde hair, her oddly shaped nose. Yes, Draco had seen this woman before. He never took any note of her, though. As he would have thought a Muggle Studies professor inferior to him. Draco simply had no need to pay attention to her before.

But now Charity Burbage had Draco's full and unwavering attention.

The Dark Lord let out a laugh. "Yes, Professor Burbage here teaches to her students the immoral idea that Muggles are not that different from us. That we should be open to interacting with them… open to embracing their ideals. She even suggests that it would be harmless, efficient even, to mate with them."

A chorus of laughter surrounded the table, as The Dark Lord moved her floating body to the center of the table, her face positioned so Draco could clearly see every bead of sweat that covered her forehead. Draco tried to tear his eyes away from her, but couldn't allow himself to look away.

The women was sending quiet pleads towards Snape, who successfully ignored them and simply stared with a vacant expression at her suffering.

"Hmm…" The Dark Lord began. "I can only think of one thing to do with you."

In that moment, Draco's heart stopped. It didn't matter how many times he saw it happen, it never got easier like his mother promised him. Every time he saw it happen, his reaction was always the same.

"Avada Kedavra."

Her body dropped with an echoing slam on the table, and Draco stared in horror as her dead, open eyes stared into his. He held his breath and counted inside his head until he forgot what number he had last counted. This was how Draco coped with it all. He counted until the numbers got too high, and he forced himself to forget.

Unfortunately, Draco wasn't very good at the forgetting part.

He distantly heard the Dark Lord give his wretched snake permission to finish Professor Burbage off. It wasn't until the snake began to rip into her arms that Draco finally allowed himself to look away.

"Draco," a voice called from behind him.

Draco expertly ignored it, not in the mood to talk to anyone, much less the two dense bodies that followed him down the narrow hallway of the Manor.

"Draco," the voice hissed again.

He stopped his fast-paced walk and turned around to find Crabbe and Goyle with two identically pathetic expressions on their faces.

"What?" Draco said in a low and dangerous voice. He hoped his tone would sound threatening enough, and they would turn around and leave, go back to wherever they spent their time lurking. Apparently, Crabbe and Goyle grew duller by the second as they stood with no apparent plans of moving in the opposite direction.

"We have a question," Goyle asked.

Draco scoffed. "That's really fucking spectacular, Greg. I'm glad you've finally figured out what constitutes as a real question. There may be a brain in there after all. Anyways, I have to go."

He turned to leave only to have Crabbe's hand tightly grab his forearm.

"Draco, please―" Crabbe begged.

He let out an overdramatic laugh. "I've long awaited for the day to hear you beg, Vincent, though I expected you to be on your knees―"

"Damn it, Draco, Shut the fuck up," Goyle hissed. "It'll take just a second."

He used to adore having Crabbe and Goyle follow him around like lost puppies, proudly doing whatever dirty work Draco didn't feel like doing himself. It became annoying after awhile, like the two oafs couldn't very well think for themselves. In truth, they likely couldn't. This is probably the reason why they were so willing to become Death Eaters.

"Okay, what is it?" Draco gave in, eager to be rid of them.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged glances, and Draco raised an expectant eyebrow at them.

"Do you think Potter, Weasley, and Granger are coming back to Hogwarts this year? There have been rumors that―" Crabbe was cut off.

"You're asking me if I think the bloody Golden Trio is coming back to Hogwarts this year? That is your big question?" Draco asked, bewildered at their sheer stupidity.

Goyle opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by a fourth voice.

"Draco? Are you coming?" He spun around to see Theo Nott, leaning against the doorway of Draco's personal study. Theo shot a judging glare towards Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco sighed and turned to face Crabbe and Goyle once more. "If you'll excuse me."

When he turned back towards Theo, he had vanished from the doorway. Draco forced his legs to move faster to avoid another unwanted confrontation with Crabbe and Goyle. Stupidity wasn't supposed to take the form of a human being, but both Crabbe and Goyle managed to do embody daftness.

The door slammed shut behind Draco, and he collapsed into the nearest couch. He sighed. "Do you know of a Charity Burbage?" Draco asked Theo, who was sitting at the desk, his legs propped up.

"No," Theo said bluntly.

"Professor Burbage? Taught Muggle Studies?"

"Perhaps I know of her. I never took Muggle Studies," Theo spoke of the class with a disgusted expression. His reaction didn't surprise Draco. Theo was brought up the same way Draco was. Both sons of Death Eaters, both preached and prodded on proper Pureblood manners, both raised to be successful Slytherins. The only thing that differed was Theo had yet to take the Dark Mark.

Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, Theo had a fully functional brain. He was third in their year right behind Hermione Granger and Draco himself. Draco only wished he would have befriended him sooner. They had grown up knowing each other, friends of sorts, but when they got to Hogwarts Draco shamefully flocked to Crabbe and Goyle, while Theo, ever the introvert, stayed by himself, befriending Blaise Zabini.

Theo Nott was extremely intelligent, and best of all, he didn't hover the way Crabbe and Goyle did. He was logical, and Draco thought this was why he was so reluctant to take the Mark. For the past year, his father has been nagging him to get marked, but time after time Theo came up with some clever excuse as to why he can't join the Death Eaters. Sooner or later, he would have to get marked. Draco knew this, and Theo did too.

"Oh," was all Draco could mutter in response.

"Why?" Theo replied.

A sullen expression washed over Draco's face. "I watched her die today."

Theo merely nodded as he skillfully played with a glass ball that was bound to break if dropped. "So why did Crabbe and Goyle want to know the whereabouts of the Golden Trio?"

"Don't know," Draco mumbled, watching the flames dance in the fireplace.

"Probably to get in the Mudblood's pants, huh?" Theo grinned to himself.

Draco laughed half-heartedly. "Yeah, maybe."

Nearly ten minutes passed where the two boys said nothing. Theo played with his glass ball, coming too close to dropping it numerous times, and Draco let his eyes fall shut, surrounding himself with senseless thoughts to pass the time. It was a comfortable silence, one Draco couldn't find with any of his other friends.

"Do you think they'd be stupid enough to go back?" Theo broke the silence, bringing the conversation back to the Gryffindor trio.

"No," Draco confessed. "Potter and Weasley have Granger with them, and she's not daft enough to bring them back to Hogwarts."

Theo thought about this for a moment. "Yeah, she's too smart to do that."

Draco simply nodded and brushed his fingers through his pale blonde hair.

"They would be killed if they tried to come back," his dark-haired friend thought out loud.

"They would be killed," he agreed.

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A/N: First chapter: Done! Yay! This chapter is mostly set-up, and the next couple are going to be set-up as well, so just stick with it and let me know what you think? I'm still figuring out how long the chapters are, this honestly was a bit short. I think the chapters will be longer as I get further into the story though! Also, my titles are all named after songs because I'm unoriginal. Haha, oh well. This chapter's song was Too Young by Storm Smith.

Be sure to follow my on tumblr for updates and such! My username/url is malfoys.

Anyways, thank you for reading!