That night she fell into a long and fitful sleep, and when she woke up, although she still felt drained, and her eyes were still puffy, at least she felt slightly better, because she had made up her mind on something.

This thought alone, was enough to make her smile, even a little, as she reached for the wand at her bedside to perform a little cosmetic charm to conceal her red puffy eyes. As she got out of bed and pulled aside the curtain that went around her bed, she looked around and realized that she was the first to wake, and that the sun was only just rising. She reached behind the curtain and pulled out her quilt, wrapping it around herself before walking to the full length windows at the end of the girls' dormitory, to watch the sunrise.

What he had done to her yesterday still hurt, and she still didn't understand it, but she had known all along that it would have been a bad choice to come back, but she had come anyway. Next time… no, not next time, there would not be next time; she would NEVER listen to him again. She would ignore Malfoy, and just pretend like it never happened.

***

Malfoy lay on his bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, watching as it started to grow lighter.

He hadn't slept one bloody wink the whole night. The moment he shut his eyes, yesterday's events begun to replay itself over and over again, preventing him from sleeping. When his eyes were open, one thousand questions begin to swarm into his head, accompanied by an eerie cackling at the back of his head. One more demon had been just added to the legion of demons that were already living in his head.

He had stayed up all night, replaying the scenes in his mind, and thinking of many different solutions to the problem, but every time he thought of a possible solution, the voice in his head shot him down.

He had thought about apologizing to her but then the voice in his head said:

Do you really think she'll believe you? How are going to explain it to her? How do you think she'll react when you tell her that you work for Voldemort?

Even if she does believe you, do you think you can make her happy? Can you protect from evil? it laughed. You work for Voldemort.

Give it up. You cannot escape. You have already pledged yourself to the Dark Lord. Your initiation is next week, remember?

It wasn't over yet. He hadn't pledged himself to Voldemort. It was his father who had pledged his life to Voldemort. At birth. He was not marked yet. He could run away.

Even if you manage to get rid of me, you cannot run away. They will hunt you down.

And if you do not remain here, who will protect Narcissa. It hissed, what do you think Lucius would do to her, after you run away?

Do you want to be responsible to the death of your own mother?

He kicked the foot of his bed in frustration. He was trapped.

He sat up in bed, running a hand through his already tousled hair, licking his lips. He wanted her. All he had to do was close his eyes and he could already picture her in his mind. But that wasn't enough. He wanted touch her, and hold her.

He wanted so badly to be able to say sorry, start again. Something. Anything. He clenched the soft satin sheet in his hand. It felt like someone was twisting a dagger in his heart. He couldn't say sorry to her. He couldn't hold her. He couldn't touch her. From now on, he could only watch her. Watch her from afar. Pretend that last night never happened.

What choice did he have? The voice was right. He could love her, but it would only hurt her.

Pretending like it never happened didn't mean he would forget, he wouldn't. He just couldn't let her know how he felt.

He hated his life. He hated that he was a pureblood. He hated that his father was Lucius Malfoy, death eater and humble servant to Voldemort. He hated this blood curse.

He got off his bed and moved to the bathroom to wash up. He splashed some water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror. He felt wretched, and it was showing on every part of his face. His hair was a tangled mess, his face was even paler than usual, his eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep. He watched his own mouth curl into a bittersweet smile. Which would hurt more? Watching the one you love suffer, because you rejected her? Or knowing  that if you didn't reject her, you would be the cause of her death?

He chose the former. Even if she was hurt (and he wasn't entirely sure that he loved him.) , she would move on and get over him eventually.

This pain was his to bear. If he went down with Voldemort, he was going alone.

***

He walked to the showers and paused, pulling off all his clothes till they landed in one heap.

He turned on the shower then closed eyes letting the hot water soak through his hair and splash over his body. He wished that the water could wash away all his problems with it.

***

After he finished showering, stood in the shower, watching the water drip from his body onto the tile floor. He thought about how ironic it was, that his plan to hurt Hermione had not only backfired, but even caused himself more pain. He leant his back against the wall, using his hand to trace her name onto the steamed up glass door.