"More muggles dead, eh Malfoy?" said a young Slytherin, probably looking for a good insult about muggles to coin for his friends later. The King of Slytherin blinked over at him and scowled.

"You'll join 'em if you don't shut your trap, Fantez," he threatened, turning his eyes back to the table. The blonde's rage at reached its peak that afternoon. He snapped at anything and anyone that opened their mouth. But the Slytherins hardly questioned his actions: Malfoys were known to have mood swings. Of course, the reason for his sadness was a mystery to all but him: Hermione.

His outburst at her had ruined his day entirely. Not only was he completely enraged with her because they "can't," but she'd had the nerve to use his father's name in doing so. He thought things had changed between them, but it was obviously all a lie. He couldn't explain his anger, even to himself.

It's just a name, Draco. His thoughts pressed seriously. I'll bet you the crown of Slytherin that she didn't mean it the way you heard it.

But he couldn't stop his anger from rising with every thought of her that popped into his head, no matter how hard he tried. It was the Malfoy in him, ironically, that kept him mad with her. This stubbornness refused to admit he was wrong for bursting out at her.

Shattering the tension at his table, a chorus of loud squawks announced the arrival of the day's mail. Draco glanced up between bites of beef that he shoved in his mouth relentlessly. Blatantly from within the crowds of fluttering wings, he could see his owl, Jade. The sparkling white bird flew down to him nobly and dropped a letter on his empty plate. Draco petted his feathers slowly and the animal cooed, nibbling affectionately at his fingers. The bird opened its mouth and Draco tossed it a chip before it flew away, chattering happily. He opened the envelope reluctantly, noticing immediately the Malfoy wax seal on the front.

My Son Draco,

I am pleased to hear of your enjoinment to Her Darkness. Your strength will be proven to the Dark Lord and to those who rule him this night. I look forward to seeing how able you've become. I hope my training has paid off.

Always in Darkness,

Lucius Malfoy

P.S. I thought those muggle killings would give you a good laugh.

Draco crumbled the letter and tossed it to the fire behind him. Yes, father, you've trained me well. He thought angrily. All those years of torture and hate were some sort of sick training? Great. While trying to clear his mind of the pulsing anger that ran through his veins, he wondered what his father meant by 'your strength will be proven.' He knew his father was never strong enough or powerful enough to call on Daeva. Draco couldn't help but wonder if he himself possessed the strength on his own. After all, it was Hermione who successfully called Her.

He glanced up at the usually smiling brunette slowly, hoping she wouldn't see him. But he wasn't greeted with a sweet smile or shining eyes. Even from across the hall, he could see her tear-strained face. She pushed the food around her plate aimlessly and shook her head repeatedly to answer harassment of the Gryffindors around her.

"That's the problem with Gryffindors," he said out loud, to no one in particular. "They never know when to shut the hell up." The table around him laughed wickedly, and he was re-crowned king.

"That's not their only problem," added Blaise, who was praised with more laughter.

The others resumed the usual cruel laughter, but Draco didn't participate. He stared at the depressed Hermione before him and frowned in spite of his own anger. He knew his pride wasn't worth her pain. He thought about forgiving her, but his fury outweighed his guilt and he stayed seated as she left the room a few minutes later, trying not to watch her leave.

Hermione wrung her hands nervously in her lap and jiggled a foot as she waited. She had gotten to Dumbledore's office early in hopes that she could talk to Draco. But she'd forgotten he's always fashionably late. He always made fun of her eagerness to be on time. "Nothing good happens til the end, anyway," he'd told her. She glanced over at the large grandfather clock in the corner and realized, to her horror, that it had been less than a minute since she'd last looked.

"Fuck," she whined dismally, startling the sleeping portraits around her. Not only was she alone is a teacher's office, she was over a half an hour early for when she was supposed to meet both Draco and Dumbledore.

Stressed, bored, and tired from worry, she slumped back in her chair and held the mysterious orb Dumbledore had given her, cupped in velvet. It was clouded over with its strange violet swirls. She placed one finger on it delicately and was seized with an instant warmth throughout her body. At her touch, the strange orb brightened into dazzling blues: azures that would rival any ocean and deep sapphires that would challenge a brilliant, moonlit night.

"Wicked," she mumbled, trying to catch her reflection (or lack thereof) in the mirror on the opposite side of the room. She had completely vanished with a single touch. She removed her finger from the surface, feeling its comfortable warmth pulled away, and laid it gently back into the velvet. She watched as the colors returned to their dormant state.

The time passed slowly, dripping away with the rain that had begun to fall again around lunch. She remembered the rain starting to fall when Draco had walked into the Great Hall, late for lunch. But he didn't entertain his fans or gallivant around the table as he usually did. There was a disturbing silence that took the place of his bright, toothy grin. It was an unreadable mix of sadness and anger that fogged his mood. All through the meal, Harry had continued to pester her about the episode in potions, which seemed to be all anyone at the Gryffindor table was talking about ("She ran after him!" and "He looked hurt!")

"Hermione," he'd said, "what'd going on? What did Draco do?"

"He didn't do anything," she'd mumble over and over again, without looking up from her plate. "Just drop it, Harry." But he hadn't and soon she gave up and went back to her commons room, partially in the hopes she'd run into Draco. But he did not come, which did not surprise her in the least.

After a good half an hour had past, Professor Dumbledore came and sat at his desk, taking little notice of her as he began pouring over papers with an understandable urgency. Hermione hardly moved, worrying that she'd disturb him. There was an unspoken agreement between them that business would begin when Draco arrived.

And arrive he did, bursting through the door out of breath and a good 10 minutes late. "Sorry, professor," (his voice lacking any emotion) He took a seat across the room from Hermione, not even acknowledging her presence.

Dumbledore nodded, the twinkle in his eye replaced by a stern glare Hermione did not recognized. "Very good," he stated simply. "It's almost time for you to go. Hermione have you brought the Illmentium with you?" she nodded holding the velvet cloth up in her hand. "And Draco, I see you've worn you robes." Hermione glanced across the room from the corner of her eye.

His long dark robes were elegant and beautiful. The expensive material fell snugly around his shoulders and waist, gathering in luscious green bundles at his feet. A long silver chain was tied around his neck. His hair was tamed back to his head and his arms were crossed across his chest defiantly. His pale face was grim and drawn, vacantly staring in the area near Dumbledore.

"Then you must go. I, obviously, will not be joining you. Hermione as soon as you say the words they told you, you must grasp the stone in your left hand. Do not let it slip. Remember, only mutual and true love can see you when it is in your grasp." She pulled the chain from under her robes and let the heavy charm rest on her chest, nodding as she did so. "You will need to use your Occlumency skills. I hope, for the sake of the known world, that you've been practicing." Dumbledore paused and Draco let his eyes slip to Hermione's timid face.

"Draco, you may not look at Hermione, under any circumstances." He said seriously. "You will feel her around you, and you will know she's there, but acknowledging her presence will lead to her death." He ended, shuffling papers on the desk next to him. "Now you must go back to your rooms and leave from there, otherwise She will question your being in my office."

Draco nodded and looked over at Hermione. It was not fear or sadness that he saw but concern. "Professor, one last thing," he said, still gazing at Hermione who stared ahead, very aware of his eyes on her. "How will I go with Hermione? I mean, we only have one Praemitto."

"You must bind yourself to her," he said, not noticing the numerous sexual scenarios that he created with that sentence. "If that is all, then go." Dumbledore left with a pop to go join the Order for a highly important meeting. The pair was meant to join the Order after their return.

Draco stood up and walked to the door, his shoes clanking on the marble floors, and opened the door. "Coming?" He said over his shoulder, eyes locked on the wall. Hermione stood slowly and followed him out the door.

They're footsteps were empty in the hollow hall. The past month was gone to both of them because of their own stupidity. Who knew something so simple and small as a word could destroy all they had fought for? It seems that the world underestimates the complexity of young love: they were hating strangers once again.

Hermione kept her head low and stayed a few strides behind the Slytherin. Part of her wanted to reach out to him and apologize for anything and everything she'd ever done wrong. But the rest of her told her to hold her tongue: his patience for her had obviously run out.

They reached their commons room without speaking a word to each other. Tears were building up behind Hermione's eyes and Draco's jaw was clenched firmly in place. Hermione mumbled the password after a moment of silence. The statue rotated slowly, returning them to where they had first fell for each other.

Draco led the way into his room, pale in the moonlight that fell through the window panes. He stood in the center of the room awkwardly and turned to face Hermione as she walked through the doorway. She kept her eyes downcast, not trusting herself to look up to his face.

She stepped up towards him, looking anywhere but his pained eyes. She stood with her face barely an inch from his chest. She stared at the chain the hung down to her eye level. She could feel him breathing against her hair and trembling under her slight touch. Draco stared over her head and lifted his arms from his sides, placing them awkwardly around her shoulders.

"Your turn," he grunted, attempting to keep his cool. But his voice wavered awkwardly as if he was that little 12 year-old boy again.

Hermione pulled the orb from its velvet cloth and tucked the cloth into her plain robes pocket. She put her free arm around the boy in front of her and stared down at the chain around her own neck. She had vanished except for the Praemitto, which she lifted around Draco's neck. He did not lower his eyes once.

"Don't let go," she said looking towards the window aimlessly. He nodded knowingly. If they ever lost contact with each other, Hermione would be discovered. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his chest unconsciously and whispered,

"Carry me to the Darkness of Your hate," clenching the charm around Draco's neck in her invisible hand. At first, they felt nothing. Draco blinked into the open space before him, he didn't dare glance down at Hermione, knowing if he looked she wouldn't be there. After a short moment, the strange green glow that had enveloped the paper so many weeks ago began to emanate from Hermione's small hand. They were filled with heat rivaled only by the sun as the light expanded like a cloud billowing with storm around them until it was all they could see.

Draco peered down at the girl in his arms curiously. He could see her a clear as day. But as soon as he opened his mouth, he snapped it shut: their misty green surroundings had cleared. They stood before a tall rod iron gate that protected the remains of a forgotten cemetery. It looked as though the rusted, metallic posts could once have been beautiful, but intertwined in the tall grasses; they were neglected and mutilated by time. Bent and torn from age, the gate hung lazily on its hinges, whining in every gust of the jaded wind.

Beyond the lonesome pasture before them and past the moss covered tombstones, a small group of black clothed wizards stood barely visible in the moonlight. Draco took Hermione's hand lightly, so it looked as though his arms were simply resting at his side and stepped through the swinging gate.

"Where am I?" He mumbled, as if to no one. Hermione tightened her grasp on his hand reassuringly. As they neared the crowd, slow, ominous voices moved towards them on the light wind. They chanted rhythmically in an unknown language, staring to the middle of the circle with tight fascination. Draco lengthened his stride and held his head high knowingly. Darkness filled his eyes as he poured images of hate into his mind to protect Hermione and himself.

They crossed the graveyard cautiously. The dew on the grass mysteriously parted to either side of the path before them, as if in fear. The pair knew, with all their hearts, that what they were about to face would be no walk in the park. As they neared the green orb before them, all sense of time and place were lost. They were lost in the Her Darkness.