Disclaimer: I don't own the characters.
"Lumos," Hermione muttered as she climbed out of the portrait hole, ignoring the curious look she received from the Fat Lady. The portrait clicked shut behind her and Hermione proceeded down the dark, still corridor.
When she reached the trophy room, she found that it was still empty. To pass the time as she waited, Hermione approached the trophies, holding her wand up and peering closely at each.
Halfway through her examination of the award inscribed with Tom Riddle's name, Hermione heard a dull crash, followed by a string of curses from a low male voice. A soft gasp escaped from her lips as she spun around to see who had disturbed the peaceful silence of the night.
Late, as usual, Hermione thought with a slight smile. "Ron? Is that you?" she ventured hesitantly.
A silhouetted figure appeared in the doorway, not saying a word, simply standing. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was only here because he'd said it was important. I'm risking detention for you, Ronald Weasely, she thought. Why isn't he saying anything?
The figure approached her slowly now, and as the shadows faded into the light of the room, Hermione gasped and tried to move away, but not quickly enough.
Draco Malfoy grasped her wrist gently with one hand and placed the other over her mouth. Hermione's eyes grew wide as he drew even closer, but she did not fail to notice that the usual maliciousness was gone from his face.
He opened his mouth and spoke for the first time. "I don't have much time," he whispered into her ear. "My father has scheduled for me to get the Dark Mark tonight," he explained.
He released Hermione's wrist and removed the hand on her mouth, although it lingered for a moment on her cheek. Hermione made no move to leave and she remained silent.
He relaxed visibly and began to speak again. "I don't – I have never wanted to become a Deatheater. I never wanted to be so cruel to you. You have to understand, though," he continued, a pleading look in his eyes, "no matter how brilliant or how beautiful I thought – think you are, no matter how much I love you…" he trailed off, and Hermione spoke, tears in her eyes.
"Your father," she said, almost inaudibly. The past few years were running through her mind – every sneer, every snide comment, every "mudblood" said, suddenly seemed to fade, leaving only images of the silver-blond hair, the piercing gray eyes.
He nodded. "My father," he echoed. "But," he said with hope in his voice, "perhaps – perhaps that can change." Hermione silently urged him to continue. "Run away with me," he said, again pleading with his eyes. Hermione said nothing.
"I know we would never be safe," he continued. "They would hunt us. They would curse us. They would not rest until we were dead." He paused. "But I would love you. I would always love you."
Hermione's eyes filled with tears. He leaned down and brushed his lips gently against hers. "Run away with me," he whispered. Again, Hermione did not speak.
She nodded.
A/N: Hey everyone, Amy here! I hope you liked it - this was my very first attemt at a story. It's a one shot, but maybe if I get enough reviews (hint, hint), I'll think about elaborating on the story. Peace.