Hermione tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Unfortunately, merely one hand could not support the armful of books she was carrying as she strode upstairs to the library, and as a result, they tumbled to the floor. Hermione's gasp of surprise was not heard owing to the huge racket the falling books made as they bounced onto the polished wood. Luckily, no one was around – all the students were outside enjoying the sunshine, but she had chosen to spend her break doing research on their predicament.

Irritated with herself, she crouched down and began picking the books up one by one to stack them in neat pile beside her. Barely had the last book touched the top of the pile when she heard a sound emanating from one of the rooms that the corridor opened off to. Her ears pricked up and she looked around. A moment later, the noise intensified, and she perceived it came from one of the boys' bathrooms.

It sounded like…like someone was crying. Wailing. The horrible, wet sobs coming from the crack in the door sounded as if whoever was in there had truly given up.

Not wanting to intrude on anyone's privacy, she quickly gathered the books into her arms again and stood up, preparing to quickly exit the corridor and climb the stairs that led to the library, when suddenly the restroom door opened.

She froze in her tracks and looked up to see Draco Malfoy standing there, one hand holding the door and the other tangled in his unruly blond hair.

His red tie was askew and his black robes were crumpled and stained. The still-wet tear tracks coating his face suggested that it had indeed been him who had been crying in the bathroom, and also that he had not expected to get caught. When he saw Hermione he immediately proceeded to wipe his face roughly with his wet sleeve, only succeeding in dampening it even further. He seemed to realize this and stopped abruptly, his face falling. He looked utterly miserable.

Hermione coughed. She did not feel sorry for him, not in the least – in fact, she knew that he probably deserved whatever was ailing him. But she was not going to sink to his level and make fun of him for crying. "Um –" she stated lamely. "Sorry."

But she did not move. Neither did he.

Hermione surprised herself with what she said next. "Uh – is something wrong?"

Malfoy immediately pounced. "Why do you want to know, Granger?" he said, but the nasty effect this rhetorical question was meant to have was somewhat dimmed by his ravaged appearance and shaking voice. He looked more miserable than ever.

"I was –" Hermione felt herself turn red. "Never mind," she retaliated coldly, "I don't even know why I asked." She continued her way down the corridor, and when she was at the foot of the stairs, she heard him speak again and stopped.

"I mean, it's not as if you know what it's like, this job that I've given," he muttered, his voice melancholy and bitter.

She slowly spun on her heel and stared at him.

"It's not like anyone does," he continued under his breath. But in the quiet corridor she heard him as if he was standing not two feet away. "How the hell am I supposed to do it? Why would he trust me, me of all people – I mean, I've always shown nothing but fear when I'm around him –" He was talking very fast now. Hermione continued to stare, astonished.

"And I've never done something like this, what about all the others? They've killed hundreds. They won't be afraid to do it. Why me? Why did he choose me –?" Suddenly he seemed to realize she was still there and his voice faded into nothing as he looked at her, his amazed expression matching her own. There was momentary silence – total, absolute silence.

Hermione stood there, her hand resting limply on the banister. Slowly, the gears turned and it gradually clicked into place. She understood what he was talking about. A look of realization dawned on her face, which he saw, and became suddenly fearful.

But she did not run off to inform Dumbledore of what she had only just heard. She had not the slightest inclination to do anything of the sort. Instead, she took her hand off the banister and walked slowly toward him, her shoes clicking loudly on the parquet, her expression never changing.

She did not stop when she was at a decent distance away from him. She kept on walking, her shoes now muffled by the carpet, and finally came to a stop to stand in front of him so that their foreheads were almost level – his was only slightly higher than her own. She looked into his grey eyes, searching, and seemed to find what she was looking for. A spark of weakness. She felt it – it passed silently between the two teenagers as they stood alone in the empty hall.

Then he felt a hand, a cool, soft hand, lace through his fingers. He did not look down, but continued to stare into her eyes, not understanding. He felt something inside him jolt when she squeezed his hand – a pitying, understanding gesture. Something flooded in his heart. A long moment later – a moment in which they simply stood there, speaking to each other with their eyes, saying things they could not possibly accomplish with words – he realized it was gratitude.

And then she released her soft grip on his hand. Turning, she walked back down the corridor toward the staircase, continuing on her way as if nothing had happened. And only later, as she stood stupefied among a large crowd assembled at the foot of the tallest tower of Hogwarts, where a broken, mangled body lay, would she realize that just in a few seconds, in a moment of weak pity, she had taken this man's life away from him.

Author's Note:

In case you understood absolutely nothing of that…It's set during sixth year, when Malfoy has been given the task to kill Dumbledore. Anyone remember that time he had been crying in the bathroom when Harry found him? Well, in this one-shot, it was Hermione who found him and understood why he had been crying, but instead of running off to warn Dumbledore, she conveyed to him that she pitied him and understood him. Later, when she stared at Dumbledore's dead body, she realized her mistake and felt guilty. Oh the tragedy. :)