Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling's. Not mine (and never will be).

By the end of the dinner feast in the Great Hall, Hermione was fighting down a sudden urge to run to Hagrids' in the swirling storm and check on Ron. He would never miss a meal! At least not the Ron she knew. There were rumors, and whisperings about a dark mark floating outside by the Forbidden Forest. Headmaster McGonagall herself had ordered a lockdown, forbidding anyone but the professors to step out of the castle. There was a queasy feeling that lay like a great bulk in her stomach, leaving room for little else. Especially not dinner.

"Hermione."

Hermione looked up from squishing her peas into an unappetizing green pulp, and mixing it with her mashed potatoes. Harry looked back at her, frowning.

"What?" The brunette set her fork down evenly, trying not to betray emotion although unusual anxiety tore at her chest.

"Something's wrong." Harry looked at her expectantly, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione sighed. Sometimes she forgot that Harry really was as sensitive to her feelings as she was to his, unlike many other boys. She knew he noticed the light changes in her mood every day, but chose to ignore it as respect to her privacy and personal life. But as for the mood dips like these? Only idiots would ignore their friends.

She was suddenly painfully reminded of the ultimate…not thereness of Ron beside her. It was so quiet. Dull, even. There was a lack of chatter, clumsy table manners, petty arguments, immature jokes and secret sweet smiles she had grown to expect. Harry didn't even know that they had an argument because he had had to work on something with Mcgonagall for most of the afternoon.

Now, Hermione realized that their argument about Celia Greene and Tobias Brinely was insignificant and downright stupid. If Ron were to walk through the doors at that moment, she would have tackled him to the ground and given him a kiss he would never forget, regardless who was watching.

"Hermione." Harry massaged his temples with rough and calloused fingers, mussing up his black hair from a bedhead to a duckfluff variety. "I know you're worried about Ron."

Hermione glanced at the empty seat beside Harry and the empty seat beside herself. "And you're worried about Ginny." Nobody even bothered to sit in those spots anymore; it was a given that the Weasley siblings would be sitting there.

"Exactly. And I think, wherever they are, that they're together and doing just fine."

This time Hermione frowned. She wasn't sure whether he said that to reassure her or whether it was just to reassure himself. But who was she, to be taking comfort from Harry? He had so many other things on his mind; he was the boy who lived! The fact that Voldemort had gotten away during the battle in sixth year and created another Horcrux was much more important than small frivolities like her feelings.

Hermione put on a bright smile, feeling obscenely fake. "You're right Harry, I'm sure that they're fine."

Liar.

Harry tried a grin. "Yeah, nothing to worry about. They probably got detention or something."

She reached across and squeezed Harry's hand. "From Snape, I bet."

Hermione smiled as she succeeded in making him laugh. A bit hollow, but a laugh nonetheless.

"I hope I'm not interrupting something?" a high, warbling voice reached her ears.

She withdrew her hand quickly from Harry's, whirling around to see Mcgonagall's tight, tense face sporting a cocked eyebrow. Hermione colored, knowing exactly what the ex-professor was thinking. She and Harry were just friends, for goodness sake! Holding hands was a…friendly thing, nothing she had to be ashamed of. Although yes, she was a bit paranoid because the public, a.k.a Rita Skeeter, was always trying to push them together; pouncing on anything they could grab to make it seem like they had a relationship. Her Animagus secret was no use; the Daily Prophet liked the ability to eavesdrop on the juiciest scoops, and would work to the bone to keep Skeeter in their business.

"Proffesor- I mean, Headmaster Mcgonagall." Harry stood up, noticing the apprehensive posture and worried frown immediately. "Is something wrong?"

Mcgonagall shook her head at the both of them and let out a tired sigh. "I'm afraid so Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger. Please, follow me." The elder witch turned and strode away, not waiting to see if the two were following.

Harry and Hermione exchanged puzzled glances, and hurried after her in silence.

Draco ran down the corridor, his heart hammering somewhere in his throat and his lungs blazing for air. Students returning to their dormitories stared as he passed, shocked that the cool, composed Malfoy had somehow transformed into a wild, sweaty mess. He remembered how just an hour ago, these same feet were stomping down the quiet Malfoy mansion for nothing but the sake of annoying some old paintings. Now, they carried word of possible attack.

"Draco Malfoy!" The high, trembling voice of Dobby grew fainter and fainter as his legs carried him closer to the Headmaster's office. "Draco Malfoy! Headmaster Mcgonagall-""

Draco grunted, ignoring the house elf who was about as useful to him now as a mosquito.

He stopped in front of the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office, breathing out a mouthful of curses when the password seemed to slip his mind. McGonagall had always been a very traditional woman; so the key remained as some ridiculous candy to serve as tribute to Dumbledore. Draco sifted through his memories at Honeydukes, trying to recall the names of all the sugary treats.

Stupid gargoyle. It wouldn't be his fault then, would it? It wouldn't be him that killed a someone, like he had done plenty when he let the Deatheaters in last year. It would be this ugly rock carving, destroying a poor bastards' life. No one could blame him.

"Draco Malfoy will not find Headmaster Mcgonagall in her office." a voice panted behind him.

Draco turned around to see Dobby staring up at him, slightly out of breath running after Draco on short, stumpy legs.

"Well? Where is she?" he said, impatient.

"Headmaster is in the Hospital Wing. Winky is telling Dobby of the many that are waiting there."

So that was why Dobby had teleported them in front of the Infirmary, somewhere far away from the office.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier! You stupid elf, someone may very well be dead." Draco spun on his heel, gulping. Or worse, become Voldemorts new horcrux.

"Dobby is not to blame, sir. Master would not listen to Dobby." the tiny creature held his ground, though clearly intimidated with Draco's angry accusations.

He gave the house elf a brisk nod, breaking into another run back the way he came. A million possibilities of who could have been attacked leached into his thoughts. The obvious, and most desired, target would be Harry Potter. But that was too conspicuous, and admittedly a very stupid move, to attack Harry Potter when he had a band of Aurors basically trailing him everywhere he went. Perhaps the target was a member of the so-famed Golden Trio. Perhaps a random student. Or…Or maybe Voldemort had finally found out that Draco was mole in his bunch and decided to obliterate the entire Slytherin house as punishment.

You're being ridiculous, he told himself. Lord Voldy wouldn't obliterate the entire Slytherin house; they being his biggest pool of new recruits. Trained in the finest art of pureblood racism, wealthy family ideals and human superiority, they fit the pre-requisites needed to become a deatheater perfectly. Hell, even Draco would never be able to look eye to eye with mudbloods or creatures and treat them as equals. It would never be in his nature.

He reached the heavy doors, leaning his forehead against the cool wood and letting his breathing and erratic heartbeats return to a somewhat more normal pace.

He pushed the doors open, making as much noise he could muster. A dramatic message deserved a dramatic entrance. Especially for an equally dramatic Draco.

The blonde spotted Madame Pomfrey's wide back, obscuring a patient surrounded by other students. McGonagall stood at the foot of the bed, staring gravely at him.

"Mr. Malfoy. I was not expecting you."

"Headmaster, I need to tell you-"

Draco's stomach dropped to his boots when Madame Pomfrey stepped away. Potter, Granger and the she-Weasley sat around a still figure bearing a shock of red hair. It was Ron. Was he dead? Was he the target? Had he really not made it in time?

Ron was unnaturally still; though Draco suspected he was not dead else all hell would have broken loose. But there was something off about his coloring. It was like he was almost translucent. He could see every blue vein running up his arms and neck, like an intricate webbing that would tear at the lightest touch. And a light sheen of white crystals dusted his hair and exposed skin even though the room was a tad too warm for comfort.

Draco almost snorted right then and there. Here he was, worrying that the name of Slytherin was destroyed, and there wasn't even anybody dead. Ron was one of the many annoying prats he had the pleasure of taunting endlessly the first few years, and honestly, Draco didn't care much that he was here in the Hospital Wing. He had more important things to think about.

"I'm afraid, Draco, that will have to wait." McGonagall broke the silence in which Draco was staring at Ron and everybody else was staring back at him. She turned back to the fallen Weasley, frowning. "There's been an attack."

Draco closed his eyes. McGonagall's words confirmed his fears. He was too late. Again. If it wasn't Ron, then who?

"Casualties?" he asked, calmly, carefully. He noted a flicker of movement from Hermione as he said it.

Ah, so a Gryffindor, then.

But it was Harry who stood up to address Malfoy. "Did you know about this?" A hint of quiet rage sharpened his words.

"I came back to warn the Professors of a possible…outburst."

"Well you sure took your bloody time, didn't you?" A slightly unsteady feminine voice that dripped with venom replied.

Draco looked at the Granger, a bit taken aback. Miss goody two-shoes, head girl, insufferable know-it-all was sassing him? What exactly had happened to Ron? Maybe he was the target. The Malfoy felt a bit confused. If it was Ron, why wasn't he dead? Where was the blood, the gore, the tiny pinky finger left behind?

"I hardly think it was my fault whatever happened to your boyfriend." Draco gave a good long drawl that he knew would infuriate the brunette.

Hermione was standing up now. She stalked towards to him every bit of a Gryffindor lioness, tossing her mane back with an irritated flick.

"Of course it was your fault, Malfoy." she spat. "You knew someone would get cursed tonight, and you just dilly-dallied around until it could actually happen."

Draco clenched his fists. "I came here as soon as I could, Granger."

"Well, your definition for 'as soon as possible' isn't good enough, is it?"

"Oh, so what is this then? A spelling test?"

"For goodness sake," Hermione's voice turned shrill and loud. "Ron's basically a fucking snowman, as good as dead, because you just decided that protecting Gryffindors wasn't on your to-do list today."

"What you mean," he snarled, "Is that you weren't strong enough to protect that sniveling Weasel. Why weren't you with him, then, huh? I'm sure you could have protected the both of you adequately from a Deatheater." Malfoy lowered his voice and leaned in close to her ear, whispering so only she could hear him.

"And so that makes it your fault, mudblood. Not mine."

Hermione flinched, and Draco leaned away, somewhat satisfied with the plain look of hurt adorning her face.

"McGonagall, I need to speak with you later." he said, piling the politeness on rather thickly. He ignored the emerald daggers of Harry's eyes, and the glassy ones of Hermione's. If they had a problem with him, he didn't care and they would have to deal with it. "I'll leave to your…angst."

Draco turned away, feeling slightly sick. It was the second time he had failed in a matter of weeks. Even though it was just Ron, he didn't want to be discharged from the Order of Phoenix. He needed the help they could offer him. The blonde took a step to the door, fully aware that everyone, excluding Ron, was staring at him and his cold-heartedness. He smiled bitterly. That was what being Draco Malfoy was all about, wasn't it? And he was doing a damn well job of that at least.

"Hey, Malfoy." Hermione called.

Draco half-turned, exasperated.

"What-"

SMACK

A jarring noise resounded off the sterile white walls of the infirmary.

Draco's cheek burned in an outline of the Granger's hand, his mouth open in a state of shock and humiliation.

And Hermione strode past him, slamming the door behind her.

What do you think? Don't worry, there will be happier times ahead ;)

Anyways, please review! It makes my day (or I guess, nighttime right now), and I appreciate any feedback.

TBellewithLurve: yup, she's an evil evil woman...which is why she's such a fantastic character :) You'll have to find out the rest!