Harry Potter 1. The Betrayal

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I don't Harry Potter...darn JK for coming up with the idea first! But thanks to her for letting me play with them! **

_A/N: This is my first fan fiction, so please, let me know what you think! I'm going to try and keep everyone in character and stay true to the books the best I can, but if I mess up at all, feel free to let me know! Thank you, and don't forget to R&R! :)_

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><p><strong>A Chance for Revenge<strong>

**Chapter 1: **The Betrayal

Draco stared into the slightly cracked and dusty mirror, discouraged to find a haggard looking man with unkempt platinum blonde hair and pale skin stare back. There were purple circles under the red rimmed grey eyes, accompanied by sunken cheeks and a slight five o'clock shadow, emphasizing the sharp planes of his once regal face.

He averted his gaze from his reflection, too disgusted to look any longer, and instead studied his clothing. The steel blue sweater was ripped at the elbow of his right arm, and pieces of thread hung warily from the hem, threatening to completely unravel at any moment. His denim jeans were worn in the seat and the knees, while his black trainers were spattered with mud. At first he had tried to mend the clothing, but now it just seemed futile. It would rip within the day anyways, so why bother?

Weeks of sleeping on benches in Muggle parks and camping out in the woods had put him in this sorry state, eventually leading him to this shabby inn. The place was falling down in disrepair, with its broken windows and rotting wood, and it seemed to Draco that the place would collapse around him at any moment. It was a sketchy hovel that seemed to invite only the shadiest of drug dealers and the scummiest of prostitutes, although with his current appearance, Draco blended right in. With one last disapproving look in the mirror he walked out of the small, grimy bathroom and entered the dismal cupboard- like space that he was supposed to occupy.

The windows were coated with dirt, allowing only trace amounts of gloomy daylight to enter the room. A bare light bulb hung from the ceiling, accompanied by a tarnished metal chain and a few dense cobwebs, a constantly flickering light source that went out each time one of the heavily graffitied freight trains rumbled by on the tracks below. A small cot was pushed up against the cold stone wall, adorned with a rough wool blanket and a heavily stained pair of sheets and pillow, hard as a rock. Draco sighed, his dreary surroundings only adding to his bad mood. He missed the luxury of Malfoy Manner, with its plush furnishings, spacious rooms, and lush gardens overflowing with exotic plants, ponds, and albino peacocks that strut about displaying their stark white plumage. He missed the days during those first few years at Hogwarts, where he hadn't a goal or care in the world, other than to make that half-blood Potter's life miserable. But most of all he missed his parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, who currently were off hiding at one of their many estates, worrying over their only son's safety and survival.

Upon Voldemort's defeat, the surviving Death Eaters had scattered, desperately trying to erase all evidence of their connection to the Dark Lord. Most were unsuccessful, resulting in their capture, trial, and sentencing to life-long imprisonment in Azkaban, where their sanity would slowly be sucked away by the ever present Dementors. A lucky few had managed to escape this terrible fate, slipping into the shadows to buy their time and attempt to seamlessly assimilate into society. Many, known to be overzealous and deranged, continued to plot various ways of revenge against those who had turned against the Dark Lord during the Final Battle in order to save their own skins, such as the Malfoy family. Five years had passed and they were back for blood, working in highly secretive underground networks to track down and destroy all who they suspected to be traitors. They knew that their Lord had been killed by Harry Potter on that fateful day, and that this time, unlike the others, he would not be coming back. And yet, they could not seem to let go of what they thought to be their "glory days", and as a result felt the need to sanction revenge against all those who had not served the Dark Lord loyally, figuring that if they were going down, they would bring as many as they could down with them. Thus the Malfoys were in mortal danger. Draco was forced to part ways with his parents and go into hiding until the Aurors could finally apprehend the remaining Death Eaters and rid the Wizarding World of the last remains of the dark times.

Draco glanced about the filthy room, his steely eyes filled with loathing before dejectedly kicking off his old trainers and lying down on the cot, exhaustion taking over. His eyelids felt like lead and every muscle in his body screamed with fatigue. Before his head even hit the pillow he was asleep, his body thankful to once again be spending a night in a bed, no matter how hard or dirty.

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><p>"<em>Ronald Weasley. <em>How _DARE_ you!"

Hermione Granger stood in the doorway of Ron's old attic room of the Burrow, her hands clenched into fists and her entire body rigid. As she spoke her body shook in an effort to contain the anger punctuating the end of each word.

"Hermione, just- just please calm down! I can explain!" Ron desperately pleaded, frantically trying to placate with the seething bushy haired witch.

"No, I will _NOT _calm down! Are you really daft enough to believe that a simple explanation would fix this? That I would believe one word you had to say right now? That even if you could possibly have an explanation worthy enough to make sense of this whole situation, which I _highly_ doubt, it would be enough to just smooth things over!" Hermione hissed back, her voice steadily rising into a shout by the end of her exclamation.

Ron's face slowly grew redder with each sentence, passing from lightly sunburned to a deep tomato almost instantly.

"Mione…I was drunk! I didn't realize…" a Ron broke off, his light blue eyes widening in fear as the girl's chocolate brown ones narrowed, her full lips setting into a straight line. Her hair seemed to expand in front of his eyes, crackling with magic and fury as she took a step forward, cornering the second youngest Weasley against the wall.

"Oh, you didn't _realize_, did you? You didn't _realize_ that you were sliding into bed with that- that, whore?" she asked, her voice borderline hysterical as her hand instinctively reached for her back pocket, closing around the now familiar wand that once belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange. She had lost her own all those years ago and in desperation had claimed Bellatrix's as her own. Having it had made her feel dirty, contaminated, knowing that it had been used to murder and torture innocent Wizards and Muggles alike. She had meant to get rid of it, but for some reason she couldn't bring herself to. It gave her some comfort, helped her remember that the nightmares weren't real, and that the Dark Age was really over, despite how vivid the memories were. However, this was a whole new nightmare in itself.

"You told me that you two were over. That what you had at Hogwarts was just a fling. That the whole time you were just unaware of your feelings for me. You said you never meant to hurt me, that we should just forget about the whole thing, because really, and I quote 'I could never feel for someone else the way I feel for you'," Hermione spat at the trembling red head, her fingers still posed in sarcastic air quotes.

"And I meant it Hermione! That is the truth, I love you!" At this Hermione snorted a derisive laugh and turned on her heel, "You should have thought of that while you were fucking that tart Lavender Brown, then, shouldn't you have?"

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><p>Three redheads sat around a worn kitchen table, mugs in hand, as they stared at each other wide-eyed, their knuckles white from the fierce grip on their worn china cups. They had been listening to Hermione and Ron's argument with interest, wondering what the source of the disparity was this time. They had figured that it was just another stupid spat over Ron leaving his socks lying about their flat, or Hermione spending too many late nights at the Ministry, working on the ever growing stack of case files that seemed to double each time a suspected Death Eater was caught. It was incredible that after all these years Aurors could still be finding them, no one having realized just how far and wide Voldemort's hold really was.<p>

"Ron has really mucked everything up this time, eh?" George asked, his tone full of disdain for his younger brother's actions.

"He just ruined the best thing that's ever happened to him," Charlie agreed, disbelief and pity mingling in his voice.

"I'll kill him," Ginny growled as she stood up and slammed her mug onto the wooden table, causing the dark brown liquid to slosh over the rim. Her dark brown eyes swam with anger, causing George and Charlie to glance nervously at each other. Despite the girl's small frame and pretty face, anyone who knew her was smart enough to be fearful of her infamous Weasley temper, something that she, along with her brothers, had acquired to match their fiery red hair. That, accompanied with the fact that she had taken out hoards of Death Eaters during the Second War and had mastered a fiercely accurate Bat- Bogey Hex, was enough to deter anyone from trying to mess with Ginny Weasley.

At that moment a door slammed upstairs, followed by the pounding of feet as they hurried down the stairs, the worn wood groaning and squeaking in protest. A livid Hermione appeared in front of them, her bushy brown hair sticking out in all directions and her chocolate brown eyes glazed over, holding back the tears that threatened to spill at any moment. Her chest was heaving and her face was bright red, a scowl tugging the corners of her mouth downward.

"Give this back to your git of a brother," she said, her voice cracking as she pulled the small diamond off of her left ring finger and deposited it onto the table, a lump forming in her throat. Her mouth was suddenly dry and she felt her hands begin to shake. She needed to leave now, before she broke down, because once she did, she wouldn't be stopping any time soon.

"G- Ginny, will you come by the flat and p- pick up _his_ things tomorrow? I- I can't see him again s- so soon.", Hermione choked out, tears beginning to fall freely from her eyes now. Ginny nodded, her small hands curling into fists as she watched her closest girlfriend in pain. Ron was going to pay for this, Ginny just hadn't figured out how yet. That didn't matter though, because George seemed equally as angry as Ginny felt, and with one of the most notorious pranksters since the Marauders at her side, things at the Burrow were about to become very interesting.

Hermione gave her friend a watery smile before waving the trio a silent goodbye. She flew out the front door and ran down the driveway beyond the security permitter. With a crack she had disappeared, the uncomfortable sensation of Apparation overwhelming her and stealing the breath from her lungs. With a thud Hermione landed in the bedroom of her and Ron's flat. An anguished sob escaped her lips as she dropped onto the bed and buried her face into a pillow, shutting out the light of the fading twilight along with the pain of her broken heart.


	2. A Chance Encounter

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter, and most likely never will. Maybe someday I'll win the lottery and be able to buy it...? Only a thought.**

_Sorry that it took me so long to update, between the start of school and work my life has been a bit mental thus far. I'll try to update once a week if not more. This chapter is a bit longer than the last in an attempt to make it up to you lovely readers! Thank you to everyone who took the time to review, add this story to your alerts and even add it to your favorites! I really appreciate it! _

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><p><strong>A Chance For Revenge<strong>

**Chapter 2:**_ The Chance Encounter_

Draco's steel gray eyes snapped open, his blankets and clothing drenched in a cold sweat. A twinge of foreboding sent a shiver down his spine as he cautiously glanced about the room, taking in his surroundings. Silvery moonlight filtered in through the small window, casting ominous shadows along the floor and walls, adding to the uneasiness that was now twisting his stomach into knots. Draco stood up slowly and slid his feet into his trainers, tightening the grip on his wand. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, although he couldn't quite place what it was.

He swore quietly under his breath as realization dawned on him. He had forgotten to place his protective enchantments and set the Intruder Charm before falling into a deep slumber. It had become a ritual of sorts, but it seemed that in his exhaustion he had foregone safety for sleep. A creak sounded outside the thin door, causing Draco to nearly jump out of his skin.

"Oh, Draco! We know you're in there!" a low voice sing-songed. The soft lamplight that had been flooding in under the door was suddenly blotted out as the bronze handle slowly began to twist. Like in a horror movie the platinum blonde was frozen to the spot, his hands shaking as he slowly raised his wand towards the door. His vast knowledge of defensive spells was suddenly wiped from his mind, fear overtaking his entire body. They had finally found him. He was about to die. And all because he had been a lazy prat and forgotten to ensure his safety with a few simple protective enchantments.

The door swung open, revealing five large hooded figures, their wands all pointed at him. "Draco, how you have slipped. You made this whole capture _entirely_ too easy. Not even a single Caterwauling Charm. What would your _dear_ father say?" the lead Death Eater asked, his voice quiet and mocking.

"Don't talk about my father," Draco growled, his fear beginning to ebb away, replaced by a white hot anger in the pit of his stomach, "unless you would like me to slit your throat."

The Death Eaters merely began to laugh, a scornful snigger that sounded much like his late uncle Rodolphus Lestrange's. He shuddered involuntarily, memories of his dark childhood flooding back to him in waves.

"My dear boy, you are in no position to make threats. You see, there are five of us, and one of you," the man explained patiently, as if he was talking to a young child. The cloaked figures began to circle Draco slowly, menacingly, as if trying to intimidate him into submission.

"Well, I'll just have to take you all out, won't I?" Draco asked, his lips curling into his signature self-confident smirk. With a flick of his wand one of the Death Eaters was sent flying back against the wall, landing hard against the wooden floor with a solid thud. The remaining four roared in outrage, lunging forward without a second's hesitation. Draco instinctively ducked as flashes of green and purple soared over his head. The rogue spells smashed into the walls, sending chunks of stone tumbling down to earth. The blonde added his own spells to the mix, jets of red light and the silver of shielding charms appearing in the dusty air.

The crumpled bodies of four of the Death Eaters lay scattered about, although unconscious or dead Draco could not be sure. He began to relax, thinking that it was over when suddenly he felt the cool tip of a wand pressed against his back. He spun around to find the ridiculously muscular man from before sneering down at him, an eager glint in his cold black eyes.

"The game is up, boy. Obviously your proclaimed skills are a bit lacking," he mocked, the excitement of a potential kill rolling off of him in waves. Draco gulped audibly, his heart frantically pounding against his lean chest as his mind raced through the various options and escape plans he had concocted specifically for situations such as these, all of which seemed utterly impossible at the moment. His body suddenly relaxed as the answer came to him. It was so obvious that it was almost painful.

"Not quite," Draco smirked. With a final look he began to turn, his mind focusing on the one place that he would be safe. The Death Eater roared in indignation at his prey's actions. He would not let the arrogant blonde escape again, not after he was so close to capturing him. In an act of desperation the Death Eater reached out, grabbing the corner of Draco's worn sweater just as the boy disappeared.

His breath caught in his throat as he was pulled through time and space. His ribs felt as they were being crushed and every nerve in his body went numb, the blackness consuming him entirely. Draco could feel the weight of the bulky Death Eater against his side, but at that moment he couldn't fully register what it was. His feet finally hit solid ground, feeling coming back to him in waves. A sharp pain ripped through his chest, black dots erupting against his vision. Draco staggered backwards, his eyes squinting to focus on the huddled mass before him. The Death Eater was out cold and thankfully would remain so until an Auror found him.

After the end of the Second Great Wizarding War, the newly elected Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken it upon himself to cast a Fidelius Charm around the heart of London where the Ministry building was located in an attempt to stop the remaining Death Eaters from once again taking control of the Ministry in an act of sheer desperation. All those who were known as wanted criminals were denied access and effectively knocked unconscious if they entered the area, effectively allowing their capture and imprisonment. It was a highly efficient and ultimately danger free way of apprehending the wanted, as well as preventing any further acts of terror on the Ministry, allowing those who had survived the war to breathe a sigh of relief. They had had enough danger to last them a lifetime and they certainly weren't in the mood to go looking for more so soon after Voldemort's defeat.

Draco began to walk, his breathing becoming shallow and ragged as pain racked his body once again. He put a hand to his chest, wondering what the source of his agony was. Warm, sticky red liquid made contact with the pale skin of his hands, making his eyes widen in surprise. He lowered his hand, regarding it with surprise before glancing down at his chest. The front of his sweater was stained deep red with blood, starting at the center of his chest and quickly spreading outward. Draco turned down an alley, his mind becoming foggy as he slumped down against the brick wall of a building. He could barely make out the rosy fingers of dawn that were slowly expanding along the horizon, heralding the oncoming sun. The world began to go black, his pain fading as his eyes fluttered shut and his head came to rest on his shoulder.

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><p>Hermione slowly opened her eyes, the bleating of her wand on her cherry bedside table jarring her awake. Her slender fingers reached across the bed to her left, surprised to find no warm flesh there. She sat up quickly, wildly glancing around the room as her frizzy curls bounced around her head in a chaotic dance. The memories of the night before came rolling back, her big chocolate eyes once again filling with tears. She roughly wiped them away before shoving off her duvet and climbing out of bed, a scowl forming on her full, pink lips. She'd had enough wallowing in self-pity. She had spent almost the entire night crying her heart out, and that was all that Ronald Weasley was going to get.<p>

"_It's a new day. Enough of this_ moping," she thought to herself as she crossed the room and wrenched back the soft gold curtains to reveal the pale pink morning sky above. She opened the window, allowing the cool breeze to wash over her, drying the few stray tears from her cheeks before turning around and heading for the bathroom.

She turned the shower on as hot as it could go, letting the water run over her in rivulets, cleansing her flesh of any remains of her former fiancé. She got out and dressed quickly, opting for a soft gray skirt and deep green V-neck sweater instead of her usual uniform of trousers and a button-down. Although she had never been very into fashion whilst growing up, her mum had always told her that looking good was feeling good. She had thought it superficial at the time, but she had come to the realization that when her mascara cost 17 pounds, no one was worth ruining it.

Hermione left her bushy brown hair down, transforming the frizzy mess into soft waves with the help of a quarter of a tube of Sleakeasy.

"_At least there's still one thing that I can rely on,"_ she thought to herself as she put the finishing touches on her wild mane. The brunette made her way out of the bathroom and towards the door, snatching up her black leather briefcase off the coffee table as she went. After slipping on a pair of black heels she was out the door and down the narrow stairwell that led to her flat.

Deciding against her usual method of Apparation Hermione took to the sidewalk, joining the crowd of sullen Muggles as they made their way to their various jobs. They all looked miserable, dragging their feet and mumbling to themselves about how unfair their lives were or wondering aloud about what tedious tasks their bloody boss would assign them today. The depression of the working class was infectious, and Hermione could not help but feel that she fit right in. Her thoughts remained dismal as she contemplated the events of the previous evening. She simply couldn't seem to wrap her head around Ron's cheating. What had she done wrong? It wasn't like she denied his advances, and although she had been working late recently, she had always tried to give him as much attention as she could, no matter how exhausted she was. Did Ron ever really get over Lavender? Did he ever really love Hermione at all, or did their relationship just progress because it was what everyone expected from them?

With her legs on autopilot she slowly navigated her way down the street, her mind replaying every fight that she had had with her fiancé, dissecting the cause, analyzing their reactions, and scrutinizing their apologies. She went over Ron's recent behavior, trying to find anything out of the ordinary to pinpoint the exact time that the infidelity had begun. Hermione knew it was useless and that it wouldn't change anything, but she had to know what the cause was. That was how she was. She needed knowledge like others needed air. She needed to learn from her mistakes so she would never make them again. Most of all, she needed a sense of closure, and without all of the details, no matter how painful, she could not move on.

Hermione looked up, surprised to find how close she was to the woman's loo entrance to the Ministry. The half an hour commute had seemed to fly by and she relished the thought of getting to her office and tucking into her work, a nice six hour distraction from the woes of her personal life. She stepped forward and placed the palm of her hand on the knob when a flash of blonde caught her eye. Hermione stopped for a second and tilted her head, leaning to the right to get a better view of what she had just seen. An impatient "he hem" sounded from behind her, sending a chill running down her spine. Memories of the toad faced witch with the bright pink bows flashed through her mind's eye. She quickly shoved those memories aside, knowing that Umbridge was in Azkaban and would not be released anytime soon.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered to the tall, raven haired witch behind her before quickly stepping aside and turning the corner. A pale blonde man sat slumped against the dirty brick wall, the front of his blue gray sweater tinged dark brown with dried blood. The brunette gasped and ran forward, concern and confusion mingling on her face. Recognition flashed in her chocolate brown eyes as she kneeled down in front of the figure and placed her slender hand against his wrist, searching for a pulse.

"Malfoy?"


	3. The Weasel in Weasley

**Author's Note: Hey guys, so it's definitely been a while (*cough cough* four years) and I am SO sorry about that. But, on the bright side, I decided to take this story off hiatus! I'm super excited about this, I even wrote up an outline (alright, it's pretty vague, but I'm trying!) which is something I normally don't do, and probably why I'm never able to finish my stories. So, I cannot guarantee frequent updates (hey, at least I'm being ****honest!), but I PINKY PROMISE that I will finish this. And as soon as I do that, I will be on to my other story "Something That Rhymes With Witch"! I'm extremely excited about that one as well (sorry about my shameless promotion). I just wanted to say thank you to anyone who is reading this, especially those who favorited this and are returning after the crazy long hiatus. I want to apologize and thank you from the bottom of my heart! And to those of you just starting, you're awesome as well. Please, feel free to review and tell me what you like, dislike, or anything you would like to see happen! I'm totally open to suggestions and constructive criticism. Last thing, I promise- I updated the first two chapters- nothing major, but if you need a refresher (who are we kidding, you totally do, I even did) make sure to check those out. Okay, I'm done, sorry about the long author's note. I hope you guys enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not Rowling.**

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><p><strong>A Chance For Revenge<strong>

**Chapter Three:** _The Weasel in Weasley_

"Malfoy?!" Hermione exclaimed, confusion and surprise melting together in her falsetto.

She knelt down in front of the slouched man and gently brushed his wheat colored fringe from his eyes, attempting to gain a better view of his face. His skin was ashen and there were dark circles marring the delicate skin around his closed lids. His cheeks were almost hollow, giving him a skeleton-like appearance and making his sharp cheekbones even more prominent. His skin was feverish to the touch and his breathing shallow, his chest humming with the difficulty of each breath.

Harsh _cracks_ began to fill the air and voices could be heard in the distance, disturbing the former silence of the pre-dawn world. Hermione panicked and with a quick glace behind her made a split decision. Without hesitation she grabbed the thin arm of the befallen man before her, and with a quick intake of breath sent them both spinning into oblivion.

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><p>A pale golden light filled the room, filtering from behind the gossamer curtains lightly billowing in the breeze. He squinted his eyes against the light, a sharp pain zinging through the back of his head as he did so.<p>

"Bugger," he mumbled as he dragged a calloused hand across his eyes and down his face in a half hazard attempt to block the faint light.

Draco heaved a sigh and attempted to sit up, but was deterred when a dull throbbing ripped through his abdomen. With an intake of breath he slowly looked down to survey the damage. Wrapped around his bare stomach was stark white gauze, tinged a dark brown toward the center. Confusion clouded his memory- what had happened? And more importantly, where was he?

A slight panic began to creep over him, tightening his chest and his throat as his eyes whipped around the room, struggling to take in his surroundings. The wall to his left was covered in a floor to ceiling bookshelf, each shelf completely full of different colored spines glinting in the midmorning light. Overflowing with volumes, books were waywardly stacked atop each other, each stack more precarious than the next. Glancing to his left, he noticed the other wall was littered with picture frames of different sizes and shapes, all fit neatly together as if pieces of a puzzle. Some of the pictures moved, the occupants waving and beaming down from their frames, while others curiously sat still, the moment permanently captured in complete tranquility.

Although Draco knew that this was the Muggle way of photography, it was not often that he had seen both mobile and immobile pictures placed together in such harmony. It was an odd sight, but not completely unheard of. Rather, it seemed to represent the changing outlook of the Wizarding community as more time passed since the War. At one point Draco would have scoffed at the progress being made, his teenage mind clouded by the propaganda and Muggle hate that poisoned the hearts of the Pureblood supporters of the once Dark Lord. However, times had changed. When his family had abandoned the cause at the Last Battle, he had abandoned his previous convictions as well. At the time he had believed that these ideas were not worth risking his life over, but the past five years in hiding had afforded him plenty of time to think. Not only did he realize that these views were archaic, hateful, and just plain wrong, but he also realized that his own belief in them had never been resolute. These ideals instilled in him from an early age were not his own, but rather the product of his misled parents. He knew that they cared about him and their intentions had never been to put him in danger, but the very core beliefs of the Lestrange and Malfoy families that his parents had followed to the letter were the exact reason his childhood was wrought with darkness and hate. He had realized that he simply did not care about Muggles or Purebloods or Halfbloods or whatever other silly titles the "elite" ascribed to those thought to be less superior, because when it came down to it, it was wrong. Blood purity was merely a fabrication created by those who aspired to maintain a purely superficial status in the Wizarding World, and he had met many powerful witches and wizards during his time at Hogwarts to prove this tenfold- he had just been too blind at the time to see the proof right in front of him.

Not only did he now hold these convictions to be true, but when it came down to it, he simply did not care about others when his only focus was survival. People could live their lives however they pleased, because the reality of it was that it just did not affect him. It may have been selfish, but Draco frankly did not give a flying Hippogriff's arse about what other people thought, if people even thought about him anymore at all. The only people who knew he was in hiding were his parents, and he hadn't spoken to them in at least six months. All of his old friends, if you could even call them that, from his Slytherin years, were locked up, dead, or in the same predicament he currently found himself in. It was a miserably lonely life, but Draco was no longer the same self-centered brat he had been at Hogwarts, and he realized his past actions had consequences, for which he was now paying.

Draco, lost in his thoughts, continued to blankly stare at the wall of photographs. Blinking, he shook his head a little, attempting to clear the muddle of thoughts overtaking his brain. He was still extremely sensitive to the light and a long stream of consciousness was not exactly helping his headache. Instead he began to examine the photographs in an attempt to figure out where in Merlin's name he was, his eyes growing wider as they bounced from frame to frame. Recognition slowly pierced through his clouded conscious and he bit back a soft groan as he leaned back into the pillows propped up behind him.

"Good Godric," he mumbled to himself, "I must be at Granger's."

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><p>After Apparating back to her flat with Draco in tow, Hermione immediately began to bustle about, reveling in the distraction at hand. She had levitated the unconscious man into her room, settling him comfortably in her bed and tending to the splinch that had taken a good chunk out of his abdomen. "<em>It was a good thing he was already unconscious, or he surely would have passed out from the pain<em>," Hermione thought to herself, recalling the way the skin around the wound had hissed and effervesced as she had applied the essence of Dittany to it. With a quick flick of her wand the skin had neatly sewn itself shut, leaving a thin pink scar that trailed from just above his left hip up the center of his chest. She had wrapped the wound in gauze to ensure Malfoy would not upset the stitches and tucked him into her bed.

She had then set about collecting Ron's miscellaneous belongings throughout the flat, struggling to keep her emotions in check as she did so. The past twelve hours had been an emotional rollercoaster that did not seem to be ending any time soon. She flashed between extreme anger, dismay, disappointment, dejection, and right back to anger with milliseconds in between. Although keeping busy helped, each object she picked up represented some memory, a time when they were actually happy and in love, or so she thought. But all of that had come crashing down on her last night, in the Burrow of all places.

It was a typical Sunday dinner, with the entire Weasley family as well as honorary members in attendance, as demanded by Molly. The War had taken its toll on the family, and since it ended Mrs. Weasley had gone about picking up the pieces and healing the still smarting wounds in a way she knew how- with food, warmth, and laughter. Fred's death left a gaping hole that could not be filled, however Percy was welcomed back with open arms, and the occasional appearance of Lee Jordan helped the Band-Aid stay in place.

Ron had been acting strangely the entire evening- he only spoke when spoken to, he barely touched his food (something very uncharacteristic for Ronald Weasley, who was normally onto seconds before everyone else had settled in), and he would not stop fidgeting in his seat, despite the strange looks thrown at him by everyone at the table.

After dinner was finished he had shot out of his seat like a rocket, pulling Hermione up the stairs and to his old bedroom. He had claimed the guilt was "eating him alive" and he was "so, so sorry Hermione" and that it was "the biggest mistake of his life" and that surely it would "never happen again".

Hermione took a deep breath as she tried to hold back the tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes and onto her flushed cheeks. She was determined not to cry over Ron, but she couldn't help but feel betrayed, and that was what hurt the most. After all they had gone through together, over a decade of friendship and what she had thought was love, destroyed in a single thoughtless act. What made it worse was that Ron had been her first love, and the only man she had ever been with. But if he had never loved her, as the situation seemed to hint to, then the past six years had one big lie. A sham. If that was the case, then what was love? And the bigger question: would she ever be able to really experience it?

Hermione shook her head and wiped her face. Getting over Ronald was not going to be easy, but it had to be done. She stood up straight, rolled her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and with a deft wave of her wand, summoned all of Ron's belongings from every corner of the house into the living room. With a swish everything neatly packed itself into four large cardboard boxes and slid over to the front door in anticipation of Ginny's arrival later in the day.

She turned back to the kitchen to ready some food for Draco- not only was he severely injured, but he also looked extremely emaciated. She paused in the doorway, glancing back at the boxes with a small smile slowly tugging at the corners of her mouth. Pulling open the nearest drawer, Hermione grabbed a thick black magic marker and strode across the room toward Ron's possessions. A few moments later, accompanied by a few squeaks of the marker, Hermione had written across the top of the box in big loopy letters: '_To the boy who puts the "weasel" into Weasley. Here are you things_.'

With a satisfied smile, Hermione capped the marker. "Well, if I'm going to have Malfoy around, there's no harm in bringing back some of his old insults."


	4. Through the Looking Glass

**A/N: An update twice in one week?! Whaaaattt? Yes folks, your eyes are not deceiving you- this is totally real. What a shock, right? It's a bit of a shock to me too, but I suppose this is what happens when you have a two and a half hour flight, followed by an hour layover and another hour and a half long connecting flight. What helped even more was the lady who sat next to me who looked suspiciously like how Neville Longbottom's grandmother was described in the books- best inspiration ever (once I stopped giggling to myself that is). I just wanted to personally thank everyone who has read this so far- all of the emails informing me of all the favorites/follows that this story has received have had me bouncing out of my seat (there also may have been some tears, don't judge, I'm just excited). You guys are honestly my motivation to continue this and I promise not to let you down. HUGE shoutout to my two reviewers CarlitaM and whippedcreamqueen (love the name)- thank you guys so much for taking the time to review, it seriously means the world to me! You both yelled at me not to take another four years to update which I find hysterical, so this one is for you guys! Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Not Rowling (so very sad about this).**

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><p><strong>A Chance For Revenge<strong>

**Chapter Four: **_Through the Looking Glass_

Or

_"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."_

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><p>Almost as if on cue, a soft knock sounded on the white oak door. The knob twisted and Draco's knuckles immediately whitened around the sheet, a sudden terror clenching at his lungs, causing each breath to become shallow and strained. Memories of the night previous washed over him- the fear that gripped him as the knob slowly turned, the anticipation of his almost assured death sitting on his chest like a thirty-pound brick. In that moment, Draco had experienced a horror like no other: the very real possibility of a slow and horrible death at the hands of people who held a vendetta like no other, and were extremely versed in the art of torture. But it was not only that. Draco could handle pain- his childhood had been riddled with it, both physically and emotionally. No, it was the knowledge that he would die, and that not a single person on earth would care. In fact, they would be glad to see him go, just another warped ex-Death Eater careening into the pits of Hell. Out of sight and out of mind. Not a single person would mourn him for who he truly was. His mother would be distraught of course, but she would be upset at the idea of losing her son, her pride and joy. The one who had blindly followed Voldemort and his radical bigotry in an attempt to be the son he was supposed to be. Not a single person would truly mourn Draco Malfoy, because no one had ever actually known him. And how easy had that been, as Draco honestly did not even know himself.<p>

The door opened a crack, and Hermione's head poked through the opening, a look of guarded concern shading her features. Draco's hands immediately loosened their grip, the anxiety of the night before slowly draining from his body. However, there was not a moment to relax, as Draco visibly gawked at the woman hovering in the doorframe, silhouetted in the soft light filtering from behind the golden curtains framing the windows.

Gone was the bushy brown hair, replaced instead with long, glossy chestnut ringlets that reflected almost caramel in the midmorning light. Thick, stern brows drew immediate attention to dark intelligent eyes that sparkled brown and copper around the iris. Despite being lightly tinged with red around the edges, her stare suggested neither sadness nor hurt, but instead worry and curiosity. Her rosy lips were quirked in a soft smile, unsure yet open. But this was not what drew Draco's attention. Loath to admit it as he would have been in his Hogwarts years, he had always known on some level that Hermione was pretty. There was something different about her demeanor, however, that had Draco reeling. She no longer stood with an air of constructed confidence, carefully concealing the slight slump to her shoulders that suggested a fortified dam of self-doubt and a fear of rejection. Instead, her body reflected a poise and grace only achieved by true self-assurance and conviction. Draco did not miss, however, the slight tension in her shoulders, most likely developed from defensive skills developed in the war. There was something else as well- a slight tremor in her hand, the cause of which he could not figure before she balled it into a fist, effectively silencing the movement.

Hermione cautiously took a step into the room, leaving the door ajar behind her.

"Erm, well, I'm glad to see you're awake," she said with a tinge of awkwardness as she hovered near the edge of the bed.

Her soft voice shook Draco out of his silent appraisal of the now fully matured witch in front of him.

"Yes…" Draco trailed off, his quicksilver eyes flicking around the small room, desperate to look anywhere but the witch in front of him. Not only was the situation extremely awkward in itself, for Merlin's sake he had awoken in Granger's _bed_. She was the one person who probably despised him more than Harry Potter and Ron Weasley combined, and rightly so, as he had tormented her beginning early on in their Hogwarts years for her supposed possession of "dirty blood". But not only that, she was being friendly. And why? He didn't deserve that, and he was uncomfortably aware of this fact.

Hermione tilted her head, her dark eyes carefully regarding Draco. He squirmed, feeling as if her gaze could read his thoughts, could pinpoint the guilt churning his stomach into knots.

With a deep breath, Draco morphed the planes of his face into a neutral expression and sat up, quickly unwrapping himself from the cocoon of covers in which he was so tightly swathed.

"Right then, well thank you for your hospitality, but I best be on my way," he muttered as he attempted to stand up. "_I need to get out of here_," he thought to himself in panic. A sharp pain ripped through his abdomen as soon as his feet touched the ground, snatching the air from his lungs. Doubling over, he gasped in pain as blood began to soak through the white gauze wrapped around his chest.

Hermione rushed forward, gently pushing him back on the bed. "Oh no you don't, Malfoy. Now you've gone and torn the stitches. You won't be going anywhere for a while."

Draco uneasily complied, his skin burning where her cool hands pressed upon his shoulders.

"Bugger, I'm sorry. I just…why are you…what even happened…?" He mumbled, his questions running together in an incomprehensible muddle.

Hermione's smile widened, clearly taking amusement in Draco's flustered state. "So, the cool, calm, and collected Draco Malfoy has lost his edge, has he?" She asked with a good natured mocking smirk as she confidently took a seat on the edge of the bed.

Draco's confusion only grew. Who was this witch in front of him, and had happened to the uptight, snarky, know-it-all Granger he had known back at Hogwarts?

"I suppose five years on the run with minimal human interaction can really destroy someone's social skills," he said as he roughly dragged his palms across his face in an attempt to rid himself of some of the confusion pressing on him like a weight.

Hermione's eyebrows shot upward, wrinkling her forehead in surprise. "Five years?" she repeated, slightly stunned. "But why? The Ministry decided to grant amnesty to ex-Death Eaters who did not join Voldemort in his last stand."

"Right, well, that "show of good faith" also included seizing the family estate, stock holdings, and freezing our Gringotts accounts. But that's beside the point," he added with a sigh. "Many of those ex-Death Eaters the Ministry _so wisely_ granted amnesty to," Draco began with a sneer, "have formed an underground network that singles out those that they believe did not serve the Dark Lord loyally. It's a pathetic act of desperation in my opinion, and because of them I have been forced to go underground myself. I don't quite fancy losing my head to one of those neurotic half-wits," Draco spat out, his frustration getting the better of him.

"Why haven't you gone to the Ministry with this information? Surely they…" Hermione was cut off by a derisive snort from Malfoy.

With the lift of a single silvery brow, Hermione knew Draco was right. The Ministry had nothing to gain from helping Malfoy. Not only that, but many employees, despite the overreaching amnesty policy, would love to know that he had been essentially homeless for the past five years, bouncing from hovel to hovel, penniless and pathetic.

"Well then, I suppose we shall just have to fix that," Hermione stated, a sudden twinkle in her eye at the prospect of a new project. Any distraction from her current state of heartbreak was welcomed warmly and with open arms, and certainly helping Malfoy once again claim his assets and protect him from those who sought vengeance would not be an easy task.

Draco was taken aback. "_Did Granger just offer to help me…?_" he asked himself with uncertainty, confusion clearly etched upon his face.

Malfoy could not resist, and with bewilderment laced through his voice, he bluntly asked, "Granger, why in Merlin's name are you helping me?"

He watched her face as a pensive look took over the excited smile previous etched into her features. "I suppose its because ever since the War ended, I've felt as if I haven't been much use. Sure work at the Ministry has been steady, and we've rounded up more ex-Death Eaters than I can count, but when it comes down to it I'm trapped in a cubicle, filing forms and ordinances while others are out in the field capturing criminals. What difference am I making really, if any? So, when I saw you slumped in that alley, practically bleeding out from that awful splinch, it was the first time I actually felt as if I could be of use in Godric knows how long."

Draco still could not wrap his mind around the events of the past few hours, hard as he tried. "But I was a prat to you back in school. I practically spat on your very existence. I called you a em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"mudblood/em," he whispered, derision punctuating each syllable. "Not only that, I supported the very man who would have murdered you in cold blood given the chance. The loon who attempted to slaughter your best friend, based on a bloody prophecy. How can you sit here and act like this isn't completely bonkers?" His steely eyes searched Hermione's. People did not just selflessly reach out to someone like this, especially when that someone had supported a terrorist hell bent on killing them.

"Completely bonkers would be a good description of our current situation, I agree," Hermione said, the soft smile once again pulling at the corners of her lips. "Malfoy, you were an awful person five years ago. You were hurtful, cruel, pigheaded, and a proper spoiled brat," she began, a look of hurt flashing across her face as she recalled the insults hurled at her like knives all those years ago. "However, your statements just now prove that you are no longer that person. Something has happened recently that has made me realize that the past needs to stay in the past. Plus," she added with a smirk, "I would say we're even after I punched you back in third year."

"Right, thanks for that by the way. I think that was the beginning of my downward spiral into complete madness," Draco petulantly mumbled, his eyes trained on the maroon duvet.

Hermione suppressed a giggle, recognizing the self-deprecation behind his comment. Almost immediately, she froze, eyes wide. "_Did I just laugh at something Malfoy said? Better yet, was something he said actually funny?_" she questioned to herself. Things had certainly taken a turn for the bizarre in the past four hours.

"Draco, recognizing Hermione's sudden shift, smiled a little to himself. He never thought he would see the day when Hermione Granger would laugh at something he had said. Moreover, he never thought he would see the day when the two of them had an actual civil interaction. Draco settled further back into the pillows, allowing himself a brief reprieve as the awkward tension in the room began to dissipate. The slight shift, however, brought the searing pain crashing through his chest once again. He gasped, attempting to suppress the sudden intake of breath with a few wheezing coughs.

"Oh, Christ on a cracker," Hermione mumbled as she rushed forward, gently peeling the duvet back to inspect the wound, once again marred by petals of red. "You've really done it now, Malfoy," she tutted, gingerly unwrapping the gauze.

As Hermione set to work, Draco could not help but marvel at the confidence and skill in which she deftly mopped up the blood and reset the stitches. Only immense amounts of practice could lead to such proficiency, but after a year of hunting Horcruxes with Wonder Boy and Weasel, Draco was sure Hermione had had enough experience to rival that of a fully trained Healer. Her soft fingers flitted across his abdomen, sending chills up his spine and causing a gentle flush to erupt across his face. Although the situation was certainly unprecedented, he could not help but feel an unexpected comfort in her touch.

Hermione glanced up, her wide chocolate eyes making contact with his own, causing his flush to deepen. Seconds passed before Draco lightly cleared his throat, immediately breaking the connection.

"So, Granger," he began, a ghost of his signature smirk pulling the corner of his mouth upwards as he silently willed the redness in his cheeks to fade, "did you enjoy ripping my sweater from my prone form? It was a fantasy of every girl at Hogwarts you know."

Hermione's eyes widened, her expression flitting between disgust and amusement as a blush bloomed upon her cheeks. "You wish, Malfoy," she scoffed, her limbs gracelessly unfolding as she tried to remove herself from the bed, her discomfort evident.

Draco chuckled to himself as he watched Hermione clumsily make her way to the door.

"Granger," he called out as her hand grasped the porcelain handle. She turned, her eyes questioning. "Thank you," he said as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, "this is the last thing I would have expected, the last thing anyone would have expected really," he continued, his eyes once again tracing the stitching in the duvet, "and I just wanted you to know that I really do appreciate it."

Hermione nodded, a small smile gracing her lips. "You're welcome, Malfoy. Let's just try not to make this a habit, shall we?" she added before softly closing the door behind her.

Draco settled back into the pillows once more, his eyes suddenly heavy. Before he could think on the interaction further, he was already drifting into a deep sleep, the best he'd had in five long years.

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><p><strong>Thank you guys again! If you have a moment, please, please review! Questions, comments, criticisms, suggestions, things you would like to see happen…anything and everything is totally welcome!<strong>


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