"Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed. "You have to tell someone! Why does he do it?"

"All sorts of reasons," Draco answered darkly. "Anything from lying, to talking back, to cursing him and his friends_" Hermione interrupted him.

"I don't think I want to know," she said hurriedly. "So he only slapped you?"

Draco shrugged, his hands in his pockets; nonchalant. It wasn't the biggest deal to him, but if Hermione told someone, his father would straightaway be arrested.

"Malfoy?"

He didn't answer her.

"Malfoy!"

Again silence.

"Draco."

He caught his breath at the gentle tone. She'd used his name? He turned round to see an uncharacteristically soft look on her face. He spoke before she could.

"I don't want any pity from you, Granger," he said harshly, and suddenly felt himself close to tears. He guessed he'd never realised that what his father did was anything out of the ordinary. It was normal; it happened little and often: not that it didn't hurt; it was excruciating. But he didn't tell Hermione that. "It's not any of your concern what happens to me. You probably don't even care." He tried to convince himself that. Hermione's eyes were shining and watery, and Draco's egotistical self couldn't possibly think why. She didn't care, did she? No, she didn't, he told himself. "I don't even care what you think. It's my problem. No, it's not even a problem. It's normal for me, and I don't want you changing what I think is normal. Like that your kind are scum, and I shouldn't even be speaking to you right now." He seemed to be speaking to himself, not her. "Mother was right. I shouldn't. Your kindness is uncommon; and I only want what's common, to get through this."

She tried to take his wrist but he shook her off. His skin felt feverish the short time she touched it. Something was most definitely wrong. The last time she'd touched him, he'd been unbearably cold.

"You're not well," she said anxiously. "You're ill. You're stressed and tired, and you're not thinking straight."

"I am thinking straight," Draco growled, and for a moment he seemed to be like his old self. "I'm thinking how I must be delusional to be talking to someone like you."

Blaise rounded the corner, and took in the scene. His eyes went from Hermione, who was looking at Draco as if he was mental, and to Draco, who had just drawn his wand, and was pointing it at Hermione, and now Blaise too.

"What's happening?" Blaise cried. "Draco, what are you doing?"

"You!" Draco narrowed his eyes at Blaise, his wand now targeting his best friend. "You're working against me, aren't you? All of you, against me." His breath was ragged.

Blaise turned to Hermione. "What did you do?" He hissed.

"Nothing," she said through gritted teeth. "I think he's seriously ill. He wasn't like this before; he wasn't acting this strange. He's been avoiding me; we were almost friendly last year."