Okay, just review this again. Moderated slightly, but no plot change. Read!

Frost

The little white flakes swirled around the path in the old park near the cemetary. The faint sound of shoes, very expensive Italian leather shoes in fact, could be heard throughout the chill winter air. The young man of age twenty-three looked down at his shoes, his blonde hair falling into his crystal grey eyes. He fancied taking walks in the night, the purple-black sky filled with stars and a serene quiet comforted him to his very last fiber. He wasn't at all cold, even though he sported a black sweater and jeans. He could see he was the only one up, and his shoes were making fresh tracks in the snow.

Many times, he remembered, in his younger years he sat in his Manor's windowsill, blonde head pressed against the temper glass, looking at the snow. It fascinated him. The little flakes falling onto the road in the dark, making the area around his home peaceful looking, when in no state it could be called that. His dark grey eyes followed every flakes until it reached it's downfall on the wet and slippery ground.

He remembered growing up, living happily until age seven, when he had become dark. His father hated him, but treated him like gold around friendly faces, and threw him to dust behind closed doors. And at age eleven, when he was accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he himself had become like the snow. He had long since graduated from the school.

Back to the topic on hand. Snow. Fascinating yet cold. Although he knew himself well, he couldn't figure out the mystery behind snow. His mother, who cared for him very much, had once told him, "Draco dear, there is nothing mysterious about snow. It just covers up your tracks." But his mother had only confused him more, him only being six. But to this day he didn't understand. But he knew a bit more, that snow could be fun to play with, but for him, snow held some bad memories. When he was little, at this very park, he had built snowmen and made snowangels with a little boy. It turns out that he was a muggle, and his father had beaten him after he came home.

Concentrated on the snow, he felt something unusually shaped under his foot, and bent down to further investigate. He pulled up a hand, and immediately dropped it, shocked that he had picked it up. 'Maybe it was dettached,' He thought quickly. But his curiousity got the better of him, and decided to pulled more.

By it's hand, it looked like a girl, long slender fingers, extended nails. He pulled the rest of it up, finding it attached to a body. He flipped the girl over, looked at her. The snow had turned her face pale, and her constricted breathing didn't help. She had straight hair, curled into little ringlets near the end. She was wearing a white shirt and black skirt, but something else caught his eye. He looked around her neck, and there lay a red, pink, and yellow striped tie. Not just any striped tie, a Hogwarts crested striped tie. A Hogwarts crested Gryffindor striped tie. He could identify this person in a matter of minutes.

He tilted her head up, and in a flash, only one name came to mind. Hermione Granger. Normally, at this name, he would sneer and drop her, never to be found underneath the pallets of snow, but she had also redeemed his life at the war six years ago. She had cast a repelling charm when Death Eaters tried to kill him, and helped him to safety. He had heard that night, that she had been taken hostage and strangled, but her breathing body proved that wrong.

He shook her, shook her for a good five minutes, until her hazel eyes opened, and looked at his grey orbs in trepidation. She voiced his name, shattering his oh-so-comfortable silence. He decided to help her, at least in debt. He was never in debt, and there was a reason now he wanted her alive. To pay the debt. He gently lifted her from the ground, not feeling the icy coldness of her skin from lying in the snow, nor paying attention to the emotion flickering across the girl's face.

She told him everything. That she had been held in a special cell after them finding her alive. That she had been raped, tortured, and beaten senseless. But with the help of some crew members, she made it out alive, a few days ago, and found her way here. After being tired and hungry and held in that cell for five years, she couldn't find her way back, and lay here after her ankle gave out. He brought her to 's, walking there on foot which surprised the young witch.

But no matter what he thought, she was still the same stunning Gryffindor she had been six years back. She hadn't changed at all, well, her figure and attitude, but her presence hadn't. She was still the same airy person. Her presence wasn't condescending at all, it was the opposite. She referred to him in a respectable way, even after hating him for all of these years.

She touched his hand softly as he walked into her room. 'You're cold.' She said, her voice weak. 'Unbelievably cold.' The doctors monitored him, putting him in his own room.

When she got better, she walked into his room to see doctors cluttered around his bed. They were muttering in disbelieve, and she peeked over their shoulders to see. He lay there, eyes open, but the monitor beside his bed was a solid line, the beep noise piercing her ears. 'How could someone as alive as him be dead?' But she rubbed her eyes, it was all an illusion.

His monitor was normal and beeping in jagged lines. But why would she think that? She wasn't dreaming and looked into his souless eyes. He had no life in him. He wasn't vibrant at all. On the way here, he had told her of his snow liked personality. But now all she could say is he had the wrong idea. It wasn't snow. It wasn't ice. It wasn't sleet, hail, or even rain. It was frost. The layer of ice that comes from being cold. 'Maybe,' she thought, 'just maybe, it wasn't too late for Draco Malfoy to be saved.'

Authoressa: Still redone, so you can understand better.