Disclaimer: The characters and locations used herein belong to J.K. Rowling.

Hermione could barely see where she was going. Her footsteps were the only sound in the dark corridor, the sounds alternating loud and soft, as she'd lost a shoe somewhere earlier. Her wand had been knocked out of her hand the last time she was caught, and she'd barely managed to scramble away. She was somewhere underneath Hogwarts, she knew, but where exactly was lost to her. She'd never seen this part of the castle before. She doubted anyone had.

She rounded a corner and stopped for a moment to catch her breath and to try and get some bearings on where she was. There were strings of roots and cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. She felt as though she'd run through a few old spiders' weavings on her way to where she was now, but the feeling was simply her own hair clinging to the sweat on her cheeks. She hastily brushed the hair from her eyes and took a few gasping breaths, her wand hand on her side, where a painful cramp was forming.

"I'll go this way, you look that way."

The voice was familiar. It was that of her captor, and it was coming from where she'd just been. She had three options, though all were bleak. She could go to the left or to the right, or back where she came from. Going to the right would require crossing the open corridor her captor was in, and while it was dark, she didn't want to risk it. She heard slow, steady footsteps coming down the corridor; they were the footsteps of someone that was listening. Slow and calculated steps that would not overpower any sounds Hermione would make in her flight.

Slowly and carefully, Hermione leaned down and pulled her remaining shoe off her foot and took it in her hand. She wouldn't leave it there, but keeping it on would be noisier than taking it off. She only hoped the floor wasn't littered with anything that could hurt her too badly to move on.

Her captor was nearing; he'd turned the corner at the far end of the corridor. Light from the tip of his wand, though dim, crept all the way to where Hermione was. She could see the shape of each stone in the wall accentuated by shadow, and every puddle of stagnant water on the floor sparkled. She couldn't wait any longer; she took off to her left as fast as she could, trying with all her might to avoid making too much sound. However, the farther she got down the corridor, the more puddles she encountered. She was too far down the corridor to see the floor, and was not fast enough to keep her left foot from landing squarely in the center of a pool of dirty water.

"Granger!"

Hermione didn't worry about puddles or noise, it was too late for that. He'd discovered where she was, her only option now was to run with all her might. She couldn't see where she was going and nearly ran into a wall when she came to another intersection. She ducked to the right and ran, though her legs were tensing and the cramp beneath her ribs was worsening. She clenched her fists and ran, but it was not enough. The footsteps behind her were nearing with every step; her captor had a greater stride than she did, and she was exhausted. She hadn't made it more than fifty feet from the last corner she'd turned when a strong hand wrapped around her upper arm and yanked her backwards with a yelp.

"You're very fast, Granger."

"I won't tell you, Malfoy," Hermione gasped. Her legs gave way beneath her and the only reason she didn't slump to the ground completely was that Draco would not let go of her arm. "You won't find Harry."

"It's only a matter of time, now I've got you," Malfoy retorted, pulling roughly up on her arm. "Get up."

"I--" Hermione tried to get up, but the pain in her side slowed her. Malfoy pulled again, this time coupled with an angry grunt, and began to walk back down the corridor with her arm still in his grip. She fought to get her legs underneath her, and managed well enough to be dragged out of the castle on her feet.

The scene outside of Hogwarts was a raging battle, one that had been going on for months. Hermione and the rest of her classmates had been halfway through their seventh and final year at Hogwarts when the Death Eaters attacked, and while they had known it was coming, they had not known it would be so soon. Dumbledore had taken Harry somewhere, leaving only a few members of the Order with the knowledge of their whereabouts. Hermione herself did not know where they were, but it didn't matter. If she was not the messenger, then she would be the message.

The sky above the grounds was a bleak and dismal grey; the clouds were pregnant with rain though it seemed as though the water refused to fall upon the battle. The grass was muddy and broken, the green blades buried beneath dirt and blood and hatred, the shoes and bodies packing it down so hard that even if it could grow, it would reach in the wrong direction. The air smelled of sweat and fire with a faint tinge of bile and rotting flesh; the battle had gone on long enough for some of the earliest deaths to begin their merge with the earth. The scent of death was most pungent at the center of the battle, though Hermione could smell it from the fringes of the fight. Though she'd become somewhat accustomed to the scene, it nevertheless brought an uneasy feeling to her stomach.

Hermione scanned the crowd on the grounds for a familiar face, and she was greeted with none. Everyone looked the same now, their school robes were so tattered and dirty that she could not discern a Ravenclaw from a Hufflepuff, and they were all so battle-worn that she couldn't discern the professors from the students. Even their voices had turned to a singular monotone, all equally gruff and used only for incantations. Everyone on the battlefield had killed someone, had lost someone, and had chosen their own life over a friend's at least once since the war begun. The wizarding world had gone cold; the leaves from even the strongest evergreens had fallen to the ground to be crushed.

"So?" Malfoy demanded, shoving Hermione forcefully to the ground, where she landed roughly on her arm with a yelp. His eyes darted to the castle and then back to her, as if he thought someone was watching.

"Even if I knew I wouldn't tell you!" she shouted, scrambling to get up again, backing a few steps away from Draco. She didn't have the strength to run again; even now, her legs felt as though they would barely hold her up.

"You filthy little--" Malfoy started, taking a step forward for every step Hermione took back. He was almost a foot taller than her, his white-blond hair hanging in front of his angular face. He made a motion to strike her, but stopped. Instead, he took her roughly by the arm again and glanced over her shoulder. His next statement was uttered as an afterthought. "No matter."

"I won't be your bait!"

"You've really no choice in the matter, Mudblood." Draco looked down at Hermione, his grey eyes showing no emotion at all. The expression on his face scared Hermione, though she wouldn't outwardly express it; she felt as though she was being stared down by a statue. She struggled against his grasp, but was no match for his strength. She was battle-worn while he had somehow managed to keep himself on the sidelines. Hermione assumed he was running errands for Voldemort, and wondered for a moment if his Dark Mark was on the arm holding hers. As quickly as that thought came to her mind, however, it was pushed aside by another.

"Accio, wand!" Hermione shouted, holding her free arm out. It was a desperate move, but she had to try it. The vague hope that her wand would appear in her palm flashed in her mind, but was immediately shattered when Malfoy chuckled derisively at her.

"Honestly, Granger. I'm not an idiot," he said, pulling the pieces of a broken wand from a pocket and dropping them to the ground, grinding them into the dirt at his feet. "You think I'd have you in possession of a wand?"

The sight of her wand in pieces caused Hermione to stop short. She didn't know if she'd ever get another, or if she'd be able to steal one from someone else. Malfoy chuckled to himself again.

"I hate you."

"I know you do," Malfoy replied. Hermione couldn't stop staring at the pieces of her wand there at his feet. Malfoy yanked at her arm again, and she realized her hand was starting to fall asleep. His grip was cutting her circulation off. "Staring at your wand won't put it back together, girl."

"Let go of my arm." Hermione struggled against his grip again, this time using her free hand to try and pry his fingers away. He used his other hand to pull hers away. The gesture pulled her closer to him, and she looked up into his expressionless face again. His eyes were fixed on hers, and he had an amused look on his face.

"You're not going anywhere unless I want you to, Granger."

"Who says I want to go anywhere?" She retorted, even if the response made little sense. Defiance was one of the only defenses she had left.

"Always the belligerent little Gryffindor, aren't you?" Draco asked. Hermione was still struggling against his grasp, but it wasn't taking him any effort at all to keep his hands on her. His grip on her upper arm was like a vice, and his other hand was wrapped tightly around her wrist. Hermione was determined to make her capture as hard on him as possible, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was out of options. She could feel panic building up deep within her, a frightened sob fighting to make its way from her lungs to her mouth. She swallowed, attempting to push away the lump rising in her throat. Angry tears were already welling up at the corners of her eyes.

"Let me go!"

"Never," Malfoy said, pulling her arms farther apart and bringing his face closer to hers. Hermione caught a glimpse of his Dark Mark on the arm holding her wrist. He broke the eye contact and brought his head to the side of hers, inhaling through her hair. He was smelling her. He brought his mouth just beside her ear, and whispered. "Do I scare you, Hermione?"

Not once in her seven years of knowing him had Draco Malfoy ever called her by her first name, and it startled her. The sound of her name from his mouth felt foreign and wrong. It disgusted her to hear those syllables in his enemy tenor, it was as if he'd stolen something from her.

"No," she finally replied, though the shakiness of the word made it clear that she was lying. Draco stood up straight, never relinquishing his hold on her.

"You're lying to me. You're terrified," he said bluntly. Hermione simply stared at him, hoping that she could hold her resolve. Malfoy tilted his head slightly and looked at her, and for a moment she thought she saw something flash in his eyes. He dug his fingers deeper into her flesh. "Tell me the truth."

"I won't give you Harry."

"I won't give you Harry," he mocked her, tilting his head side to side as he repeated her last sentence with a cruel falsetto. His grip tightened further. "This isn't about Potter, Mudblood. This was never about Potter." He began to drag her toward the Whomping Willow.

"Malfoy--"

"Quiet," he growled, pulling her behind him. He'd let go of her wrist and was pulling her by her arm again. He was moving quickly, so she had to half-run to keep herself from being pulled off her feet. The mud squelched between her bare toes, and it was hard to keep a firm foot on the ground. They were at the willow in almost no time, and again Hermione was thrown to the ground, this time beneath the swinging branches of the tree.

"What are you--"

"Quiet!"

"Malfoy--"

"Immobilus," he said, pointing his wand at the willow. It stopped swinging, and Draco put his wand away. He yanked Hermione up, this time by the back of the shirt. "Get up, girl, and move." He pushed into the tunnel beneath the tree.

"Malfoy!"

"If I have to tell you to shut up one more time, I'll kill you." He pushed her along in the narrow passageway. They soon emerged in the Shrieking Shack. Hermione climbed up into the house and turned on her heel as soon as she was on level ground. She opened her mouth to say something but was silenced with a rough kiss. Draco buried his hands in her hair, holding her close. She pushed hard against his chest, and managed to break away with a gasp. She wheeled backwards and nearly lost her balance.

"What on earth are you doing?" she asked, regaining her footing and stepping further back from him with an incredulous look on her face. "What makes you think you can just--"

"Quiet," he said, putting one hand to his mouth. Hermione surveyed him with curiosity. He seemed less like a statue for a moment and more like a man, but the idea lasted only a moment. She jumped when he took a step toward her. He stopped and pointed behind her and Hermione half-turned to look where he was pointing, making sure to keep him in her line of sight. There was a rickety old table in the corner, on top of which sat a simple looking vase. "That old vase is a portkey."

"What?"

"You've not got much time, Granger. I'm sure that someone out there saw us."

"Malfoy, you've got to tell me what you're--"

"Look, you have got to trust me. I don't know what you've done to me but you've affected me somehow and I can't just let them kill you. You were the bait. The Dark Lord will want to know why I'm not back, and why I've not come back with you. Just... just go."

"What if someone follows?"

"I'm going to break the vase as soon as you're gone, just go!" Draco's words were rushed, and he seemed like he was near panic. He ran one hand frantically through his hair and clenched his fists, one at his side, the other in his own hair. Hermione looked at him once more and he nodded hurriedly toward the portkey. She walked to the table, and reached for the vase, but stopped short.

"Where does it go?"

"The ground floor of The Leaky Cauldron, but you can't stay there, they'll find you. Promise you won't stay there and go."

"I promise." Hermione gave him the best smile she could muster. She was confused, but didn't have time to think about it. She touched the vase and was gone. Draco closed his eyes for a moment and then threw an angry spell at the vase, shouting as loud as he could and shattering it into pieces. He turned on his heel and ran from the shack, returning to the battlefield. As he came across the scene, the familiar burn of his Dark Mark biting at the flesh on his arm, he turned to take a look towards Hogwarts. Inside, Voldemort was waiting for him impatiently, expecting him to bring the key to Harry Potter to him, on battered hands and broken knees, as bait. Malfoy brought his hand to his mouth once more. He'd let her get away, and with her went his right to live. The next time he'd see the Dark Lord would be his last.

The clouds above the castle opened and as the mud on the fields slickened further with the addition of fresh water to the mess, Draco Malfoy ran headstrong into the fight. In the melee, it wasn't hard for his death wish to be fulfilled, and the battle raged on around his body without even acknowledging that he'd joined in.