Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by JK Rowling.

A/N: Co-written with the always lovely Frumpologist! The third and last entry for the Triwizard Tournament, hosted by Dramione Fanfiction Writers. Thanks to the fabulous admins for moderating this event!

Trigger Warnings: Cult AU, violence, blood, deaths, brief mentions of dub-con, not HEA (but a hopeful ending)

Draco

It was the way he looked at me—recognition and wariness battling in those wide, grey eyes—that strengthened my resolve to go through with it. He clung to Hermione, little hands bunched into her wool cloak. His gaze darted to the shadowed corners of the empty stables.

Belatedly, I remembered Hermione telling me of his fear of the dark. I wished I could fill the room with bluebell flames to make him feel safe, but it was far too dangerous, even this far away from the castle.

I stuck the quill between the pages of our journal and rushed across the straw-hewn ground to meet them. "Is everything set?" I cradled Hermione's cheek, and she leaned into my palm, a tired smile gracing her lips. "Potter?"

"He'll do it." A grimace flitted over her features. "He still doesn't like this plan—"

"Unless Potter can come up with something better," I snapped, "we have to act now. Riddle's power and influence grow by the day. The Feast is the perfect time to strike. He's too protected otherwise." I placed a hand on Scorpius' white-blond hair, as soft and fine as the fringes of my ceremonial stole.

At my touch, Scorpius shied away, burying his face in the crook of his mother's neck.

Hermione smiled at me sadly. "Sorry," she mumbled. "It's just—it's been a while since he's seen you. He gets a bit shy around—"

"Strangers." A wave of anger and disappointment crashed through me, flattening my tone. My hand fell limply at my side.

Hermione picked it up and raised it to her lips, pressing a warm kiss against my knuckles. Her touch made the ire and hurt ebb, replacing it with warmth and tenderness. I stepped into the space between us and grazed her lips softly, indulging myself in the comfort of her presence. The faint lavender scent of her skin drowned the staleness of the rundown stables. She whispered, "He loves you. We love you."

I stored those words in my heart—the inflection of her tone, her feather-light touch on the corner of my lips. I knew I would need this memory to ground me for the coming events.

With a gentle sigh, Hermione pulled back, her cognac-colored eyes searching mine. "Are you certain about this? We can still talk to Dumbledore. The Order—"

"If the Order could have stopped him, they would have done it a long time ago. Dumbledore's a fool to have waited so long, and Potter can't get to him. Not with the Feast so close. Besides," I murmured, caressing the top of my son's head, "Potter has a more important job now." Scorpius squirmed in his mother's embrace.

He loves me, reminded myself, ignoring the pain of my son's rejection. We will do this, and then I'll never have to see that cautious look in his eyes.

"Scorpius will be fine." Hermione wrapped her free arm around my waist. "We will all be fine." There was a confidence to the set of her shoulders, the way she held her chin as if daring the world to prove her wrong. It was this quality that pulled me to her all those years ago, and it's what had kept me tethered ever since. Her tenacity, her infinite well of courage—qualities I always had in short supply.

I closed my eyes, soaking in her presence like a flower under the midday sun. "Yes." I held my family closer. "Yes, we will be."

Hermione

I stood in the old stables where I had said goodbye to my son and his father. My eyes traveled around the stacks of hay where I've laid with Draco whenever we could spare time for each other. It wasn't as often as I'd like, but that was the nature of this quiet war. Seeing the way that Scorpius reacted to his father, the fear in his eyes, broke my heart. That was not the life we wanted for our son. Something had to change. We would give up everything for our boy if it meant he might one day live in a world without such hatred.

I laid in the spot where Draco last held Scorpius. Eyes closed and biding my time. Straw poked out of the curls in my hair, chunks of dead grass smudged against the fabric of my dress. I looked as if I had been stumbling around in the forest all night. The dark circles under my eyes, however, were entirely natural. I was so tired, so ready for the inevitable end of the war against Riddle and his emphatic followers.

Heavy footsteps fall outside the old, rotted wooden wall that separated me from the outside world. A deep voice whispered harshly for everyone to stay quiet.

"This is the place," he warned them gruffly. I pictured them tiptoeing around until they reached the door. It rattled on its hinges as if a great wind shook it. "It's locked. She's here."

I swallowed around a dry lump in my throat. Too late to give up, too late to change my mind. I pictured Scorpius in my mind – the way his little hand curled around my finger, his gray eyes staring up at me and trusted me implicitly. This was for him – all for him. I rustled among the loose bits of hay and dirt that layered the ground.

The door of the stables shook once more. Light poured in, so harsh against the drab interior of the abandoned area. Their bodies cast vicious shadows as they entered the space. Labored breathing interrupted the silence; they'd been running for some time trying to find me. The thought brings a ridiculous feeling of joy to my soul.

"Hermione Granger."

The voice, one I'd sparred with so many times before, belonged to Augustus Rookwood. He was a large man, tall and broad, with shaggy black hair and dead, black eyes. I heard he'd taken pleasure in ripping apart Tiberius Ogden for being part of The Order. I repaid him with a knife to the gut. It's a pity he didn't die.

I pretended to sleep. It was the hardest thing I'd ever done in my life – willingly captured by the people who most wanted to see me dead. A boot collided with the side of my body and I exhaled a deep oof as my body curled into itself. No use pretending I was asleep anymore. My eyes sprang open and I stared up at the four men around me. I knew all of their faces, had intimate knowledge of several of their injuries having inflicted many of them myself. Rodolphus Lestrange's eye had never healed and he gazed down at me with an eye that was cloudy and white.

"This bitch owes me an eye," he sneered angrily as he drew back his foot and kicked me hard in my lower back. "Riddle doesn't need her eyesight. Let me take it now."

Augustus leaned down and gripped underneath my arm. He dragged me to my feet and I halfheartedly struggled against his grasp. He squeezed tighter, so tight that my fingers tingled. Someone's fist rammed into my stomach and I lurched forward. The little food I'd eaten spilled from between my lips as I tried to gather my breath.

"If we are paying back the heretic for her crimes, I will leave her with a scar on her throat." No need to look up; I knew it was Yaxley. He nearly killed me years ago, but the knife Draco gifted to me on my birthday was hidden in a holster on my bicep. I wish I cut deeper and ended his life.

I told him as much and earned a bruise on my cheek. Blood dribbled down my chin and I spit a molar to the ground at his feet. Yaxley laughed as Augustus shook my body.

"Let's get her out of here. We should be back to the High Priest by nightfall."

He pulled me along until we reached his horses. Rope cut into the skin at my wrists as he wound it tight and bound me to the reigns of the horse. Augustus vaulted himself onto the back of his horse. I glanced up at him and raised my arms for him to pull me up. He leered at me with a sickening smirk on his face.

"You'll be running next to the horse, wench."

His group of ruffians jeered. The crack of a whip snapped in the air and Augustus' horse took off like a shot. My legs couldn't keep up, but I tried to keep pace. I ran like my life depended on it. I must get to the Death Eaters' village.

I must see Draco again.

I must kill Tom Riddle.

Draco

Bouquets of roses sat at each end of the marble altar, their petals shriveled and brown. They filled the room with a heavy stench—a nauseating combination of sweetness and decay. I took shallow breaths through my lips, trying not to choke as the high priest chanted.

"...Blessed are we that You chose us, exalted us above the beasts of the world. You favored us from those without magic. You cleansed us from those with mud flowing in their veins." Candlelight reflected off Riddle's bald, oiled head as he bent in front of the altar.

Despite the cover of my hood, I schooled my features. Underneath a long-worn expression of boredom, worry and anxiety churned. I pinched the fleshy base of my thumb, trying to keep my attention on the present surroundings rather than what might have been happening elsewhere.

"Valentine, Love Eternal." High Priest Riddle raised his hands towards the domed ceiling, his rich voice projecting through the congregation. "We beseech you. Keep us in Your everlasting heart."

I mouthed along with the others. "Keep us in Your everlasting heart."

Like a choreographed dance, we stood from our kneeling cushions and filed in a straight line. At the foot of the altar, Riddle said a blessing over each Disciple, his hushed words the only sounds in the chamber.

As I stepped to the head of the line, I lifted my gaze. High Priest Riddle stretched his arm towards me, wand ready in his hand. On the altar behind him, the flower-crowned skull of Valentine was nestled in red satin under a glass dome.

"May your heart be filled with our Lord's eternal love." The patches of skin above Riddle's eyes, where his eyebrows should have been, twitched upward. His dark eyes flicked to my arm expectantly.

I pulled up my sleeve, revealing Valentine's Mark on my pale forearm—a skull adorned with flowers, a faithful image of the relic on the altar. Riddle pressed the tip of his wand on the Mark.

"My heart is His alone," I muttered as the blessing crawled over my skin like a ravenous spider. I spared a final glance at Riddle, who smiled beatifically, although his obsidian eyes flattened.

With a brief nod, I headed to the vestibule, keeping my pace even and unhurried as Riddle's heavy gaze bore at my back. Past the doors, my father stood with his peers. I joined him, keeping a respectful distance until I was acknowledged.

Father nudged his chin, inviting me into their circle.

"There you are," he murmured, fanning his fingers lazily towards his companions. "Our brothers bring auspicious news."

My heartbeat raced; I braced myself for this 'news' that I had been waiting for. I lowered my hood, giving Brother Rookwood a questioning look.

He answered with a predatory grin. "The rumors were true. A Mudblood was caught in an abandoned stables just south of the castle. That Granger bitch. Filthy and scrawny,"—his beady eyes glinted with malice—"but she'll clean up nicely."

"Quite a pretty offering she'll make," added Brother Pettigrew with a revolting leer.

Anger bucked inside my chest, and I fought to rein it in.

As I felt my mask slip, Father drawled, "Take care, Brother Pettigrew, that you don't sully our offering for the Feast of Valentine with your words."

"Nor your actions," I said, adopting my father's haughty tone.

Father glanced at me sidelong, the corners of his lips turned down.

I pasted an imperious expression on my face as I turned back to Rookwood. "Is the Mudblood injured? We can't present a maimed offering for the Feast. It would be an insult."

"It's none of your concern," he sneered, although he glanced at my father to gauge the situation. Father's face remained impassive.

I folded my hands in front of me, the long sleeves of my cloak covering my fingers. "The Feast is every Disciple's responsibility."

Rookwood growled, taking a menacing step towards me.

"True." Riddle swept towards us, his red stole stark against his forest green robe. "The Feast is everyone's duty and privilege."

Our circle opened up, and we bowed our heads as our high priest approached.

Riddle reached out to us with upturned palms. "What is this disagreement among brothers?"

Rookwood opened his mouth to speak.

"Good tidings, Your Holiness," I said before Rookwood could utter a word. "An offering has been found for tomorrow's Feast."

A smile slithered on Riddle's face. "How fortuitous. Male or female?"

"Female."

"Lovely," Riddle murmured, "lovely."

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. "I'm concerned if the Mudblood will be fit to be our offering. Considering my brothers',"—my gaze slid towards Rookwood and Pettigrew, who were both turning red—" tendencies to handle Mudbloods with a heavy hand."

Riddle nodded thoughtfully. "I see." He turned to the others, his fingers curling around the edges of his stole. "The offering is the most important part of our Feast. It is not the time to be careless. Especially as you have failed to capture a single Muggle or Mudblood for weeks."

Rookwood's shoulders hunched minutely while Pettigrew shrunk even smaller. I stifled a triumphant smile.

"Brother Malfoy," said the high priest. "Go and see the Mudblood. Prepare her for tomorrow." He leaned forward, and I held his flat stare. "Just make sure she's intact and can withstand the ritual. No need to inconvenience yourself with anything more." His smile grew wider. "It is a Mudblood, after all."

I bowed my head swiftly before the murderous rage could reach my eyes. "Yes, Your Holiness."

As I straightened, I pivoted on my heels and marched towards the dungeons. Lost as I was in my violent thoughts, I didn't notice the padded footfalls behind me until I turned the corner. My breath caught as I saw who was following me.

"Draco." Father strolled towards me, his grey eyes guarded.

"Why are you…"

He tilted his head, affecting a disinterested look; but I knew my father well. My shoulders tightened at his scrutiny. "I'm on my way to the library. I thought I'd accompany you since the entrance to the dungeons is on the way."

With clenched teeth, I nodded and turned around, doubling my pace. Father kept up beside me.

As we turned the corner into an empty corridor, Father murmured. "I know."

My feet stopped as though the stone beneath them turned to mud. Dread replaced the air in my chest.

Father stepped closer. "I know it was you who spread the rumors of the Mudblood in the area." I froze as he circled to face me, leaning to whisper in my ear. "It's her , isn't it?" He squared his shoulders, an alarming, feline smile on his lips.

I stared at him—my stern and formidable father. I should have known his eyes and ears in the church would uncover our plot.

Yet, I didn't know just how much he knew. I donned my mask of boredom. "Father—"

"Don't tell me. It's better I don't know."

After a moment of hesitation, I nodded and stepped past him. A vice gripped my arm, turning me back.

Lightning flashed behind my father's eyes, the power in them a reminder of why he was so respected in the church. "Whatever it is you're planning," he hissed, "make sure it doesn't come back to me or your mother."

I yanked my arm out of his grasp. "It won't."

A/N: Next chapter tomorrow! Reviews are appreciated!