Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape, or form own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like taking the characters out for a spin.

I'm going to leave a blanket warning here. This will be a dark story. There will be blood and torture, sex and language, all the things. Take everything you know about canon from HBP on and strap it to a rocket launcher. This story is AU and EWE. There will be some OCCness, as would be expected in a story like this.

Ye be warned.

Suggested listening: The Devil's Playground by The Rigs

Book I

August 3, 1996

It all started with Diagon Alley, maybe it would end with it, too.

There was something oddly final about standing there, the cobblestones pressing roughly against the soles of her worn trainers. It was the desolation, she decided, the desolation and the abnormally cold August air. Gone was the Dickensian color that had greeted her as a bright-eyed eleven-year-old. Now every available surface was plastered with Ministry propaganda and wanted posters. Gone was the bustle of witches and wizards as they went about their days, in their place were quiet clusters of people scurrying from shop to shop in an effort to avoid the seedy owners of questionable stalls that had crept out of the woodwork. There was no laughter, no shouts from vendors, even the owls of the menagerie were quiet in their now warded cages. Maybe this was the real Diagon Alley, the real Dickensian world that she'd imagined, the gray that had tainted the edges finally infecting it all to show to truth. Somehow, it wouldn't have surprised her.

Hands curled into fists at her sides, Hermione made herself move. The cold bit at her skin and not for the first time did she lament the fact that it was still a month until she could perform magic outside of school. A part of her was more than happy to argue that it was possible that her Time Turner use had aged her, making that ban null for her. She, however, chose to err on the side of caution. Flourish and Blotts would be warm, she told herself though it seemed to afford her little comfort.

Glass crunched beneath her shoes and she jerked her foot up in reaction. Her soles were worn, true enough, but they still seemed strong enough to keep the shard from piercing through. Brushing the glass away on the edge of the pavement, she found herself looking around to see just where it had come from. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she stared up at what was left of Ollivander's and she was acutely aware of her vinewood wand pressing into her side.

"Why?" she whispered to herself as she wrapped her arms around her middle. It made no sense. Why destroy the wandmaker's shop? Rumor had it the old man was missing. So many were missing now and it made her shiver.

The feeling of a hand on her elbow made her jump and she quickly turned only to look up into Harry's bright green eyes. His mouth was set into a grim line and she could feel her own brows knit together in her ever growing confusion. If there was one thing that irked her it was being confused. She needed to know everything that there was to know; it was almost a compulsion.

"Come on, Mione," he said as he gently pulled her along.

It was all she could do to just nod and follow.

Her sock covered feet curled into the worn carpet of the changing room floor. Buying new clothes was a necessary evil, as was looking herself over in a mirror. As it was, both were inevitable. A pile of dress robes had quickly grown behind her and she was certain that she'd tried on every shade of red that Madam Malkin had to offer. None of them suited her. They were too bright, too garish, too...Gryffindor. The fact that even her clothing choices seemed to be governed by House affiliation irritated her to no end- especially when she was really quite fond of green.

Not wanting to even think about the ensuing arguments that would arise from that color selection, she stripped the latest red frock from her body and added it to the pile. She felt foolish standing there in her plain cotton undergarments with her socks sliding down her calves. It occurred to her then that she was holding on to her own childishness, even in something as mundane as plain white knickers. They didn't seem to fit, not in the abstract sense of the world. Wasn't she supposed to be branching out into patterns and silk by now, she wondered. She was almost seventeen, but she felt so much older and she couldn't decide if that was a fact that she hated or not.

Speaking of hate. Her attention returned itself to her reflection in the mirror and she felt her mouth pull itself into a frown. If she had ever wanted to wear a bikini, which she wasn't inclined to, the opportunity had been shot. A glamour would have worked to cover up the bluish purple scar that crossed her torso like a fissure, but a glamour required effort to maintain and she had other things to concern herself with.

Pulling the next dress off the rack, she found herself standing there with satin clutched in her hands as a thought occurred to her. Clothes had always been a way to hide. Baggy shirts and blue jeans, frumpy skirts. In its own way, clothing was armor, and she had used it well. Now she had something more to hide, the trouble with that was that this was something that now defined her, ugly as it was. She had survived the Department of Mysteries by a hair's breath. Of course, she would hide it, she wasn't an exhibitionist, but that didn't mean that her armor had to stay the same.

The purple satin was so dark that it was almost black, and she found that she quite liked the contrast it made with her pale skin. It was decidedly the most witch like dress she'd ever tried, all the others having clearly Muggle influences. This was high necked and made her look older, matching her mind rather than just her body. Of course, a dress like this would come with connotations of its own. Somehow a dark dress indicated a dark witch and that thought alone was enough to make her roll her eyes. Hermione Granger was going to wear what she bloody well wanted to.

She slipped the dress off her shoulders and hung it back on its rack, the other dresses filing themselves away as she changed back into her jeans and practical cardigan. Tugging her hair from her collar, she let out a sigh and slipped on her trainers. Armor, she told herself. It was still armor.

Of course, by the time she stepped out of the dressing room, all hell was about to break loose. For a moment she just stood there with her dress over her arms and contemplated just turning around and sitting down until the inevitable storm had passed. But, that was decidedly not an option- especially when Ron and Harry were glaring daggers at Draco Malfoy.

"Ah. So there's the little Mudblood. Still on her leash after all," Malfoy drawled as he stared back at her in the dressing mirror's reflection. His voice had gotten deeper, she noticed, and even if he hadn't been perched on the dressmaker's pedestal she was certain that he would have been able to look Ron square in the eye.

Madam Malkin balked, the harried witch scurrying around the young scion with silver pins and a tape measure in her wake, and she absolutely insisted that language like that would not be tolerated in her shop.

Hermione just sighed and handed her garment over to an assistant to wrap up. The word once had an effect on her, enough to make tears prick the corners of her eyes and her shuffle her feet. Now it was just a word that rolled off her back like water. It was funny how a battle can change things, she mused. Nevertheless, that didn't stop Ron and Harry from drawing their wands right then and there. If only, she thought, there was something she could lob at their respective heads.

"Stop it. It's not worth it, honestly," she said as she put her hand over Harry's arm and gently pushed it down. If he backed down, then Ron would follow. The look she gave him was just added incentive. "Enough shops have been damaged over stupidity."

Malfoy regarded her, his eyes cold and face oddly neutral. "You wouldn't dare do magic out of school, Potter. Besides, Granger told you no."

There was a very small part of her that wanted to laugh, but she managed to bury down the feeling.

The shop's proprietor was close to having a conniption, Hermione was sure of it, by the time she asked for Lady Malfoy to interfere with the situation before it escalated.

It struck her just how much Narcissa Malfoy resembled her deranged sister and she found herself staring at the older woman with furrowed brows. Where Bellatrix was all dark and sallow, Narcissa looked as though she was light personified. It was such a shame that that light was dampened by elitist ideals and an arrogant expression. Still, she was quite beautiful.

"Put those away. I will not have you threatening my son again," she said, her voice cold and carefully controlled. There was truth in that statement and Hermione was sure that this woman in front of her would protect her only child with everything that she had.

Of course, that was the wrong thing to say to Harry Potter and she made herself resist the urge to slap a hand over her face. One day they'd be able to shop without the threats of wandfights. One day.

"Harry," she began, only to be cut off by the boy in question.

"Again? I hadn't even started. What are you going to do? Have some of your Death Eater's swoop in and finish me off for defending my friend from your precious little boy?" he asked through gritted teeth. Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose then.

There was a subtle change in Narcissa Malfoy's countenance at the mention of Voldemort's faithful. The woman covered herself beautifully and that flash of fear that Hermione saw in her eyes faded into a cold, even stare. She looked over at Draco then, his gray eyes locked with hers. There was a change in this family, she realized, and she knew full well that it was the result of Lucius Malfoy's actions in the Department of Mysteries. Something was wrong, very wrong, to leave these two people carrying themselves as though they were animals who weren't caged, even when the bars were closing in around them.

A small smile curled over Lady Malfoy's lips as she stared at the boy who matched her in height. "Enjoy that sense of security, false as it may be, Harry Potter," she said as she plucked an invisible piece of dirt from the folds of her expensive dress. "Dumbledore will not be able to protect you forever."

She made herself swallow a groan. The ability the Malfoys had for antagonizing Harry Potter was nothing short of astounding. And, of course, he played right into it, much to her chagrin. That left her stuck standing there watching the ensuing verbal sparring match with growing anxiety, especially since Harry's wand arm kept rising higher and higher which caused her to grip it tightly and tug it back down again.

Pressing her fingertips against her temple, she began to rub them in slow circles in an effort to alleviate the headache she found herself developing. When she looked up again Draco was still staring at her, his eyes boring into her as she stood there. There was something in his gaze that she couldn't quite seem to put her finger on, and it both unnerved her and piqued her curiosity. Merlin, what she wouldn't give to be able to read his mind, she thought then.

Malfoy let out a sudden hiss as one of Madam Malkin's pins pricked his arm and Hermione found herself pulled from her musings. In a frustrated huff, he pulled the robes off and flung them carelessly on the floor before stepping over them as though they were something repugnant. It was melodramatic and she hated that he thought it was perfectly alright to leave a mess in his wake. But her thoughts didn't stop him from stalking out of the shop, Lady Malfoy on his heels, his shoulders squared and his mouth pressed into a hard line. Hermione, much to her own confusion, found herself watching him until he was out of sight.

Whether or not Weasley's Wizards Wheezes was something that the wizarding world needed, or was just a very large assault on the eyes, she wasn't sure. Somehow the overabundance of color and light that spilled out onto the gray thoroughfare seemed to be too much for her to properly process. The noise that encapsulated her once she was inside did nothing to help her headache, either.

Harry and Ron had been immediately lost among the fray, not that it really surprised her. If anything it was better than having to deal with them while agitated towards Draco Malfoy. Perhaps this was the welcome reprieve they all needed. So, she carefully made her way through the maze of displays and the Hogwarts students that were crammed around them. The sight of Skiving Snackboxes made her nose wrinkle and she couldn't help but sigh as she saw some of her own housemates picking them up. Why did Fred and George have to make her tenure as Prefect so bloody difficult?

Sequestering herself behind the counter, she picked up a box at random, eyeing it carefully just in case it decided to bite her or something equally as annoying. But, nothing happened, and, once she'd managed to ignore the silly pictures on the packaging, she found herself engrossed in the product's description. "Well, that's just sodding brilliant," she muttered.

"Oh Granger, I didn't know you cared," came a voice from behind her, causing her to jump. Fred Weasley beamed down at her, the sight of his gaudy magenta robes making her want to retch. "Just for that, we'll let you have it for free."

Turning around to face him, her placed a hand on her hip. "And just what would I need with a Patented Daydream Charm?" she asked, the box still carefully clutched in her hand.

Fred's smile widened and she realized then that this was what was referred to as a Cheshire Cat Grin. It unnerved her. "I'm sure you'll think of something, Granger, especially with that mind of yours."

Hermione let out a delicate sniff and discreetly slipped the box into her bag. "What do you have that would have more..practical application?"

How she had managed to be cajoled into slipping under Harry's Invisibility Cloak and traipsing down into Knockturn Alley, she still wasn't quite sure. All she could figure was that it involved a determined look on Harry's face and the fact that she was shorter than both he and Ron. In the end, she made do with telling herself that she was simply there to make sure they didn't do anything stupid. As always.

Knockturn Alley had always held a sort of allure that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She supposed it was the knowledge that lurked beneath the grime and grit of the questionable shops. Part of her wanted very much to slip inside and look through the dark tomes that she knew were lurking just beneath the Ministry's nose. The other part of her her took pleasure in primly reminding her that such objects, books or otherwise, were dangerous and illegal. She found that she wanted to stuff that part of her in a hole and bury it.

Hands clutching onto Harry's jumper, she kept her steps quiet and her steps short- mostly in an effort to evade Ron's much longer strides. Their feet would be seen, she was just sure of it, but that possibility didn't seem to stop any of them from continuing on down the dark and winding street.

A flash of white blond hair caught her eye. "Harry," she hissed, and the boy in question came to an abrupt stop causing her to stumble into his back with Ron tumbling after. "That's my heel, Ron!"

His apology was muffled, no doubt due to her hair and Harry shushing them both.

Borgin and Burkes seemed to be the only shop in the alley that was visibly open. Pressing themselves as close to the front of the building as they dared, they struggled to listen. Her eyes followed Draco as he moved through the shop, easing around the cases and displays with such finesse that she knew he'd been inside several times. That prickling of curiosity began in the back of her mind once more as she found herself drawn into the various bric-a-brac. She wanted to know everything. What things did, why they were used, why they were banned. But that was a thirst that she knew would not be allowed to be slaked.

Attention drawn back to the boy they'd followed, she watched as his hands moved over the side of a large cabinet in the center of the room. There was a definite contrast between the color of his skin and the dark wood of the cabinet, it was stark and immediately distracting. How could a man's hands be that elegant, she wondered and the thought shocked her.

"I can't hear what they're saying, can you?" Harry asked in a whisper as he looked back at his friends. Hermione just shook her head where it rested against his shoulder blade. Once again she found herself wishing that she could read minds, that she could see inside the thoughts of Draco Malfoy and begin to make sense of them. The trouble was, that even if she could she wasn't sure that she'd be able to understand.

August 31, 1996

Her jaw clenched as she stared across the room, her copy of Advanced Rune Translation laying forgotten on her lap. To say that Harry Potter had been obsessed with Draco Malfoy over the past few weeks would be an understatement. Between him, Fleur, and the Weasley women she was certain that she was beginning to lose her mind. At this point, September first couldn't come fast enough.

The suggestion that Malfoy was now a Death Eater only served to make Ron laugh uncontrollably, which she felt was a little forced, and make her consider chucking her book at the Boy Who Lived's head. Hermione quickly talked herself out of that; it was a brand new book.

"What would You-Know-Who want with a sod like Malfoy?" Ron asked once he'd gotten himself under control. "Not like he'd do much good, not with his dad locked away in Azkaban. Be a waste of ink."

Brow furrowed, she shot Ron a level look. "Really, Ronald."

He held his hands up in defense. "What?"

"Look," Harry said as he leaned forward, his hands beginning to gesticulate with every word. "He flinched in Madam Malkin's when she tried to roll up his sleeve. His left sleeve. Don't you remember? And that business in Borgin and Burkes? He showed Borgin something that scared him. It was the Dark Mark. Had to be."

Ron glanced up at her then and she was certain that his look mirrored her own. It was a stretch, all of it was a stretch and neither of them was prepared to even admit that it might even be true. Things were becoming nasty, they all knew it, even her Muggle parents knew that something was happening. But somehow sitting in Fred and George's old bedroom debating the fact that one of their classmates was a newly minted Death Eater was out of the realm of possibility.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Harry stood and stalked from the room. She didn't move from her spot on the windowsill and Ron didn't move from his place on the floor. Fingertips pressed into the pages of her book, Hermione stared at the empty doorway and it occurred to her then, even amidst all of the speculation, that they were no longer children.

This is my first foray into Dramione, which is both exciting and terrifying. But, I do hope you enjoyed it, and if you did please leave me a review- they're much appreciated. As always, the best place to reach me is on Tumblr: .com. Just remove the parentheses.

And a huge, massive thank you to my amazing beta, starrnobella, she's the best cheerleader ever.