Author's Notes:

If you are enjoying this genre combination and wondering if there are similar stories out there-there certainly are! There is a wealth of zombie fic about to be posted as part of the HP Zombiefest at livejournal. Additionally, do check out RZZMG's 'The Dream of Immortality'.


Hermione detoured past the kitchens on her way down to the basement. There was usually someone in there no matter what time of the day. On this occasion, it was Honoria Cloot, one of the team's mediwitches.

She was making herself a cup of tea. "I just heard about your trip to Azkaban. Is Draco Malfoy really joining the team?"

"A bit too soon to say, but he's here, anyway."

"Interesting times ahead," Honoria said, stirring sugar into her tea cup.

Hermione walked to the pantry and took out some bottled water. Her thirst surprised her, even though she was normally dehydrated after any extended bout of casting Incendio. She finished the bottle by the time she took the set of stairs down to the second basement level, opened a bolted door and entered a long concrete room that housed three, steel-barred cells. The smell of antiseptic was very pronounced. She tossed the empty water bottle into a waste receptacle at the base of the stairs.

A visit alone with Ron wasn't on the cards that night, apparently.

Padma Patil was checking Ron's central venous line when Hermione approached the first of the three cells. She paused outside the door until Padma finished replacing the parenteral bag that provided Ron's intravenous nutrition. When it was done, Padma cast a secondary Scourgify over the area, looked up and smiled.

"Hi."

Hermione whispered a sterilisation charm over her person, before passing through the sanitisation barrier that extended around Ron's cell. The outline of the cell glowed green for a moment. It stung slightly to be inside the be-spelled environment, but it was less cumbersome than having to work in a HazMat suit.

"How is he today?" she asked Padma.

"Not so good. If his CVP continues to deteriorate, he's going to be hypovolemic. His blood plasma is…I don't know…his blood volume just keeps dropping." Padma's frustration was evident in her voice. "He's not haemorrhaging and I know he's not dehydrated because if we give him any more fluids, he's going to develop congestive heart failure."

"What does our virologist say?"

"McAlister says the symptoms are not dissimilar to advanced rabies infection, but there's also a whole array of things going on that no one has seen happen all at the same time. We just haven't had enough time to study this."

Hermione walked over to Ron and stroked his auburn hair away from his forehead. His skin was sallow and he'd lost a great deal of weight, but for the most part, he still looked like Ron. She couldn't count the number of times she'd stared down at him and expected him to open his blue eyes, corners crinkling, and smile up at her.

Both Hermione and Padma recognised the situation for what it was. Regardless of whether Ron got better or sicker, they were learning more about the Infection every day precisely because of him. When they discussed his condition, they weren't just talking about their friend. They were talking about a living experiment.

Harry didn't understand this, and sometimes, he got angry at what he didn't understand. When he looked at Ron, he saw his sick best friend and what he wanted to see was Hermione doing everything she could to save Ron. And she was, but Harry didn't wish to entertain the other reasons for her efforts. He just couldn't fathom how she could have any other reasons. Hermione envied Harry sometimes. In many ways, life was a lot simpler for him.

Padma was now flipping through her notes. "I hate to say this, but I think we may be approaching ReGen's threshold."

Hermione peered over her friend's shoulder. "Where are we up to?"

"Three weeks and five days since he was bitten."

Absently, they both stared at the bandage around Ron's left forearm. Beneath it, was the bite that had caused his Infection.

"He's the longest surviving person on ReGen," Padma said.

"Four weeks is not enough time. We need it to last at least three times as long or it's not going to be of much use to people. ReGen's been relatively easy for us to manufacture and distribute so far. But the cure is going to be more difficult. It's liable to take months just to get enough quantities to the Infected communities."

"Hmm," said Padma, tapping her fingernail against a page. "So we go back to the drawing board on ReGen. Mind you, we didn't have Yoshida, McAlister or Malfoy when we brewed the first batch. There's every chance we'll be able to create a formula that achieves greater longevity."

"Speaking of Malfoy…" Hermione lowered her voice. "Harry showed him the lab?"

Padma nodded. "And I gave Malfoy a whole stack of notes to read, so he can catch up on what we're doing. I still can't believe he attended Muggle medical school while he was hiding out in Russia..."

"You attended Muggle medical school," Hermione pointed out. "In fact, I think you two are probably the only Hogwarts-graduated Purebloods to have done so."

"Ugh." Parma wrinkled her nose. "The less I have in common with him, the better, thanks."

"Don't worry, he didn't do it for altruistic reasons. If he wanted to sell potions to Muggles, he needed a particular skill set that traditional Mediwizadry couldn't provide."

Padma considered this. "Ravenclaw didn't share many potions classes with Slytherin. Was he any good?"

Draco Malfoy had tied with Hermione in their Potions OWLs. "Yes," Hermione said, without hesitation. "He was very good."

Padma was still troubled. "I'm usually adept at reading people, but I can't get a handle on him. All I can pick up is contempt and the occasional glimmer of murderous rage when he looks at Harry."

Hermione snorted as she bent down to smooth Ron's cotton cellular blanket. "Nothing's changed there."

The women were silent for a moment, contemplating the metronomic rise and fall of Ron's chest. And then the SPO2 monitor beeped. Padma walked around the bed to check it.

"He's bloody good-looking though, isn't he?"

"Padma."

Padma looked up from her task "What? I can't notice these things?"

Hermione managed to find her first genuine smile of the day. Of the month, probably. "Don't tell Mercer that. He'll get jealous."

"Mercer! That man is infuriating. He drops crumbs all over my lab."

"He thinks very highly of you," said Hermione, primly.

Padma looked up at Hermione, her expression now very serious. "Mercer also happens to think it's high time we had a look inside Ron's brain."

"What, you mean EEG? I distinctly remember stealing one for you."

"No, we need to look inside."

Hermione frowned. "I hope you mean in vivo?"

"Of course. In fact, Ron's more valuable to us alive than not."

"Padma, I hate it when you speak like a scientist."

Padma walked over to Hermione and touched her on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. I care about him too, you know."

Hermione patted her hand. "I know. So what do we need?"

"An MRI scanner."

"OK. I'll speak to Scrimgeour in the morning."

"This is not something you can steal and bring back here. If you're thinking of installing one in this building, forget it. Mercer says the magnet alone weighs about twelve tons. And you need copper and steel shielding for the room and helium to cool the magnet."

"If we can't bring the machine to Ron, then you're suggesting that we take Ron to the machine?" Hermione concluded.

"Yes."

"Merlin. Field trip to a hospital, then."

Padma ran the numbers in her head. "You'll need Mercer to conduct the scan, plus at least four others. Two to look after Ron. Two to handle unwanted company. I'll come, of course."

Hermione shook her head. "You will not. You need to stay behind in case I get eaten. Besides, you have no combat training. Shooting random Impedimenta at Death Eaters at the Battle of Hogwarts doesn't qualify."

Padma's hand was on her hip. She was a natural polymath and disliked being told she wasn't good at anything she set her mind to. "If experience matters, then I guess you'll be taking him?" She pointed to the cell at the end of the corridor. "He's probably got more combat experience than all of us, combined."

That was probably true. But Hermione didn't trust Malfoy as far as she could throw him, and he was much bigger these days.

"As I said, I'll consult with Scrimgeour."

Padma nodded. "Alright. I'm turning it. Go to sleep. You look worse than Ron."

"Oh, thanks," said Hermione, with a sigh. "Night."

Hermione watched Padma leave, and then walked over to Ron to give his hand a final, parting squeeze. She exited the cell, locking it behind her. As she made her way to the stairs, a newly familiar voice called out, echoing slightly in the large room.

Funny, she'd been expecting it.

"It's a powerful curiosity you have there, Mudblood."

As far as taunts went, it was perfect. Hermione stopped in her tracks, willing herself to keep walking, to ignore Malfoy and not give him the satisfaction. But the taunt also happened to be accurate; sometimes, her curiosity was like a force of nature.

She turned and walked over to him. "And what exactly am I curious about, Death Eater?"

Hermione saw that he was sitting on his bunk, one knee drawn up, left arm balancing upon it. He smiled, and even in the darkness, she could see the dull gleam of his teeth, white and even.

"About me. You want answers."

"When it comes to you, Malfoy, somehow I don't think the answers are as important as the right kind of questions."

He rose to his feet, unhurried, and approached the bars. Hermione took a cautionary step backwards, mentally locating her wand inside her jacket. The tether prevented his escape, but it was only their faith in Malfoy's common sense that protected all of them from his violence.

"And what are the right questions?" he asked.

"I suppose I could ask you how many people you've killed, but I think asking why you killed those people is more interesting."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Would you like to hear my answer?"

Hermione feigned an expression of apprehensive eagerness. She frowned, parted her lips to form the word 'yes', and then abruptly shut them, giving him a small, satisfied smirk.

"No."

There, let him stew in that. Stupid mindgam—

The thought was effectively smothered because his hand darted forward and clamped around her throat. He pulled her towards him, his free hand taking hold of her right wrist. When she scrambled to reach her wand with her left hand, he released her wrist and snaked inside her jacket, the top of his hand brushing the underside of her breast as he acquired her wand.

Which he pressed against her abdomen.

Hermione clawed at his hand whilst simultaneously bracing her feet against the base of the bars to push herself backwards. But still he held firm, despite the fact that she was tearing into his hand with her nails. His grip on her neck shifted until all his fingers were now digging into her trachea, pinching.

"It will hurt if you move, so if you wish it to stop hurting, stop moving," he said, sounding like he was speaking to a tantruming child.

The utter normality of his tone managed to puncture her haze of panic. Hermione ceased her struggles and was rewarded with the slackening of his grip. Still, she could not move without her air supply being cut off.

Malfoy brought his tall, lean body closer to the bars, such that his lips grazed her jawline and whispered directly into her ear. "Good. The game's only fun if you play with me." He tipped his patrician nose downwards, rubbing it against her cheek. She felt the subtle rush of cool air at the spot where he inhaled, completely at odds with the warmth of his breath. Through the gap in the bars, she felt his hip press into her belly. "Six years since I've been this close to a woman, and I find she smells like…hospital soap and—" he inhaled again and she felt him smile against her cheek, "—toothpaste."

He retreated a little, and Hermione got the impression that he had gone slightly off-script, and had to re-focus.

"I don't know how many I've killed. But I can tell you that each death was necessary. A means to an end, whether it was to save my life, the life of an associate or simply as dialogue. Nothing sends a message quite like Avada Kedavra. If it suited my needs, I killed. Needs, Mudblood. Not wants."

Hermione tried to push him away with her hands, but paused when the end of her wand was pressed deeper into her belly.

Malfoy continued. "It did not suit my needs to be a law-abiding citizen, because I did not live among law-abiding people. But now I find I have more options available to me. Here and now, it does not suit my needs to behave...like this."

He removed his fingers from her throat and as Hermione gasped in a lungful of unobstructed air, she felt him unfurl her tense, fisted fingers and gently slip her wand into her hand.

Now armed, Hermione stepped backwards, furious. She aimed her wand at him.

Malfoy remained at the bars, an easy, unmoving target. "You're not going to ever trust me. I wouldn't ask it and anyone who tells you to is a fool or a liar. But I do ask that you put some faith in my commitment to self-preservation. And in my intelligence. For these are the things that guide my actions." His silver gaze dropped from her face, to her mouth, and then lower still…until Hermione felt the urge to pull her jacket shut. "Well, most of the time," he added. And she wished to Merlin that he would smirk or sneer, but he looked disconcertingly serious.

Hermione glanced down at his left hand, and saw that blood from the gouges she had torn into it was dripping on the floor. She could still feel his fingers on her throat, but the particular grip he used would probably not leave any bruises.

She wanted to punish him. He should not be allowed to get away with menacing anyone like that, no matter that he was trying to prove a point. It was then that she saw the book; the one he had taken with him from his Azkaban cell. It was obviously of some value to him, and here it was, lying on his bunk beside a stack of papers that had to be the notes Padma had given him to read.

"Accio," she Summoned the book, noting how hoarse her voice sound. It flew into her hands.

Malfoy did not seem to be in the least bit perturbed by the loss of his precious book. Instead, he smirked.

"Sleep well, Granger. Pleasant reading."

Hermione practically jogged back to her room. She shut the door and opened the book. Her hands shook when she realised what she was looking at.

It wasn't a novel after all.

Son of a bitch. Was everything a calculated game to him?

It was the formula to make D.R.A.C.O, only there was one section missing, torn out of the book.

Clever, clever man.