Selling Souls

Chapter IV

Hermione sighed, closing her eyes, just listening to the sound of her own breathing. Peace. She had spent the whole day avoiding Malfoy and his wrath and had instead been lumbered with the laughter of the entire school. Malfoy had meant to embarrass her with his trick in Potions class and as usual he had succeeded. Hermione just hoped that soon someone else would make more of a fool of themselves than she had, moving the spotlight onto some other poor unfortunate. But now, in the safety of her common room, she could finally relax . . . or so she thought.

The loud thump by her ear caused her eyes to shoot open. A pile of books rose from the table in front of her up to her eye level and from behind them Malfoy smirked down at her.

"Give me a break, Malfoy! Part of that stupid contract is that I get use of the common room whenever I like. I think that applies now." She tried to match his smirk but somehow couldn't muster the venom. Sometimes she could still see those memories that had flickered through her mind, leaving a foul taste behind.

"That is exactly what I mean to do – leave you with use of the common room to do my homework." Hermione knew Malfoy was trying to punish her, because her presence dared to tempt him to weakness, to forget the troubles in his life, but this was simply ridiculous!

"That's not likely, Malfoy," she said incredulously, staring up at him from her seat by the table. He sighed dramatically, tapping the pile of books with a long, pristine finger.

"I thought, perhaps I wouldn't have to spell it out for you but if you insist on misbehaving . . . From now on I will leave my homework on this table. You will complete my homework before doing your own, with the same accuracy and care you would put into your own work. You will finish it before it is due to be handed in and only then will you be able to do your own homework. I'll leave you to it, shall I?"

"Wait, Malfoy!" There was more than a hint of desperation in her voice when she called him back. He turned and smiled at her, an evil glint to his eye. She could feel the satisfaction rolling off him in waves, a smugness that made her grit her teeth. He wanted her to beg! He wanted her to kneel helpless before him and beg him to let her off! He wanted her to show him the same weakness, he had shown her; to bring her down to the same level. She could see him almost leaning forward, eager to hear her plead for mercy.

"That's impossible. You know I can't . . ." She stopped.

"You can't what?" He licked his pale lips, eager to win over her, to prove that he had the power to either make her life a complete misery or at least make it bearable. She stared at him in horror, her dark eyes widening. Never would she beg him for anything. She'd dig up mountains before she would give in to him.

"That's fine. When is the first assignment due?" she asked with faked casualness, flicking through the stack of papers. She felt his anger and irritation and this strengthened her resolve.

"The first is for Monday, so you can have all weekend to make sure it's perfect." Hermione had her own assignments due for the following week but now she would be forced to complete Malfoy's first. How long would he keep this up? How long before she crumbled and gave in?


The year began to wane and the night air grew chill and sharp. The last of the summer winds whisked through the castle, muttering howls and moans that raised the hairs on the neck. The golden sun paled and began to set early behind the mountain, whose snowy peak inched further down the rocky slopes a little each day. Even the trees began to shed their leaves, revealing the nude branches beneath. At night the cold breezes whispered across the lake, mingling with the still warm waters to create a ghostly mist that writhed on the glassy surface, creating smoky shapes and faces with black holes for eyes and mouth. It was at such a phenomenon that Hermione now stared wistfully from her bedroom window, her pale face drawn and dark shadows under her eyes.

More than a month had passed since Malfoy bestowed his punishment and she felt it now more than ever. Below her, in the corridors of the school, students prepared for the great wizarding celebration that was Halloween. Carved pumpkins grinned in the most gleeful ways, staring from corners of darkened corridors. Great flocks of candles floated in circuits, high and low, around the eaves, twinkling like stars in the dark. Hermione could hear the traditional music floating from the halls below, flutes and gentle harp notes, mixed with the excited chatter and laughs of an entire school. Hermione would be missing the feast tonight.

She spared precious little time for herself now days. All her efforts were spent completing not only her own work but also Malfoy's. Each week she would place a stack of completed tasks on the common room table and the next day there would be a new pile. In order to complete it all she often worked long into the night and both friends and teachers had commented on how pale she had become; only Harry and Ron knew the reason for it.

Malfoy remained as cruel and as detached as ever. She stayed away from him for the most part, too angry to even bring herself to speak with him, yet sometimes he stood in the room as she held her back to him, just watching her work herself away. She could feel his cold eyes pierce her back and she knew he was just waiting, waiting for her to break; and all because she was the temptation of comfort and weakness. She could hardly help this. What person punished those because they could offer help?

And no matter how far she tried to run from him, she could still feel his presence; that boiling anger inside of him that hissed and writhed whenever she was near. The worst was at night when there was little to distract Hermione from entering his head and becoming lost in the torrent of emotions that swirled in Malfoy's thoughts. Anger and hate and spite. But sometimes there was pleasure. A deep ache that grew and grew until . . . She knew what he was doing and it made her feel sick to even know yet it made her ache and yearn and want to press her fingers lower and lower. She would not let herself; not because of his doing; not whilst thinking of him. And after the pleasure came the loneliness, the self-loathing and disgust that almost incited pity within her. And always, always that undercurrent of rage. She did not know if Malfoy was getting angrier every day or if his emotions echoed louder in her head with each passing hour.

"You're not coming to the feast, are you?" Hermione's gaze snapped back from the ethereal landscape below her to the two figures standing by her door. A piece of parchment sat ready on her lap, the quill still poised in her fingers although the ink had welled at the nib and dripped onto the paper. Hermione glanced at the blemish on her parchment with something akin to despair. It was the smallest of things but it was just another straw upon her laden back. Tears blurred her eyes.

"How did you get in?" she whispered.

"Surprisingly Malfoy let us in, smug git. You don't have to take this, Hermione. Let the lazy prick do his own work for once."

"You know that's not how it works, Ron," she sighed, shaking her head forlornly.

"This is too much. You can't keep living like this. How long before you make yourself ill?"

"When I get my soul back everything will be fine again." It was the dogma Hermione was sticking to; it was what kept her going when she was so tired she could barely lift her head.

"Hermione, me and Harry have been talking and we don't think you can get it back on your own. You need help . . . from a teacher."

"No! How many times do I have to tell you? I'll get it back, trust me."

"It doesn't look like you're getting very far. You could at least talk to Malfoy. Ask him to let up on the work load," Ron continued.

"That's what he wants. He wants me to break and go begging and snivelling at his feet. I won't do it!" Her friends looked at each other in slight alarm and she knew what they were thinking. They believe I'm crazy! She didn't care what they thought. This was Malfoy's idea of some sick test and she was going to play by the rules and get top marks like she always did and at the end the prize would be her soul. Harry had not spoken since he and Ron had entered the room but now he stepped forward, his brows knitted into a frown.

"We'll confront him together," he said. Hermione was about to argue when Harry grabbed her wrist. She flinched, waiting for the barrage of images and pain but none came and when she opened her eyes she noticed she was being pulled down her bedroom staircase. Of course, it's only Harry, she told herself, letting the small amount of human contact warm her.

Malfoy was sitting in the common room with his feet propped up in front of the fire.

"Oi!" Harry called and the blonde boy lazily turned, casting a steely eye across Hermione and her companions. "Give her back what's hers."

"I wondered how long it would take," he drawled, rising slowly to his feet. He didn't seem at all surprised to know Hermione had told her friends about her soul.

"This has nothing to do with me," Hermione said quickly. "I'm not giving in, Malfoy."

"On the contrary, Granger. I think it has everything to do with you. Your little bodyguards here seem to have a problem."

"Give it back, Malfoy," Ron demanded, curling and uncurling his fists. "This is an abuse of human rights." Malfoy gave a condescending laugh that seemed to echo from all directions and Hermione could feel his amusement reverberate through her. He was amused by her suffering!

"She has no rights. She lost those when she idiotically gave me her soul." Malfoy lounged against the side of the sofa and produced the slip of paper from his breast pocket. Hermione had noticed that he always kept it with him now and, on the occasional time that she paused to observe him, she would sometimes see him pat his chest or slip his fingers into his pocket to feel for the paper as if to remind himself that it was still there. "Is this what you are looking for?" Ron lunged for it but Malfoy moved so that the sofa was between him and the red head.

"Ron!" Hermione called. She knew this was going to escalate; something bad was about to happen. Harry placed a hand on either side of her shoulders.

"Look at her!" he commanded. The whole room stilled. Ron stopped his attempt to steal the parchment and Malfoy's hands fell to his sides. "Look at what you're doing to her!" Harry continued, pushing Hermione forwards slightly, her hollow eyes staring at the blonde. And he did look, the seconds ticking into what seemed hours as he stared at her. To Hermione, it was like a storm raged in his eyes, clouds whirling in the silver irises. She held his gaze defiantly, refusing to back down. The anger inside him mounted, building and building . . . and then the wave crashed and something inside him broke. For a second she felt a deep horror and just the smallest amount of regret and shame, it flickered into life and then was drowned.

"Accio Parchment!" The slip of paper tore from Malfoy's hand and he gave a sound of surprise.

"Nice one mate," Ron cheered, taking the ragged note from Harry and waving it at Malfoy in victory.

"Give it back!" The blonde boy roared.

"Ron, stop!" Hermione called, knowing that Malfoy was reaching for his wand. Ron had moved to stand by the fire, holding the paper dangerously close to the crackling flames. They reached up, writhing towards the new source of energy hungrily, spitting in glee. Malfoy pointed his wand, a cool, menacing smile upon his face.

"I've wanted an excuse to kill you for a while now, Weasley." Ron gave a nervous laugh.

"Ron, I don't think he's joking," Hermione whispered, wondering where the hell she had left her own wand. Was it her, or had the room suddenly become very hot? A trickle of sweat ran down her temple and she took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"I should have done this ages ago," Ron said, shoving the parchment closer to the fire.

"No!" Malfoy cried. Another bead of sweat ran down her face. Merlin, it was hot! She could barely breathe; the air had become so heavy and seared her throat as she inhaled.

"Something's wrong," she muttered. Malfoy's head whipped round, snarling a command, not realising the consequences of his actions.

"Shut up, Granger. Sit down and shut up. I'm sorting this." She complied, she was forced to. The room blurred before her as another wave of sweltering heat crashed over her. She was burning, flames all around her, licking up her ankles and blistering her skin. Tears mingled with the sweat on her skin and more than anything she wanted to cry out, to stop the agony. She looked up at Harry, trying to convey a message through the expression on her face but he was not looking at her, his whole attention consumed by the argument ensuing.

"Don't talk to her like that and don't order her around," Ron shouted.

"Give me back what is mine, Weasley. You don't know what magic you're messing with." The flames were leaping up to taste the parchment, the edges curling inwards and browning. It would not be long before it finally caught fire. Hermione's hands clasped her throat, smoke filling her lungs, poisoning her blood stream. Inside her own head she screamed, crying out in pain. Suddenly Malfoy looked at her.

"Granger?" She didn't reply. Ron held his mouth open, ready to continue the argument, ignoring the heat burning his fingers. But Malfoy was no longer paying him any attention. He had quickly crossed the room and was kneeling before her. Through the pain she noticed the irony of the situation. He was in the same position as he had been when this whole battle had begun, that night so long ago when he had allowed himself to embrace her, kneeling before her. Except this time, it was Hermione who was desperate for someone to take the pain away.

Raising an arm, Malfoy looked as if he wanted to put a hand to her forehead to check her temperature but at the last moment he snatched it back.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked. He had moved from the fire, the contract still clasped in his hands and, as he distanced himself with the flames, Hermione felt cool air wash over her and into her lungs. She took a gasping breath.

"Granger?" Malfoy repeated, ignoring Ron. "Say something." Immediately she felt the pressure on her muscles alleviate.

"Ron, give Malfoy back the contract!" Her voice was hoarse but with every second she felt the pain receding. Ron looked at her in confusion.

"But-"

"Now, Ron! And neither of you are to touch or steal it from Malfoy again. Understand?" They looked at her, speechless.

"Hermione, wha-" Harry started.

"Go! Just go. I'm too tired to explain now. I'll talk to you in the morning." The pair shuffled out, Ron reluctantly handing over the paper to a smug looking Malfoy. Hermione swallowed her feelings of guilt. She was leaving them in confusion yet again.

"What was that about?" Malfoy asked, smoothing the creases from the contract, looking at it approvingly and folding it, tucking it into his breast pocket.

"Just keep that parchment safe, ok? I swear the flames from the fire were burning me as well as the paper. I think there's complicated magic involved. I've got to find out more." She shivered and rubbed her arms roughly. "It was blistering my skin. I could feel it."

"Stand up!" Malfoy commanded and of course she obeyed."Hold out your hands." She opened her mouth to complain as he leaned in closer.

"What're you do-" But he cut her off before she could finish.

"Not a mark . . . I swore I could see it," the blonde boy muttered to himself, holding her hands up to his face by her sleeves, making sure not to graze her bare skin with his own.

"See what?" He gave her a piercing gaze and then broke it quickly, turning to look at the flickering flames in fireplace, crackling with sound almost like mocking laughter.

"Nothing. It doesn't matter . . . I don't like being threatened in my own common room. Don't let your little sidekicks do that again." Hermione sighed.

"They just don't understand how someone can make another suffer in such a way. I, on the other hand, am now used to it."

"Don't be a fool, Granger. It's not that bad, it's character building." It was a cruel joke on his part yet it sounded half-hearted, weary, like he was tired of mocking her.

"Must you always reduce those around you to the same pitiful sub-existence as yourself?"

"Do you despise me for it? Do you feel sick every time you look at me?" he snarled. Hermione was taken aback by the intensity in his voice. She met his gaze and held it, noticing the hint of nervousness from her defiance.

"No. I don't hate you." As she said it, she realised it was true. She could never hate something as pathetic as him. "I just pity you."

With a quick movement, he threw the table over in anger. Books and quills and an ink bottle came crashing to the floor in a heap of splintered wood. She forced herself not to flinch, standing strong as items scattered across her feet.

"You're lying! You hate me. Why wouldn't you? I make your life hell!" Hermione looked at him. She could feel his desperation. He wanted her to hate him, needed her to hate him. She knew he was desperately trying to hold onto that which he was familiar with: hate and anger. But she could feel how tired he was, how much it took out of him to stay angry all the time. He didn't want to be this way. Worming doubt crawled across his mind; she could feel it as if it were her own. Was it her own? How could she tell anymore whose feelings were whose? But just one look in his weary eyes told her that he was fighting against giving up. Hermione had to stop herself from smiling. She had him right where she wanted him. Now if she so chose she could expose his weakness. He was already breaking; she had felt his horror and shame at mistreating her. She had to act now before he could summon the wall of anger up again – now!

"I know why you won't let me help you. You've survived so long filled with anger that you're scared that, if it's taken away, there'll be nothing left of you. I'm right, aren't I? You're scared of who you'll be without that rage. You don't want me to see you vulnerable, without that wall of anger around every other emotion."

"Don't be idiotic," he snorted but she knew that she was right. She held out her hand, her fingers shaking visibly.

"I can help you," she said. He shifted in place, his usual bravado dropping and a look of uncertainty upon his face. There was need in his eyes. The need to be free from his memories and emotions.

"I'm not pathetic."

"You don't have to be. It's not a weakness to want freedom." Her hand was still outstretched. "Take my hand." He took it.

Hermione's own reflection stared back at her, pale, white face and dark, weary eyes. Her hair was a wild halo, falling into her eyes, highlighted by the golden flames.

"Look at her!" Harry's voice ordered. Hermione's reflection was pushed forward. She had a tired expression but there was defiance in her eyes. "Look at what you're doing to her!" Shame, horror, regret, weariness. If only it could all be forgotten, if only I could go back to the start, a thought that was not her own wished.

The image shifted.

A blonde woman with a tear-streaked face held her bloodied hands. The scarlet liquid dripped to the floor in a rhythmic beat, spattering into smaller drops that flew across the stone flooring.

"Look at her!" Malfoy's quavering voice cried. The voice was younger sounding, raw, as if this intense terror and rage was a new, unfamiliar emotion. "Look what you're doing to her." A man laughed like the crack of lightening and there was only pain.

The image shifted.

Hermione looked upon her own reflection once again, seated in the chair, face twisted in pain. All around her reflection flames danced and flickered, golden and ever hungry, coursing up pale skin, devouring. But as Hermione watched, she felt the flames weren't really there, that they were just a mirage, a pale copy of the real thing. She heard a high-pitched scream coming from the girl, although her reflection had not opened its mouth. She felt fear, but this wasn't the normal kind, it was fear for another, and worry and a sharp pain in her chest – in her heart.

The memories she viewed from Malfoy's point of view were suddenly dispelled, pushed to the side as a more urgent feeling arose. Malfoy had brought her close to his chest, clutching her tight with both arms. She felt breathless and thought for a second that he was crushing her, but that wasn't it. An ache in her chest rose unbidden, a need to let go, to speak things she didn't know she had wanted to say. He sighed, his chest brushing against hers and she felt her back arching into him of its own accord. He didn't notice, his eyes were closed and all he wanted was to allow her to help him forget. He didn't want her. He just wanted peace . . . Just another reason to hate him, she thought as indifferently as she could.


The next day the pile of books waiting for her on the common room table had been halved, the next week it was a quarter of what it once had been, the week after that the table lay bare. Hermione smiled to herself in victory as she looked upon the empty table. She understood that it was Malfoy admitting defeat in his own way. She knew better than to expect an apology or even a word from him. But it was a step towards winning, a scored point. And the prize? Her soul.


A.N. Sorry it took so long to update. I have been ill. If you are confused by this chapter then please bear with me, everything will be explained. On an additional note, I know this is awful to ask but if you like my writing style please check out my other stories. They are sorely lacking in criticism, reviews and just plain views. I would really appreciate feedback. Also I would like to say a huge thanks to all the people who have reviewed this story. Thank you so much.

Anna