Hermione Granger was not easily intimidated. Hermione Granger was not easily frightened. Hermione Granger was not easily pushed to cower in a corner, waiting for her certain death. It seemed, however, Jean Wyler was. Hermione had stopped wondering when exactly she had become this new person, this easily frightened person. Once, she had stood right beside Harry as he faced the unknown, ready for anything. Once, she has walked right into danger, knowing there might be no return. But now, she stood here, afraid of a man she could have once overpowered easily. She knew she could still if she wanted. If only she had her previous strength. If only she had her previous courage. But she did not. And she stood now, at the mercy of Draco Malfoy.

He was slow and deliberate as he got out of bed, still naked from before. He picked up his wand and the cup from the floor, silently transfiguring it back into a knife. And that was when she knew she would die. She had failed Harry. She had failed everyone. How could she have been so weak? How could she have lost every ounce of Hermione Granger from herself? He walked over to her as she backed away until she was pressed against the wall.

He was smirking, and she cursed herself for being so stupid. Of course he hadn't actually expected her to do it. He knew she would not be able to kill him, and it sickened her, that even he knew her weakness. He stopped in front of her, the smirk still on his face as his eyes held hers. "I must say I'm a little disappointed," he admitted as he twirled the knife in his hands.

She stood silently, knowing any words that came from her lips now would give her away to who she was. But then, was that a bad thing? So what if he knew she was Hermione Granger now? He was going to kill her anyway. Shouldn't she die as herself rather than the imposter she had become? Wasn't there enough of her left to want even that? But she knew what would happen if it was discovered that she was Hermione Granger. Her death would be drawn out. She would be tortured and raped and who knew what else. And, being who she had become now, she was too afraid of that.

He looked at her now, his expression hard and blank as he raised the knife. She flinched and closed her eyes, waiting for the end. But all she felt was the cool, sharp tip resting at the base of her neck. She opened her eyes and looked at him, an unspoken question in her eyes. Why was she still alive? She had tried to kill him. He had given her protection, safety. He had given her a chance, and she had betrayed it. So why did he not just kill her? Though, she supposed, the chance was not yet gone. She remained still as stone as she looked up at him. He had been looking at the knife, but now his gaze moved back up to meet her own.

"I must say, for a moment, I wondered," he said softly. He was waiting for a response, she could tell. When she gave none, his expression hardened again. "Who are you?"

"J-Jean Wyler," she stammered out, her voice barely audible. She could still feel the cold metal pressing against her skin with no respite.

"And what are you doing here, Jean Wyler?" he asked icily.

"Nothing," she said after a long moment. "Nothing but what you asked me to."

"Funny, I don't recall asking you to hold a knife to my throat," he sneered.

"It was nothing," she said quickly. "It was stupid. I was being stupid."

"Yes it was," he agreed. "Let's see just how stupid it was." He slid the side of the knife over her skin, lower and lower. The cold metal left a trail of dread behind it. She tensed in fear, which seemed to please him. A small smirk tugged at his lips. "It would be so easy to kill you now," he whispered. "No one would miss you. No one would even know."

She looked at him, true fear in her eyes. She was about to die. She had failed. With a daunting thought, she thought how ironic it was that even in the face of her own death, she could think only of how she had failed Harry. Because he was what was important. Only him. So what if she died? She meant to later on anyway, after she brought him back. And now she would not be able to. No one would because no one knew what she and Harry had done. No one knew what price she would have to pay.

"Are you afraid?"

"Yes."

He smirked and took away the knife, throwing it back onto his bed. When he turned to face her again, he stepped closer. "And now?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said, satisfied. Before she could even react, he reached up and smacked her across the face with the back of his hand. Her cheek burned in response, but she did not make a sound. She knew she was bleeding, had felt his fingernails scratch her skin. So it would not be a fast, easy death, it seemed. He would break her first. He would make her pay for her betrayal.

He reached behind her and grabbed her hair, pulling it back roughly. "You know who I am," he said menacingly. "You know what I'm capable of. And yet you were too weak. Think of the hundreds of people you could have saved. Think of the people you fought alongside at the battle. You could have helped them. But you did not."

She was being tested, she knew that immediately. Despite all her qualms of losing her identity, she was still Hermione Granger deep down. And Hermione Granger could smell a test from a hundred miles away. This time was no different. He was testing her to see just how he should punish her. Did that mean he would not kill her after all? She did not want to set him off if that was still an option. Instead, she decided to play along.

"I-I couldn't," she tried to look away but he pulled her hair again and made her look at him. "I'm not like them. I'm – not a k-killer."

"You must have known what I would do to you if I found out," he spoke quietly, though the edge was not gone from his voice. "You must have known I would not take you almost killing me lightly."

She did not answer this time, and somehow, she knew he did not expect her to. What she did not expect was what happened next. It happened so suddenly, she didn't even have time to react. One moment she was staring into his platinum eyes, waiting for her death, and the next, he was on top of her, his lips crushing hers. It was not a sweet kiss. No, it was demanding, controlling. He was taking what he wanted from her, and she had no choice but to give it. Without even waiting for her approval, he pushed his tongue into her mouth, tasting her fully. He still had his grip on her hair and pulled it back so he could access her mouth more. She cried out in pain but he swallowed her anguish.

He pressed her harder into the wall, not caring that he was crushing her. She had never felt so consumed, and that just from a kiss. But he was claiming her, she knew. He was forcing her to submit to him. And she did. She had no choice. He was everywhere. She whimpered in pain as he took her bottom lip between his teeth and bit down hard, drawing blood. She felt a sick pleasure from it, knowing he was taking her blood, her dirty blood as he saw it. He was contaminating himself and he didn't even know it. But she had no time to gloat because just as suddenly as it had started, he pulled away, turning her around by her hair and pressing her against the wall again.

He pressed into her, his hips grinding into her backside. His mouth was at her neck then, leaving hot demanding kisses over her skin as he made his way to her shoulder. She whimpered, feeling the heat gather between her legs again. He growled at her, not wanting her to enjoy it and bit her shoulder hard. His hands were gripping her sides and she knew she would have bruises later, but he did not seem to care. He was punishing her. But he was not killing her. She was still alive. For how long, she knew not. But she was alive. She cried out when just as suddenly as he had started his punishment, he stopped, pulling her hair again to flip her so he could look into her eyes.

He crushed his lips to hers in a demanding kiss, a controlling move. Then, just as deliberate were all his actions, he pulled away. She whimpered at the loss of contact, but he did not move towards her again. Instead, he grabbed her chin roughly, pulling her face towards him, and she was afraid again. His eyes had death in them, his face pure anger. "I don't take kindly to people trying to kill me," he hissed. "Be warned."

He pushed her away then, making her fall to the ground. He started walking towards the door. But when he had his hand on the doorknob, he stopped, turning his head slightly. "This changes nothing."

She was almost afraid to look at him as he left her alone in the room. She waited till she heard the door slam behind him before she let the tears come. So close she had been. So close to killing him, to dying herself, to betraying Harry. But that's what she was doing anyway, wasn't it? Sleeping with the enemy? She saw her Harry now, kneeling beside her, and she imagined him putting his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. In angry tears, she pushed him away. She couldn't even look at him now, not even in her own thoughts. She stood then timidly, hoping Draco would not return. She hurriedly put on her robes and left, knowing there was only one place she wanted to be. Anywhere but here.