A.N. Okay, I'm using the artistic licence card a little when it comes to medicine in this chapter. While somewhat unrealistic, I hope I'm not stretching the boundaries too much. And to be honest, considering the tropes used in film and TV, I think this is forgivable.

Draco slashed the air with his wand, driving Croaker back with another curse.

His fear grew as he realised he wouldn't be able to outduel Croaker. The Unspeakable clearly had an impressive arsenal of curses, even by Draco's standards; growing up in Slytherin, not to mention being from a family of hardened Death Eaters, his bar had always been set pretty high.

It didn't help that seeing Hermione wounded mere feet away from him was a pressing distraction. He couldn't help stealing glances out of the corner of his eye to check that she was okay.

'Why are you trying to ruin everything?' Croaker hissed, stabbing the air. Cardboard packages to Draco's right burst in a powdery explosion.

'We were HAPPY!' Croaker said, roaring the last word.

Draco's anger at Croaker hadn't lessened but now it was almost matched by his fear of him. Clearly this man was far crazier than he had realised, and if Draco had learnt nothing else from his Aunt Bella it was that crazy people could be lethal in their unpredictability.

Deciding it was best not to answer, Draco put all his efforts instead into hexing Croaker within an inch of his life.

'Crucio!' Croaker cried and this time it hit Draco square in the chest. He was knocked off his feet, his wand falling from his hand as agony wracked his body.

When the pain stopped, Croaker was standing almost on top of him, face lit up with delighted mania. In panic, Draco reached for his wand but he was far too slow and Croaker cursed him again.

Pain, unimaginably intense pain, coursed through every muscle in his body; on the blurred edge of his consciousness, he made out Croaker circling around him like a cat deciding which part of the mouse to eat first.

Then, inexplicably, the pain stopped and Croaker, with a look of utter bemusement, crumbled.

Sticking out of the side of his neck was a needle of some sort.

Still shaking, Draco managed to prop himself up onto his elbows.

'Thanks,' he said to the trembling Muggle in the long white coat who had been standing behind Croaker. Draco had no idea how he could have done it, but the Muggle had obviously done something to knock Croaker out. The Muggle nodded nervously; he eyed Draco's wand with great apprehension before bending down next to Hermione.

Draco dragged himself up and joined Regan and the Muggle and Hermione's side.

She looked awful, ashen from blood loss in spite of the tight bandages that Regan had secured.

The wounds itself were fairly easy to heal; Draco didn't do the neatest of jobs, leaving a scar where a proper Healer would have mended the gash completely. There was nothing, however, he could do to replenish her blood. The only way to do that would be with a potion, which Draco didn't have.

'I tried to phone to police,' the Muggle said. 'But there's a problem with the line. In emergencies, we phone a helicopter to come from the mainland because we don't have a hospital, but…' he gestured uselessly at the black object similar to one Draco had seen Hermione talk into before. Given the amount of magic he and Croaker had just cast around the area, Draco wouldn't be surprised if most of the technology within a few miles was malfunctioning.

Helplessly, he saw Hermione spiral away from him.

'She needs a transfusion,' Regan said. 'She won't make it otherwise.' She rubbed the bridge of her nose. 'And you don't have any blood here?' she begged the pharmacist.

'No,' the pharmacist said. He hesitated. 'But-'

He cut himself of, shaking his head.

'What?' Regan demanded while Draco had to stop himself physically shaking the man to get the answer out.

'It's highly irregular, I would never usually suggest something like this-'

'Spit it out!' Draco snarled.

'I collect antique medical artefacts,' the pharmacist said. 'For display purposes only – or at least in theory – I happen to have a blood transfusion instrument which was used during the First World War.'

It meant nothing to Draco but Regan let out a strangled laugh.

'Like I said, I would not normally suggest this but – well, you two appear to be sisters, so the likelihood of your blood types being a match is quite good.'

'We're cousins,' Regan said. 'But I know her blood type – she's AB positive, so she could receive blood from anyone, anyway.'

If Draco was following the conversation, they seemed to be talking about putting blood from Regan into Hermione. It was a revolting thought yet Draco had to admit it was a sort of brilliant idea in its crudeness.

'Get it then,' Regan said, rolling up her sleeve and rubbing her forearm.

'You said that anyone could give Hermione blood, no matter what kind of blood they had?' Draco asked Regan.

She nodded.

'Then take it from me. I'm in a better state of health than you,' Draco said quickly before she could argue. 'And wizards heal faster than Muggles.' That last part was a lie but Regan had been through enough physical trauma without losing a few pints of blood.

Regan gave Hermione a look of pained sorrow. 'Okay, then.'

Primitive thought the procedure was, it seemed to work well enough. Colour came back into Hermione's face and she started to breathe more deeply. The pharmacist was muttering something about infections and aftercare, which made little sense to Draco.

'You can give her some more, I feel fine,' Draco said as the pharmacist slid the needle out of Draco's arm.

He shook his head and Regan put a cup of tea in his hands.

'You'll need to replace the iron you've lost,' Regan said. 'We should get you some fish or chicken to eat.'

'I'll take a potion as soon as we get back to England, don't worry,' Draco said, rolling down his sleeve and pulling himself to his feet. He did feel rather dizzy, actually.

Hermione made a movement to sit up but Regan held her back.

'Rest,' she said firmly.

Draco turned his attention to Croaker, still crumpled on the floor like a discarded piece of clothing.

'How long will he be unconscious for?' Draco asked the pharmacist.

'Midazolam can last between one to six hours,' he said. 'I was hoping you could do something to incapacitate him long before he wakes up.' He indicated hopefully at Draco's wand

'Good idea,' Draco said.

Conjuring the ropes took more out of Draco than it usually would have. Breathing heavily, he leant back against the wall for support.

'You don't seem overly perturbed by all this,' Draco said. 'Or at least no more so that one would expect after having your shop blown to smithereens.' He eyed the damage ruefully. 'For which I am heartily sorry. I'll pay for the damage, of course.'

The man jerked his head. 'Everybody knew that there was something off about the man on the hill.'

The similarity to what the Muggle in Wiltshire said made Draco smile despite himself. All the Muggles for miles around had known there was something unsettling about the manor and had duly avoided it.

Croaker safely bound tight, Draco went back over to Hermione. She let her head rest on his shoulder and intertwined her hand with his.

'We need to get a hold of the Ministry,' Hermione said quietly. 'You should try summoning Croaker's broom, it can't be far. You can fly to the mainland.'

Draco calmly explained to her that if she thought he was leaving her alone for a single second on this island she was stark raving mad.

She squeezed his hand. 'Do you have a better idea?'

The most sensible thing to do would have of course been to kill Croaker. As much as Draco loathed the man and as ready as he would have been to finish him off in the heat of battle, coldly ending his life while he was unconscious was quite another thing.

'None of us are murderers,' Hermione said, guessing his thoughts.

'You and Regan should take the broom,' Draco said. 'I'll stand guard here.'

Hermione frowned as she furiously tried to think of another solution, one which didn't see them separated again. Biting her lip, she eventually nodded.

'I won't be long,' she promised. 'I don't think I'm in a fit state to apparate but I can use Croaker's wand to call the Knight Bus as soon as we land.

It took an hour and a half for Croaker to wake up.

The pharmacist had allowed Draco to move him to the back room while they waited for Hermione to come back with the Ministry. Draco had sat almost preternaturally still the whole time, wand trained on Croaker.

Croaker looked confused at first, but then his eyes had narrowed in fury as he remembered what had happened and pieced together the rest.

'Where are my girls?' he snarled.

'They're not yours,' Draco said. 'You'll never hurt them again.'

Croaker wrenched himself sideways, trying to struggle free of the ropes; without a wand, it was useless.

He stopped writhing, mouth falling open in despair, when he spotted the Grimoire in the corner of the room, the blankets it had been wrapped in only partially covering it.

'You have my book,' he said.

'Again, it was never yours,' Draco said tersely. 'It'll go back to the Department of Mysteries, where it belongs.'

'Do you know how long I've waited for it?' Croaker demanded. 'I waited my entire life for it to come to this country. I could hardly believe it when they said Qabbilar was accompanying it here.'

'I'd suggest you find yourself a healthier hobby,' Draco said. 'But I'm afraid you'll have precious little time for hobbies in Azkaban.'

Croaker seemed to have forgotten Draco's existence. He was staring at the book now as though it were his infant child, with adoration bordering on hunger.

The book felt it, too. A dark energy seemed to be emanating from it. Draco gave the thing a brief sideways look of suspicion before turning his attention back to Croaker.

'It's addictive, isn't it?' Croaker said with a strange smile. 'You want to look in it. I managed to resist diving straight in. There are rituals to follow, procedures, if you want to get what you need out of the book. I warned Nott about it but he didn't listen. Thought he was cleverer than I was.' He rolled his eyes to the ceiling, gently deriding the ways of youth. 'But people find it difficult, very difficult. Why do you think it moves around so much? It never stays in one country too long.'

It knew it was being talked about. It was impossible, but it knew.

Draco swallowed.

'What do you want out of it, anyway?' Draco asked.

Croaker's look of longing had a sinister quality to it. 'I've been laughed at and rejected my entire life. Let them see how it feels.'

Draco could almost empathise. He might have been superficially popular in school, brighter than average and a decent seeker – but there was a high bar he had set himself, one his father had help him set, one which meant he was constantly trying to measure up to the Chosen One. And always falling short. Trying to be more impressive than Potter had been no small part of the motivation to readily accept the Death Eater mantle after his father's imprisonment.

And a Death Eater you'll be until you die. You're stained by it.

It was a chilly thought which popped like a bubble in his head.

You can pretend all you like, but scratch the surface and you're a coward. Hundreds of brave wizards and witches gave their lives to stop the Dark Lord and all you could do was cower behind your mother's skirts. Exactly like Lucius.

Draco shook his head and gripped his wand tighter.

Croaker smirked. 'You can feel it. I can see it in your eyes.'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Draco answered coldly.

Croaker laughed to himself. 'It always speaks the truth, you know. Unpleasant, but it never lies. On the contrary, it pulls back the excess layers, the superfluous exterior, revealing the truest truth there is.'

'Shut up,' Draco said.

So much braver now. Now that you stand against a bound and wandless man.

'It's only the book,' Draco muttered to himself. It certainly didn't feel like the grimoire. The thoughts flowed seamlessly together with his own. They were all things he might have thought. He probably had at some point.

'It always reminded me how unlovable I was,' Croaker said in a very matter-of-fact way. 'I never got on very well with my family and the only person I ever truly cared for, well, until Regan, of course, left me. The book told me Regan would also leave me. It knew.' He let out a sigh.

'You are actually crazy,' Draco said, highly unnerved.

Croaker paid no attention to the last comment. 'I wonder what nasty little secret it sees in you. I imagine your parents loved you well enough and you had your pick of paramours in pureblood high society.' He tilted his head to the side, considering. 'Although, judging by your preoccupation with Miss Granger, that's no longer what you want. How interesting!'

'You don't get to talk about her!' Draco said angrily. Without even really thinking, he flicked his wrist, sending a stinging hex across Croaker's face. The older man let out a hiss of pain but stopped himself from crying out.

Cursing a man when he's helpless to fight back. What more can you expect from a Slytherin?

'He deserves it,' Draco said quietly to himself.

They all deserved it, didn't they? Katie Bell deserved to hover on the brink of death for months on end. Ronald Weasley deserved to be poisoned the very day he became a man. Albus Dumbledore deserved to die at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

That wasn't even me!

But it might have been. You were just about to curse him, remember?

At that very moment, Draco couldn't quite recall whether he had been on the point of lowering his wand of raising it in ready for the curse. He could do it, he knew that much. He had practised on rats in the dungeon the previous summer with Aunt Bella. He remember how feverishly alive her gaunt face had been lit up in green.

You've always been a bad person, though. Well, perhaps weak is more accurate than evil. You never did anything for any reason other than you were afraid. Afraid if it wasn't them being bullied, it would be you.

'Is it reminding you of your past?' Croaker wondered. 'You hardly have a shining record, but I suppose the real question is whether that bothers you. Certainly many Death Eaters were only sorry they got caught.

But with knowledge comes power. Arm yourself with the right weapons and you need never be afraid or helpless or weak again.

Draco remembered with stunning clarity what his seventh year had been like. Wanting to go home during the holidays to be with his parents during this difficult time. And not wanting to. Wanting to stay as far away as possible. Considering fleeing the country. Wondering what New York was like. There were almost as many wizards there as London.

I don't have to be that person.

Draco looked again at the book. It was overflowing the arcane knowledge. If he could study it, nobody would ever be able to hurt him. He could protect himself, protect Hermione, protect his family. He would be truly safe.

Draco looked back at Croaker.

'It can't lie,' Croaker reminded. 'It doesn't know how.'

Draco edged over to the book, still keeping his wand up.

The grimoire was really rather beautiful. The elaborate scarlet title curled, snakelike, across the page.

'Even if I were of a mind to stop you, I don't think it would do much good at this point,' Croaker said, sounding amused.

Draco glared furiously at Croaker. Of course the vile little man wanted to stop him. This book was the most powerfully magical artefact in the country. Croaker wanted to keep all that power for himself.

Running his fingers softly over the spine, Draco flipped the cover open.

It was blank.

Pages and pages of unblemished ivory flew through Draco's fingers as he sought what he needed.

'What did you do to it?' he shouted at Croaker. 'Where has it all gone?'

Croaker only laughed.