Draco paced back and forth in the third class smoking decks, glancing nervously around. He had spent the first part of the night fretting about his conversation with Hamish, but as the minutes ticked by and Hermione was nowhere to be seen, his despair took a backseat to paranoia. Where on earth was she? He was certain they had agreed to meet there. He pulled his flimsy wool coat tighter around himself and trembled in the frozen air. If this was how cold the air was, he couldn't even imagine how cold the water would be.

…Will be. He thought darkly.

As the minutes ticked by he began to suspect that she had gotten caught by Horace. He had seen the additional bruises on her wrists. He had felt- first hand- her flinch away when he had touched her side, which had surely been bruised as well.

Draco Malfoy wasn't a fool. He didn't know for certain, but he had a very strong feeling that the older man had been hurting Hermione.

Physically.

The thought caused hot rage to flood through him, and he balled his hands into fists. It was clear to him then: she hadn't arrived yet because she was trapped by that bloody Butler. He could see it now: Horace blocking her exit, grabbing her wrist and-

Fuck that. He wouldn't just sit by and imagine such a horrid scenario, he would go find her. He would beat the absolute shite out of that old man. He stormed up the stairs to the main decks, fear and anger pushing him forward.

He was in such an emotional state, he didn't even notice the maid heading his way. He was about to blow right past her when she placed a hand out to grab his forearm with a hissed: "Draco, where are you going?"

He halted in his spot, looking in alarm to the stranger who knew his real name. It wasn't until his vision focused on her that he realized it was Hermione Granger. Alive and safe and looking relatively unharmed. Her hair was astray and she had dark circles beneath her eyes, but she was such a welcome sight at that moment he could have swept her up in an embrace.

"Bloody hell! I didn't even recognize you," he remarked, taking her in. After a moment, he recognized the outfit as Lottie's uniform.

"I know," she mumbled, her face blooming a brilliant pink as she adjusted her black skirt, "I look frumpy, don't I?"

"I dunno, Granger," he quipped, mouth turning up into his famous grin, "I think it's kind of sexy."

She gasped and crossed her arms over her chest. "Malfoy, please."

He laughed, so relieved that she had made it to him safely that he couldn't help himself Not to mention, he thought, giving her another up-and-down, she did look bloody brilliant. He had said it before but he'd say it again: she'd look beautiful in a rubbage bag.

Before he had thought his attraction to her was born from nothing more than the elegant and flowing gowns she donned in this world; the way her brown curls were pinned delicately back, leaving her stunning, porcelain neck and collarbone on display. But as she stood before him in the utilitarian, bare-bones uniform, he realized that he was attracted to her. Plain and simple.

Realizing he was staring a little too long to be considered decent, he shook himself.

"It's bloody cold out," he said, rubbing his hands together, "let's go inside to talk."

She nodded wordlessly, face still warm from his salacious comments.

Once they were inside, he felt his frozen hands and feet begin to thaw. Hermione immediately took the lead, bringing him confidently through the corridors of the second class lobby. It was darkened and empty, save for a few staff passing through, probably running late-night errands. Draco wondered dimly how she knew where to go as she pulled him into a separate, bare corridor behind an unassuming, nondescript door. The small engraved sign above the doorway reading "Crew Only" signified that it was only intended for staff.

"Thank Merlin," she murmured to herself, "I was nervous I was turned around."

"Where are we going? How did you know this was here?"

"I'll explain in a moment," she whispered over her shoulder, bringing a finger up to her mouth in a shushing motion. She spun around and counted the doors as they passed by them, "303, 304, 305… here"

With hardly a warning, she pushed open the door to their right. Surprised, but quick on his feet, Draco followed her in and closed the door behind him.

Darkness swallowed them, and she tisked in annoyance.

"We have to find the light."

"Lumos," Draco whispered humorously as he cracked the door back open, letting a sliver of light from the hallway into the room.

"Har har har," She responded dryly next to him, "good one, Mr. No Wand."

"Hey, who's to say I couldn't do wandless magic?"

"Safely and reliably? Literally every wizarding textbook and historical scroll in existence," she rolled off, crossing to the center of the shadowed room. "You can't do wandless magic. Hardly anyone can."

"Great wizards have done it before," Draco grumbled, actually a little offended she thought he couldn't be one of the talented few.

She stood on tiptoes and clicked on the single lightbulb hanging above her. Light flooded the room, and Draco's eyes adjusted to find that they were in some sort of staff locker room. Not the kind for quidditch they had at Hogwarts, but the kind he knew his serving staff at the manor utilized before and after their shifts. He hadn't been inside it since he was a child and had spent hours running around the massive mansion, exploring every nook and cranny of every room.

"Yes!" she whispered triumphantly, crossing to the wall of wooden lockers to her left. There were no locks, so she was able to open them and sift through the contents inside to her pleasure.

"Are you going to explain to me what's happening?" Draco asked, dumbfounded. She shot a concerned look behind him.

"Once you close that door all the way, yes," she said and he rolled his eyes. They had barely seen a soul on their way here, but she was famously thorough. He pulled on the bronze handle until the door clicked shut quietly.

When he turned back around to ask her again, a pile of clothes flew across the space and landed squarely against his chest. He caught them reflexively. He gaped at her and down at the white linen in his arms.

"What on earth?"

"Put that on," she ordered distractedly, crossing to the other side of the room to open the cabinets.

"For Salazar's sake! Granger!" He snapped, dropping the uniform on the ground and crossing his arms. "Not until you fucking explain what you're doing."

"Language!" She snapped.

"I'm not Potter or Weasley! You can't drag me along to be the grunt while you're the brain behind everything," he barked, and she paused her rummaging to look over her shoulder. "I know you lot are used to wanking off on dangerous adventures and traipsing through death-ridden mazes, but I'm not. I don't rush blindly into things like you bloody Gryffindors."

Hermione turned around, arms dropping to her sides. She opened her mouth as if to snap back, but she seemed to think better of it.

"Fine. I'll explain everything…" she pointed to the pile of clothes at his feet, " while you put that on."

"I'll put it on," he relented, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the bench next to him. He gave her a wink, "... but only if you watch."

She rolled her eyes as if she was unaffected by the perverse comment, but her blush gave her away. She turned around and continued searching through the utility closet.

Draco couldn't help but laugh as he pulled his ratty shirt up and over his head. It was cute how easily flustered she became. After a few more moments of rummaging through the locker, she gasped. He watched her pluck a set of keys from one of the hooks on the door.

"They're here!"

"Keys?"

She nodded as she dropped them into her apron pocket, still not turning around.

"So, are you going to explain why we need them? And how you knew where this room even was?" He asked as he unlaced his boots.

"Remember that fight we had? When I told you I was going to meet with Thomas Andrews and you told me you didn't want to join us?"

Oh right, he thought but didn't say anything.

"Right, well he brought along some blueprints. I was able to study them."

"You're telling me you glanced at some drawings and know how to navigate this bloody mess of a ship now?" Draco asked, incredulous.

"It wasn't difficult. I just asked about the rooms and areas I knew would come in handy," she dismissed him, "the hardest part was trying to pull information from him without seeming suspicious, then once I learned which room was what, it was easy to memorize."

"Easy my arse," he said, shaking his head and pulling down his trousers and kicking them to the side. "You've got an incredible memory."

She didn't say anything to him, but he could see the side of her face was flushed in pride. She busied herself by looking through every book and cranny of the closet.

"Okay," he said once he had pulled on the final garment to complete his transformation, "how do I look?"

She turned around and appraised him with a soft smile. "Quite official."

He adjusted the collar and tisked.

"I was hoping for handsome," he admitted.

She crossed over to him and replied, "I already told you that you're always handsome, remember?"

"Bold of you to assume I would ever forget a compliment," he said and smirked down at her. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his lips softly. He wanted to lean into it and savor it, but she pulled away much too quickly. She was No-nonsense Hermione Granger at the moment. She had a mission, and nothing could distract her.

"Right! Back to work!" She said. "The closet here doesn't have what we need."

"And what do we need? You never really told me."

"Let's walk and talk. The night is burning."

"What do I do with my clothes?"

"Just leave them in that locker, we'll be back before first shift begins."

Once they were back out in the hallway, stepping quickly and quietly down the sterile servant's corridor, she began to speak again.

"Okay: here's the plan," she said and he internally rejoiced— finally! "On the night the ship goes down, the majority of third class goes down with the ship. They never have a fighting chance for survival since they're locked up below."

"The curfew," Draco supplied from beside her, keeping in step as she surveyed the doors. "They close the gates."

"Right. And lock them." Hermione finished.

"They didn't unlock them so they could go above? That's right fucked."

"Language."

"That's proper fucked."

"Not what I meant."

"So you want to unlock the gates so they aren't trapped below?"

"We're going to more than just unlock them."

"Sabotage them?"

"Bingo," She said and turned sharply and abruptly down the corridor to her left, leaving him alone in the main hall.

He paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowed before he mumbled to himself: "What on earth is Bingo?"

He followed after her down the branching corridor, and it got narrower the further they went, the rumbling sounds of the engine growing stronger and stronger. They must have been near the boiler room.

Sure enough, at the end of the narrow hall, a rounded, iron door with a formidable-looking twist handle revealed itself. For a moment he thought she would try and twist it, but instead, she stopped just short of it and pulled open the wooden door next to it.

"Aha!" The Gryffindor cried in triumph as they set their eyes upon rows and rows of tools. Some he recognized from muggle studies: wrenches, hammers, and pliers. The rest was all steel nonsense to him, but she seemed to know what she was looking for.

"Could any of this be strong enough to cut through locks and chains?" Draco asked, incredulous.

She reached out and grabbed a massive set of bolt-cutters, and handed it to him. He grunted under the weight. It was unassumingly heavy.

"This should do it."

. . .

Hermione was impressed with how quickly Draco was able to keep up with her. She was also impressed by how he refused to just be carried along as a sidekick like Ronald or even Harry seemed to be most times. He was too smart for her to expect him to follow along blindly, and now she saw him in a new light. What she may have perceived as nosy or conniving before, she saw as sharp and intuitive now. Perhaps all these years she had simply been seeing him from the wrong angles.

And there they were: Hermione dawned in an inconspicuous maid's uniform, and Draco in a turn of the century White Star lines Uniform, sneaking around the belly of the Titanic to find the third class bunks, bolt cutters in tow. It was so bulky that it was challenging to keep it concealed between them. If anyone came across their path they would have a hard time explaining what they were doing with such a strange tool in the middle of the night.

She prayed to Merlin that no one would find them. They may have looked the part, and she vaguely knew her way around, but she wasn't naive enough to think that they could perform convincingly as two White Star Line employees to a real crew member.

Despite all of the anxieties in her head, the fact that she was doing anything at all after days of waiting around felt good. Even if they were enacting a smaller part of her plan tonight— she knew it was vital, and it could potentially save a thousand lives.

"Are you all right?" Draco asked from beside her as they kept up their quick stride to the third class corridors.

"Hm?" She hummed distractedly.

"You haven't spoken in ages."

"I'm just scared," she said after a moment, "scared of being caught. Scared of failing everyone."

He was quiet, and she knew he must have been scared too.

"It's just- I don't know... starting to feel real now. If we don't avoid it, the sinking will begin in 24 hours."

"What will that night look like? If we don't make it in time?"

She slowed to a stop and he slowed with her. She looked him in the eyes.

"Do you really want to know?" She asked. He nodded. "From all of the documentaries and remakes I've seen, it'll be hell on earth."

He swallowed.

"At first the ship will just dip below at the stern, they said you wouldn't even be able to tell it's sinking at all, but as the compartments fill, it will tip faster and faster. After the first and second class passengers are almost all evacuated, the ship will tilt into the sky. The last distress signal will be sent... then the power will go out."

She demonstrated on her arms, showcasing the severe angle.

"And then it will break in half. The pressure will be too much. It will sever in the middle, and the stern will go under completely."

She continued the demonstration on her arms, raised his eyebrows in alarm. Goosebumps raised on her skin as she realized the grim nature of describing the doom of such a massive vessel while standing aboard it.

"That's impossible."

"They found the wreckage in two pieces hundreds of miles away from one another. It confirms the eye witness testimony."

"And how long until the other part goes under?"

"Not long. It bobs for a few minutes at almost 90 degrees but slips under, too."

They stared at one another, both crushed beneath the impossible weight of their mission. After a few moments, Hermione took his hand- the one not holding the pliers- and pulled him along once more. They didn't have time to stop and ponder the possibilities of their failure. Too much was riding on them.

"Salazar help us," Draco breathed, looking pale.

"You can say that again," Hermione murmured.

. . .

The easy part of their mission was cutting the chain and pocketing the locks, or in certain cases in which the lock was embedded into the gate, Hermione would unlock it with the stolen key, and Draco would smash the daylights out of the latch jutting out from the interior of the lock. Even though it was physically taxing, the young Slytherin felt an instant wave of satisfaction every time the iron bent and snapped beneath the sturdy blades. Perhaps there was some sort of satisfaction to using muggle hardware and a little bit of elbow grease rather than waving a wand. The hardest part was trying to find every single gate among the hundreds of corridors. Whenever they thought they had made an impact, they would move along to the next corridor and come face to face with yet another gate. The young wizard sneered in disgust.

"Are these humans or deadly beasts?" He spat as he closed the plier's handles and snapped the chain. Hermione swiftly took the lock and placed it in her apron, which was beginning to droop under the weight of the dozens of locks. "This is just excessive."

"It's the way things were," Hermione said, heart sitting heavily inside the cavity of her chest. "Still are in some places."

"Where?"

"Well, the wizarding world for example. The way House-elves are treated is comparable."

"Don't be daft, House-elves love working."

"Is that why Dobby was so eager to abandon your family? Because he loved working for you so much?"

"Let's not compare Elves to Wizards. That's a completely different conversation. This is man against man."

"It's almost like being discriminated against for something you can't help is unfair. Like with wealth, status, race, or blood?"

"Alright," he murmured. "Point taken."

Hermione gave him a smug smile, and some part of him- the stubborn prideful part, wished he could take it back. Yes, he had learned his lesson on Muggles and Muggle-borns, but that didn't mean she could rub it in his face.

She shifted, the rattle and clamor of the locks ringing out.

"We've got to do something with these," Hermione whispered, looking down at the dozen or so locks. "We can't just carry them around all night. We already look suspicious, these just incriminate us more."

"Let's stash them somewhere," Draco said nonchalantly, slinging the heavy tool over his shoulder.

"For someone to find? Then they'll know people have been sabotaging White Star Line property."

"You're too paranoid, Granger."

"Oi!" A voice snapped from down the corridor, "what do you two think you're doin'?"

The witch and wizard jumped in fear, whirling around to face the intruder.

"Sir!" Hermione gasped. Draco looked at her in alarm, painfully aware of how bad they looked. As he approached them, he recognized the man's uniform. A white star line employee. Fuck.

A speechless moment passed, the balding man looking back and forth between them expectantly.

"Well? What do you think you're doing?"

"I- well, we.." Hermione began.

"I asked you a bloody question, girly!" He snapped, "out with it!"

"We're just doing our jobs, sir," Draco jumped in, voice hard. "There's no need to shout."

"Really? Your job is to sneak around at 4 AM with- well... whatever that is?" He said, motioning to the bolt cutters hiddenly clumsily behind Draco's back.

They glanced at one another, had they really been working for 5 hours?

"We have the early shift," the Slytherin lied smoothly, and he could feel Hermione shrink behind him, attempting to hide her bulging apron.

"Need I remind you that early shift does not begin until 5:30," the man said, looking them up and down with his beady eyes. "Why do you need that?"

"Oh, this? I just carry it around for fun," he quipped and Hermione jabbed him in the back.

"Maintenance! We're doing some emergency maintenance," she piped up from behind him. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, there's no way this man would believe that.

"What kind of maintenance?" The man asked, eyes narrowing as he studied her up and down. He must have noticed her different uniform because he followed up with: "You aren't one of mine. Who are you and who ordered you to do so at such an ungodly hour?"

"Thomas Andrews!" Hermione blurted, impressively quick on her toes, "I'm his personal maid. He awoke in the night in a cold sweat and ordered me to fetch help and replace the locks on all of the gates."

Draco looked down at her, eyebrow raised. What was she trying to do?

"Really?" The man drawled, voice thick with suspicion.

"I don't know if you've met Mr. Andrews," she continued, gaining confidence in her lie, "but he's a very, very diligent man. And he's also very superstitious. He had a nightmare that all of the locks were rotting and rusting away to dust, so he ordered me to replace them with new ones."

"You expect me to believe that?"

She stepped forward and opened her upturned apron, revealing the glimmering, brand new locks. "These are the new ones we are to replace the old ones with. He cares very deeply about this ship, and honestly is a bit neurotic. He needs everything to be in tip-top shape. I'm sure you understand."

"We're nearly finished," Draco said. "If you'd like us to stop while we're ahead I think you'll have to have a talk with Mr. Andrews."

The weasel of a man studied them both.

"Why are you helping her?"

"Well, you see, Sir… We get along quite well," he said and gave Hermione a wink before turning to the man with a knowing look.

"I see," he said, wrinkling his nose in displeasure, "well, make sure any leisure time is spent off-hours."

"Yes, sir," Hermione said quickly. "Sorry to have to borrow him, we'll be done very soon."

"I'll be double-checking this little story with Mr. Andrews, by the way."

"Please do." Draco said, and then added under his breath, "you'll be a popsicle before you get the chance."

Hermione dug her elbow into his side. He grunted in pain.

The man gave them one last cutting glance before shaking his head and turning on his heel. He strode down the corridor, probably off to torment the next poor servant. Once he turned the corner and dipped out of sight, Hermione turned to Draco.

"Still think I'm 'too paranoid?'" She asked, voice thick with irony.

"I can't believe he bought that," he mumbled, appraising her with a new light. "You're quite clever, aren't you?"

"Thank you," she beamed.

"You could have been a Slytherin."

"Well, let's not get carried away."

After they had made a quick dash about, double-checking that they had collected all of the locks they could, the two made their way above decks. That is, not before Draco stashed the handy bolt cutters below a wooden bench in the third class corridors. Perhaps if things still went to shite they could help someone.

Once they were above, they both took note at the dusky blue the sky was beginning to turn. The sun would rise soon, and they still had to return the uniform and get Hermione back into bed before Horace realized she was gone.

They ran to the side of the ship and peered down the hull. With a grunt, Hermione hoisted her apron and let the end of the material drop, subsequently releasing the locks into the rough ocean waves below.

"Will there be extras stored away somewhere?" Draco asked, wondering if all of that work had been for nothing and they would just be right back in place for tomorrow.

Hermione shook her head.

"I don't think so, maybe a few extra in case one or two break, but not that many. It'd be a waste of storage space."

"Glad we figured out a good way to destroy them," he grinned, thinking of how they were drifting to the bottom of the Atlantic as they spoke. He wondered distantly if they had hit the bottom yet, and the thought gave him shivers.

The ocean was unnervingly massive... He would really rather not die in it.

"That was a good idea," Hermione said, interrupting his bleak thoughts, "Good thinking."

"This whole scheme was a good idea," Draco returned, and he meant it. Despite the simplicity of the plan, it instantly gave hundreds of people a fighting chance to survive.

"We should hurry," she said, wiping her hands on Lottie's uniform and looking worriedly to the horizon, "Horace can't find out I'm not actually there, and we still need to grab your clothes."

"I can go on my own," he said, "I know the way."

"I can't just leave you to finish the mission all alone," she shook her head.

"We already finished, the rest is easy," Draco rationalized, shrugging, I'm not Potter or Weasley. You don't have to hold my hand through everything."

"I don't know," she hesitated, wringing her hands, looking from him to the first-class quarters.

"Just go, Hermione," he ordered, "Lottie needs you more than I do."

With the mention of Lottie needing her, the indecision in her eyes cleared away.

"Okay," she said, and reached out to pull him into a hug, "good luck."

"When … uh- When should we meet again?" He asked, momentarily distracted by her warm curves pressing deliciously into his chest.

"As soon as I can break away. I'll come to find you," she said in his ear, "Don't come to me. It's too dangerous."

"Alright, but if you're not with me by dinner I'll have no choice," he warned and she pulled away, giving him an incredulous look.

"It won't take me that long," she told him, "after this morning I'm going to stop the Annabelle act. I'll do what I have to do to get away and focus on the mission."

"And what is the plan, exactly?" He asked.

"I'm hoping one will come to me."

"Bloody Gryffindors," he smirked down at her, "always flying by the seat of your pants."

"Shut it," she said, standing on her toes to press her lips to his. His toes curled and he drew her in closer, relishing in her scent and taste. Merlin, it felt as though they had been crafted for one another. They were two puzzle pieces that didn't seem like they would fit until you put them together, and the crests and valleys of their edges met perfectly in tandem.

He couldn't believe how his life had so irrevocably changed in just three days. He couldn't believe that the curse he had been running from had found him anyway. Had it really been only three days that he had held a wand against her temple, threatening to take her life?

Much too soon, Hermione pulled away from him. His lips felt offensively cold in the icy wind, and she gave him a tight smile.

"Sorry, I should go," she said, "we'll be able to… spend more time together once all of this is over and we're back home."

He swallowed, suddenly feeling hollow. He had no foolish notions that this would continue on after they had escaped this bloody ship. There was no going back from the twisted reality he had found himself in. He would probably end up in Azkaban.

"Right," he murmured, watching her retreating form, "back home."

. . .

Hermione could sense that something was gravely wrong the moment she peered in through her bedroom porthole. She had expected to find Lottie wrapped snugly beneath her comforters, shielded from view as Horace napped quietly in the corner, his novel resting against his chest. What greeted her left a horrified pit in her stomach.

The room was empty. Horace was nowhere to be found, only his upturned chair and abandoned novel evidence he had been there in the first place. Heart pounding in her ears, Hermione's gaze scraped down to her bed to find it utterly abandoned. The comforter had been thrown back and the sheets were a tangled mess.

No… Oh, Merlin. No.

He must have discovered that Lottie had been posing as her! No! She tried to find any sight of the maid, but she must have been dragged into the sitting room. With trembling hands but a determined heart, Hermione reached out and pulled open the window before hoisting herself up and inside. She wouldn't let Lottie go down for her mistakes. She would own up to what she had done, even if it meant getting hurt.

In the back of her head, she considered running back down to Draco and asking him for help, but she knew that time was of the essence. Who knew what kind of fuery Horace was subjecting Lottie to, or Merlin Forbid anything worse.

She lowered herself gently onto her desk and clambered down onto the wood floor. She tried her best to keep her movements silent, but after staying awake for yet another night, it was safe to say that Hermione Granger was suffering from sleep deprivation. Her muscles didn't want to listen to her, and every cell in her body cried for rest, but the panic and adrenaline raged inside of her.

"I don't want to hear any more lies, do you hear me, girl?" Horace's menacing voice floated in through the cracked door. "Where is Annabelle?"

"She didn't tell me!" Lottie cried, and Hermione could tell that she was sobbing, and probably had been for a while. Guilt enveloped her, and she struggled to keep her own tears at bay. It was her fault her dear friend was being yelled at. "I promise, I don't know."

"Why do you continue to disobey me, Lottie?" Annabelle's mother was awake, too.

"I didn't want to," the maid pleaded, and Hermione crept across the room until she was pressed flush against the wall. It seemed as though they were simply questioning her, which gave the young witch a bit of relief. She had expected screaming and shouting, dishes and chairs being thrown about in Horace's fit of rage. This was manageable. She just had to wait for the right moment to reveal herself and take the blame.

"After all that I've done for you," Martha sighed cooly, "and this is how you thank me."

"I'm sorry, Madame," she sobbed, "please. Please. No more."

An alarm bell started ringing in the back of Hermione's head. No more? No more what?

"You've had enough when I say you've had enough," Horace growled and Lottie cried out in pain. Her heart skipped a beat. No.

With trembling hands and her heart pounding in her ears, she maneuvered herself until she could look through the cracked door. Lottie and Horace stood before Martha, who sat perched on the love seat, a look of cool indifference on her face as Horace had one of his fists tangled in Lottie's curly blonde hair and the other wrapped roughly around her jaw. Tears streamed down the maid's face and Hermione could tell she had been beaten. Her lip was split and blood dribbled down onto his hand. She hovered a few inches in the air, and he gave her a rough shake.

"Where is she?!" He shouted in her face, and Lottie screamed in horror.

Hermione's vision went red. The air crackled and sparked around her. Her blood sizzled in her veins, and the hair on her head seemed to defy gravity as she burst forward into the room. The door tore roughly from its hinges and launched across the living space, crashing loudly against the wall opposite of her and shattering.

"I'm right HERE!" The witch cried, throwing her hands out. A violent, surging aura tore from her core, hurtling towards Horace. The old man barely had enough time to turn and glimpse her before the rogue magic had thrown him backward and slammed him violently against the wall. His head hit the wood with a sickening crack and he slumped in an unconscious heap against the floor. Martha cried out in shock, reflexively falling back and shielding her face with her arms.

Lottie fell against the couch behind her and curled into a ball, whimpering in pain and fear. Hermione rushed to her side, the sudden and intense magical aura that had inexplicably surrounded her dissipating.

"Annabelle! What have you done?!" Martha gasped in horror after a few moments, "you've KILLED HIM!" The frantic tone in her voice had grown into a shriek.

Hermione shot a glare over her shoulder and whispered 'silencio' and twitched her finger in the older woman's direction.

Sure enough, an imaginary zipper sealed the woman's mouth shut, and a rush of disbelief coursed through Hermione. Had- had she just done wandless magic? How was that possible? Hermione glanced down at her hands, marveling at the powerful surge of magic that sparkled around her fingers. She gasped softly. Was she one of the few who didn't need a wand?

The young witch glanced at the door that had been shredded on impact, had she done that, too? She looked to Horace's form and swallowed. She had most certainly done that. After a few hesitant moments, she approached him cautiously.

"Is he… dead?" Lottie whispered fearfully from behind her, "what did you do to him?"

"I- I don't know," Hermione whispered back, bending down to examine the servant's pale face. She didn't remember casting a specific spell, she only remembered every cell in her body screaming and demanding for him to stop! She had wanted to hurt him to save her friend… and it looked like some dormant part of her magic had beckoned to her call.

She knelt down and studied him closely. He didn't seem dead, but she couldn't be sure without pressing a finger to his kneck to check for a pulse. She made no move to do so, as the last thing she wanted to do was touch him.

"You're not Anabelle," Lottie breathed as if finally solving some riddle that had been in her head for days. Hermione looked over her shoulder in shock. She straightened up and faced the maid.

"What did you say?" She whispered.

"You tried to tell me and… and I didn't understand... You aren't Anabelle," Lottie sat up, wiping at the blood dripping down her chin with trembling fingers, "You're Hermione."

A/N:

Holy shit, I wasn't expecting such a positive uproar on my last chapter. Sorry if I seemed a little emo in my a/n. I suffer a lot from self-doubt... I'm my biggest critic and its hard to get out of my head.

I still don't have an editor, so please forgive if I have any typos or if things feel more clumsy than they did in the early chapters. I have the next two chapters written out, and let me tell ya, things go 0-60 from here on out. Let me know what you think in a review!

Love you guys!