Invisible

by honeysweetcutie

RE-UPLOAD BY REQUEST! When Hermione spoke for Lucius at his trial, she didn't realize how big her sacrifice would come to be. As Eighth Year begins, she is invisible, but Draco can't seem to keep his eyes off of her. When Hermione is attacked, it sets off a series of events that will change their lives forever. [Semi-OOC, trigger warnings apply] ON INDEFINITE HIATUS

21. Castle on the Cliff

Trigger warnings for this chapter: non-con scene at the beginning, violence against women, and repulsive language. CHAPTER IS VERY TRIGGERING. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

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Invisible

Chapter Twenty-One: Castle on the Cliff

Disillusioned by A Perfect Circle, Madness by Ruelle, Love & War by Fleurie, Night by Anavae, and Dirt by Anavae

Hermione POV

When they exited the Floo and entered the Drawing Room, Hermione could feel the rage emanating from Malfoy like he was a walking furnace. The drapes were closed, leaving the room dim from sunlight trying to filter in from around the edges of them. Malfoy walked over to one wall, where a shelf held trinkets and small statuettes, and he placed his hands on it and leaned over. Hermione could see his body trembling, though with emotion or anger, she couldn't discern.

Hermione stood there in front of the couch, wringing her hands and biting her lower lip as a way to try and manage the anxiety pulsing through her own body. She felt her stomach twisting and churning, not knowing exactly how to process what would be happening that night. Her imagination was rife with horrors, images of her being torn apart by claws and wolves and teeth and curses. She didn't know what was going to happen, and it was because she didn't know if Malfoy could protect her.

She wondered if there was a way for her to keep her wand, just in case something happened that made her too distressed to do magic. Perhaps she could cast a charm on herself that wouldn't allow anyone to touch her.

But what if that made things worse? There were plenty of things that could be done to her that didn't involve touching her. Plenty of things that could distress her so much that wandless spells failed.

She averted her eyes to the floor. What if they forced her to . . . Do things to them? She could hardly think about it. Just the thought of it caused bile to rise to her throat in a panic. No. Malfoy wouldn't let it happen. There was no way in Merlin's hut he'd let that happen.

"FUCK!" Malfoy suddenly roared, and then with a great sweep of his arm, he knocked every statuette off of the shelf and sent them crashing to the stone ground where the carpet didn't cover with a loud shattering noise. Hermione didn't flinch, partially because she'd expected him to explode, and squeezed her eyes shut, clasping her hands to her chest.

"Malfoy," she said meekly, not knowing what else to say.

"You should just go," he said, voice hushed. "I don't care what they do to me if you're not here. You should just Apparate to London, get on the next train. Go back to Hogwarts."

"McGonagall said she's not sending one until Monday morning . . ." Hermione took a step towards him, around the side of the black loveseat and sofa set he'd bought because of her. Possibly for her. "And besides, I'm not leaving you here with them. With . . . With Greyback. I can do this."

"Can you?" He put his hands on his hips, and his facial expression was raw with agitation and burning ire. "You don't . . . You're naive to this side of it, Granger. You don't know what . . . You don't understand . . ."

"So help me to understand," she said. Then, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. She thought of what she knew, thought of all the things she knew for absolute certain. She knew that Thestrals could only be seen by those who'd seen death. She knew that Harry had a crush on Ginny all through Sixth Year, and that Romilda Vane tried to give Harry Amortentia that same year. She knew that Dumbledore loved lemon sherbets, Ron wasn't the best at Quidditch, and Luna was hiding a huge secret. She knew that Malfoy was full of desire yesterday, and now he was full of anger, and she knew that she was terrified. She also knew that the only way she was going to be able to be strong was if she knew for certain, too, what a Revel was, and what she could expect.

"What?"

"Prepare me."

"You want me to prepare you?" Malfoy's voice came out in a growl, and Hermione couldn't tell if he was angry with her, or with the situation. Or maybe himself.

She hoped she wasn't making a mistake.

"Yes. The only way I can be ready for whatever happens tonight, is for me to understand. I want -"

Without letting her finish her sentence, Draco's eyes darkened and his face contorted into an animalistic snarl. He flashed forward and before she could stop him, he whirled her around and shoved her over the arm of the loveseat. All of the breath was expelled from her lungs as he grabbed her ponytail with vicious hands and yanked her head up hard enough to make it hurt. She cried out as he began wrestling with her trousers, and even though she knew she'd asked for this, even though she knew what he was doing, seven years of past rushed up to meet her and she felt a whimpering sob bubble up from the depths of her throat.

"Does she cry when you fuck her?"

This is Draco. This is Draco. She tried to remind herself as his hand wrenched her head to the side and he began kissing her neck roughly. But that was the problem. The problem was it was Draco Malfoy, the Mudblood hater, the bully - and here on this couch, she couldn't for the life of her remember how she came to be in the Malfoy Manor of her own accord because this was a fucking mistake.

Hermione's hands pushed at the couch, trying to lift herself up, and she screamed. She felt his hand stop tugging at her jeans and then all-of-the-sudden, he shoved it up underneath her jumper and before she could stop herself, she was sobbing.

"Like a baby."

"Please, please, Draco!" she wailed, kicking her legs, scraping her feet against the ground. It came out as a mantra, a word for every time he pulled at her hair, for every nip of his teeth at her shoulder. Rushed past her lips like water over rocks in a stream, hurtling towards a river of fear and she was screaming it. "PleasestoppleaseI'msorry."

His hand ripped out of her jumper and wrapped around her throat. He squeezed, not too hard, but hard enough to fill her lungs with panicked air and - was this what he'd done to other people? - she just couldn't stop begging him.

"I'm sorry, please. Please. I'll be good. I swear." Crying and crying and crying.

"This is why you need to understand that there's no preparing you for this, Granger," he hissed into her ear, and she felt his fingers squeezing. Her screams faded into whimpers of I understand and I'm sorry. He continued, "You may have traipsed all over the countryside looking for Horcruxes, and then fought in one battle. And you may have fought hard. But the real battles are the ones the women fight in the confines of walls that imprison. There's no preparing you for this. You can do everything you can, and you'll never be prepared for war. You'll never be prepared for a Revel."

He let her go and she crumpled, deflated. She scrambled backwards on the carpet until her back hit the front of the sofa. Her tears were neverending, her body curling as tight as it would go, and she was sobbing. It was a mistake. It was a mistake. She never should have asked him. I shouldn't have asked him.

"I'm sorry," she continued to weep, hugging her knees to her chest and trying to forget how acutely the arm of the loveseat bruised her diaphragm. "I'll be . . . G-Good, I won't . . . I'm sorry . . ."

Malfoy sank down beside her, his hand reaching for her to wipe her tears. His face was twisted, distorted by her blurry vision and pain etched into the silver of his irises. She flinched away from his touch, then she leaned into it, and then she moved away again. Finally. she fell against his chest in a way she never had before, and his hands cupped her face. He kissed her cheeks, where the tears were, her forehead, her neck, little apologies because he was Draco and he never could seem to articulate how much he hated himself in those two words.

"You are good," he whispered, his eyes searching hers between kisses to her tear tracks. "You are."

She buried her face in his neck, felt him wrap his arms around her fully, and she burrowed into him. Yes, it was a mistake and yes, she should be repulsed by being in his arms and yes, she wanted to know what he'd done at past Revels, but right now, she didn't care. She needed him, and she just didn't care.

"You should go back to Hogwarts," he said again, his hand pulling out her pony and massaging soothing circles into her scalp. His eyes looked red, but he didn't have any tears on his face. "I never should have brought you here. I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I don't care. I don't fucking care. He can have my father's company. I don't want it."

Hermione pushed away from him, furiously wiping her eyes. It was horrible, but it was Malfoy, and he'd done what she asked him to do. Fenrir was sinister, a malevolent force to be reckoned with, but she and Malfoy were the only ones who knew that something bad was going to happen. Malfoy letting them believe he was on their side was the best chance they had at getting ahead of the werewolf, and if that meant she had to play her part to keep him alive, she'd do it. She was a Gryffindor, she was bloody brave, and she was going to keep it together.

"No. I'm not leaving you here to deal with him. Not on the full moon. Malfoy, you heard him. He made it clear that I needed to be here."

"Granger, I don't know if I can protect you. I'm not as . . . Strong as him. I tried, but he's . . . My head wasn't . . . I couldn't do it." He looked panicked, panicked like the moment when his parents called him back to their side, before Harry sprung back to life in Hagrid's arms.

"You're strong, Malfoy," she said fiercely, not fully understanding what he meant. "You faced Voldemort directly and came out alive. You are strong."

He gave her a scowl and turned his face away from her. "You're saying that, but all I can hear is you apologizing to me just to get me to stop hurting you. Bloody Hell."

Hermione lowered her eyes. She didn't know what to say. She did know that even though her skin crawled with his touch right then, it was nothing compared to the way her skin would crawl after the Revel if it was anything like what she'd just experienced. "I asked you to prepare me. You did what I asked. I wasn't ready. Now, I am."

"Don't ever say my first name like that again." His eyes burned into hers. "I never want to hear you screaming like that under me, having to use my name just to get me to stop."

"That sounds like a message for yourself." She hugged herself tighter.

"It is," and his voice sounded raw. "It fucking is."

Her red-rimmed gaze was calm, a simmering storm brewing for the evening. "Then don't hurt me."

His brows shot up, a challenge. "And if they make me?"

"Find a way around it."

"If I can't?"

Hermione placed her hand against his cheek. "You will."

They sat there for a long time. Malfoy sat with one leg outstretched and one pulled up, his elbow slung over it. Hermione sat sideways with her legs tucked under her, and her arms and head resting on the seat of the couch behind them. He stared at the far wall and she stared at him and they rested in the calm.

Malfoy, to Hermione, looked like a castle on a cliff, beautiful and majestic, but perched on the precipice of disaster. One wrong shake of the Earth, and he would come crashing down into the sea, and the whole way down, he'd believe it was his fault for letting the Earth quake. Feeling the fear of him - true, real fear - had sobered her up, had opened her eyes to realities that she had never felt the need to come to terms with before.

They were living in a fantasy world. She'd thought that just because Voldemort was gone, it was over. She'd thought everyone deserved a happy ending, even Malfoy. She'd gotten herself involved with someone who may or may not have been a monster long before he turned into one. She'd allowed herself to become so entangled in his psyche that she felt like she knew him when she didn't really know him at all. And yet even with not knowing him, even with being terrified of him, she didn't want to leave their little world. Their tiny little world of intimate touches, spilling blood into his mouth, and whispers of how sweet she was. Their castle on the cliff.

Let the Earth shake, she thought, her eyes sweeping over the broken masculinity of his face, the horrors of the past war flashing through his eyes as he prepared for the possibility of a new one. One they'd be fighting on their own. Because Malfoy had a direct in with Greyback, and because Hermione didn't want her friends who had lost so much in the war to have to experience that loss again.

Hermione wanted to stop it before it even began.

"Before we left the Lift," he said. "You mentioned Crabbe and Pansy? What were you going to say?"

With a muted tone, she said, "Crabbe and Pansy both had registration forms. They both are classified as Other, and both have the same primary care healer. Cecilia Yaxley."

"Do you think that's why McGonagall couldn't expel Crabbe? Because Fenrir Greyback's got the Ministry in his pocket?"

Hermione shrugged. "It's a definite possibility."

"And Pansy . . . I thought it was bizarre that she was spending so much time with Crabbe all-of-the-sudden. They're the same species, whatever it is."

They were quiet for a long time, and then Malfoy said, "When I was speaking with Willus Rowle, he told me something you might not fancy hearing."

Hermione lifted her head from the seat, her head still feeling tender. "What is it?"

"Minister Shacklebolt. He's the one who created the Other category. It wasn't there a month ago, and then he just . . . Sent an official order to Rowle, told him to add the category. He did, and then all the registrations started showing up on Xenophilius Lovegood's desk with Shacklebolt's signatures already applied. They're supposed to go through a Wizengamot official first. The only person who can override a registration form like that is -"

"The Minister of Magic." Hermione didn't want to believe it. She sat up fully. "Xenophilius told me when he asked Willus about it, he told him not to worry about it. Just to approve them."

Malfoy sighed. "Then that settles it. If Greyback's got Shacklebolt, we're fucked."

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Not Kingsley. He was extremely loyal to Dumbledore. If anything . . . He may be under the imperius curse."

"Is that's the case, then we're seeking the Snitch blind, Granger," he said, using the arm that was slung over his knee to tangle his hand in his hair. "And we don't know what the fuck we're doing."

"Then we fly blind. We just keep going. We make it through this . . . Revel. We make it through, and then we go back to Hogwarts and start figuring things out."

"And are you prepared for the worst?"

She tried not to flinch at the word "prepare."

"What is the worst?"

"A war where your side loses."

"Our side," she corrected him. "And honestly? No. I'm not. But I'm a Gryffindor. I would never stop fighting battles until there was nothing left but to surrender, and even then."

"Even then?"

"Even then."

He was quiet, hand still combing its way through his own hair. He glanced at her sidelong, and she saw his chest rise and fall rapidly with the force of his heartbeat.

"I would never stop fighting for you," he said softly, and then he slowly turned to look at her fully. "Do you believe that?"

"Yes." Hermione's cheeks flushed.

"Because I need you to believe that. No matter what happens tonight, everything I do, it will be because I'm fighting for you. Whether I'm a fucking Veela, too and you're my mate, or I just see you as mine, I'm not letting anyone fucking touch you if I can help it."

Too? What did he mean by "Veela, too?"

Hermione lowered her head and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. It was difficult to hear him say these things. Because they weren't situationship words. They weren't something words. They were I fancy you words and I care about you words and I'll do anything for you words and - Hermione looked over at him and wanted, in that moment, to kiss him. But she wouldn't. Not until she knew for sure.

Maybe when they woke up from their nightmare tomorrow.

"It's only 2:00," he said. "I need to go to Gringotts and sign some papers. You should . . ."

"I'll stay here," Hermione said quickly. At the prospect of being alone for hours, she felt the tears building in her chest. She wanted the time by herself, so she could cry it out and process what happened. So she could close her eyes and see that rare smile of Malfoy's in her imagination, instead of the way his face twisted with rage as he crossed the room to show her exactly what to expect from a Revel.

"All right," he said, and then he stood up, smoothing out the jacket and trousers of his suit. He reached for Hermione, but she ignored the offered hand and used the seat of the couch to pull herself upright.

They stood there and stared at each other for a long time. Hermione had no idea what he saw when he looked at her, but she knew what she saw when she looked at him. She saw that castle, beautiful and majestic, with outer walls that hid the shattered, decrepit inner walls of empty rooms that he wanted to fill but was too scared to.

"I want to fill you up," Hermione whispered, not really knowing that she was saying it aloud. "I want to fill you up with good things, until you stop trying to hide the fact that you're falling apart."

He looked away, and he pushed his hair back again. He turned to go.

"Let's see if you still want that after tonight."

He walked away, passing by Blaise, who had just walked into the Drawing Room. His smile faded and he shot Hermione a troubled expression.

"What happened?" he asked.

Hermione turned away from him and sank down onto the couch.

"He let me in."

O

Hermione jolted awake, realizing with aching clarity to her bent neck that she'd dozed off on the black sofa in the Drawing Room. It was dark, so she knew it was late, and she took a moment to gather her wits before she finally sat up. She saw that even though it was dark in the Drawing Room, down the hallway, lights were on. For a moment, she wondered if the guests were already here and a blind panic seized her.

Why were they just letting her sleep in here? Why hadn't someone woken her? Were they tricking her in some way, or giving her a false sense of security? She'd never studied much about war or prisoners or slaves or anything of the sort, so she hadn't the slightest clue how she should act in front of them. What should she wear? Was she supposed to merely behave like a servant or maid? Or was it more menacing than that, and was she supposed to crawl? After all, Greyback had specifically stated Mudbloods belonged on the ground. It was overwhelming to think about herself on her hands and knees, crawling in a room full of leery Pureblood wizards while Malfoy led her about like a pet. But was that what she was going to have to do?

The thoughts ran past her mind at a million miles per hour, only to stop when Blaise appeared in the doorway.

"I was just coming to check on you," he said in a tone more gentle than he'd used with her before, and he had a crystal goblet of liquid. "A Pepper-up potion, with a dash of Calming Draught. Just in case."

Gingerly, Hermione took the glass from him, still blinking sleep-cracked eyes, and sipped the sweet potion. Instantly, she felt small bursts of energy release from her body, and relaxation settled into her bones. She let out a sigh of relief, having not realized her anxiety was causing her to tense up.

Blaise sat down beside her, the front of him cast in shadows and his body backlit by the hallway. "I'm glad you're awake. Fancy a chat?"

"Of course, Blaise," Hermione said before she took another sip. Her hands shook a bit. She had a feeling she knew what he wanted to discuss.

"Draco's told me what's . . . Well, we're having guests for dinner, he says. And I wanted to see if you . . . If you knew what a Revel really was. I don't think he realized," he shot her a look, and it seemed a bit sad, "that you didn't have any idea what happened at one. No one's fault, of course, because it was the darkest part of Voldemort's regime."

Hermione felt her nerves spring up again, despite the potion. "I have an idea. Now." She lowered her eyes to the dark floor, feeling the tender bruise on her lower abdomen from the arm of the loveseat as Malfoy slammed her down onto it. Fear gripped her, cold and icy in its embrace, and she wished she was proficient in Occlumency so she could block out the memories of his hands up her jumper, and the feeling of struggling against him. Even as she sat there, she could feel the spot where he'd grabbed her ponytail, and it hurt.

Blaise lifted his hand and then he held it out to her. "Hermione."

The sudden use of her first name caused her eyes to snap to his. She looked at his hand, and then when she placed her hand on his, he gripped it tightly. She didn't know if she was gripping it to pour her strength out into his hold, or if she was using it to anchor herself amidst the tornado of emotions that were destroying her right then.

"This is going to be awful, isn't it?" she whispered.

"I sincerely don't want you to be blindsided. I know this seems . . . Odd that Draco agreed to host this, but -"

"I insisted he include me, that he follow Greyback's orders to bring me," Hermione said quickly, interrupting him. "Greyback's up to something, and now is our chance to get an in. If we can convince Greyback that Malfoy's still a follower of Voldemort, then right from the start, we have someone playing both sides. I want to stop a third war before it begins, if that's what he's got in mind."

"He told me what you found, what he discovered," Blaise said. "And as much as I think that's quite pressing, I think you need to focus on this evening. They will be here within the next ninety minutes, and in those ninety minutes, you need to be aware of what's to come."

"What's expected of me," Hermione said, a bit bitterly. There was no doubt it would be undignified, at the very least and traumatizing, at the worst. She knew that she would likely be changed by what happened this evening, even more so than when she'd been cursed in the stairs at the owlery, more than Theo's attack. Theo's attack was small compared to what was coming, she was certain of it.

"Revels are . . ." He squeezed her hand again. "Well, they're not for the faint of heart. I myself was only able to attend one, and I swore I would never again. I was never a Death Eater, myself. I was just following my parents, and one day, we came to a Revel here at the Manor."

"What was it like?"

"Things were different back then, so it was exactly as bad as you imagine. I don't want you to panic, but -"

"Speak frankly," Hermione said, drawing her shoulders back. "I want to be fully aware of what might happen."

Blaise stared at her for a second, and then he smirked. "Gryffindors. Ever the brave ones. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Hermione's lips twitched.

Blaise said, "Revels are nothing more than an excuse for dark wizards to do dark things. It's not pleasant. There will be no moments of reprieve. To them, you're not even worthy to breathe their air. To them, your bloody is muddy and therefore your existence is a blemish. Revels are their chance to take their hatred out on people like you. Now that Voldemort is gone, the Death Eaters and Voldemort's other followers are likely shaking. They've got no outlet. And with the Prophet reporting what you did for Lucius, they probably see you as a prime target. 'Muggle-born steps in to help the darkness, only to have her light snuffed out.' That's what they see."

"Will I be raped?" she asked, voice firm and flat.

Blaise turned his face away, still holding Hermione's hand. "I don't think Draco would let that happen. Honestly, Hermione, I think he'd rather avada everyone in that room than let them destroy you that way. I've heard how he talks about you. And it's not like I've got any strong ties to them. I'll be there, and I've got nothing to lose by not throwing in my lot."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Has Malfoy . . . Participated in any of the Revels?"

"Granger, you need to understand that Draco . . . When he was a Death Eater, he did things out of fear. He did things he would never have done otherwise. With Draco taking over his father's company, the spotlight is on him. He's going to -"

"Blaise Zabini," Hermione said fiercely. "Did Malfoy rape anyone? I need to know. I need to know."

"No," Blaise said, tone grave. "No. He could never. He would never. Anything he did for the Dark Lord, he did to keep his family safe, but there are lines. Lines that he would never cross."

"Why?" Hermione leveled her gaze with Blaise's and withdrew her hand from his. She needed to know the full truth. Because it was difficult for her to see how his father's bloody company was worth putting her in that position. And Blaise . . . Blaise was speaking circles around the truth.

She just wanted to know that what Malfoy had showed her that afternoon, with his hand twisting her hair as she fought and screamed, was not going to happen to her that night, even though she knew it probably would.

"What d'you mean, why?" Blaise asked, his brow furrowing.

"I mean what I've said," Hermione said. "I want to know why. Why are there lines that Malfoy would never cross? Why, when he spent so many years trying to prove he was just as wicked as his father, trying to prove himself for Voldemort, would I believe that he manifested morals overnight? Why has he suddenly changed so much that back then, he could stand there and watch me be tortured, but now, you think he'd kill an entire room of dark wizards to keep me safe?"

Hermione just wanted to know once and for all: who was Draco Malfoy?

Blaise jumped to his feet, looking offended. "Is it so hard to believe there's good in him? Is it because he's a Slytherin, you can't imagine he's got a heart?"

Hermione rose, too, her arms crossed over her chest. She wanted to yell back, but she couldn't think of anything to say. Because Blaise was partially right. She did find it hard to imagine that he had a heart. That Draco Malfoy was capable of feeling things on a real, visceral level. But it wasn't because he was a Slytherin. It was because he was Malfoy.

And she was realizing that she didn't trust him as well as she thought.

"I'm just frightened, Blaise." Hermione sat back down. "I'm frightened. I'm starting to think this isn't worth it."

"It's not." He sat down.

"That I should just go back to Hogwarts."

"You should."

"But I can't. Greyback told him I had to be here. If I'm not here when he gets here, playing my part perfectly, I don't want to know what would happen to Malfoy. Yes, we could both just leave, but if we leave, we lose our chance to infiltrate before anything begins. We didn't have this chance with Voldemort - we need to take it now. If that means I have to act like a Muggle-born . . . Slave, then I'm going to do it to protect my friends. To protect everyone. No one wants another war."

"Because you're a bloody Gryffindor." He sighed. "Truth is, Hermione. I don't know what to tell you to expect. Voldemort's regime was Voldemort's regime. If Greyback is the one we've got to watch out for, then we're all experiencing this together. Why are you doing this?"

"To avoid war," Hermione said.

"How is it that you know there's a war to avoid?"

"I don't. It's just a bad feeling I have, just an inkling. It's the same inkling Harry had. The same one I had when he came back with Cedric. War is on its way, and if I do this tonight - if Malfoy makes it known that Greyback can trust him - then we'll already be in a position to stop him."

"But, Granger . . . There are other ways -"

"No," Hermione said, wringing her hands in her lap. "It's too late. Greyback will know if I'm not there. Malfoy made it fairly clear that I was his . . . That I belonged to him. Greyback all but ordered him to have me attend tonight. It's not just about Malfoy saving his father's company."

"Are you sure?" Blaise arched an eyebrow. "You couldn't answer me when I asked you if you felt he was heartless. What makes you so sure he's not just using you for his own gain?"

Hermione felt her heart wrench in her chest. It was exactly what she'd been fearing all day. That she meant nothing to Malfoy. That he was a Slytherin, through and through, and that she was property to him. A blood source, a plaything, someone he could control, and now someone he could use for financial gain. It was all terrifying, and the more she thought about it, the easier it was to disregard all of the positive things she'd learned about him.

Because there were positive things. No matter how hard her fears tried to make her forget them, there were positive things. He had compassion, and she felt it in the ways he'd massaged her hands just to keep the pain from bringing her to tears. She saw his intelligence and drive in the way he'd taken it upon himself to try and find out who cursed her in the owlery, even though he hadn't solved it yet. She saw kindness in the way he'd watched over her after Theo's attack. She saw boldness in the way he'd sat beside her in front of everyone at the Eighth Year table. She saw care in the way he always, always made sure he had her consent for everything.

But were those things all real?

"I'm not sure," Hermione said quietly, gazing at the floor. "I'm not sure, and that's why I don't know if I can trust him. But I do know that in the end, I'm still going through with this tonight. Whether he's using me or not, I need to be there and hear what is discussed around that table. Whether he's on my side or not, I need to do this."

Blaise stared at her, his eyes narrowing. "Do you care for him? More than just a passing fancy. Do you care what happens to him?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation, because she wasn't going to deny it any longer. "I just can't decide if it's a mistake to do so."

They sat in silence for a long time. Hermione felt a small nagging guilt in her heart. She did care for Malfoy. She cared for the boy who'd laid his head against her abdomen, seeking comfort. She cared for the boy who'd dueled his childhood friend in front of everyone in the common room. The boy who'd stood up for her to her friends when they misunderstood her. The boy who danced with her even though he didn't enjoy dancing, who decorated his entire Drawing Room in Gryffindor colors because he wanted her to feel comfortable inside of it.

It was just unfortunate that she was so terrified of his Death Eater mask and the things Blaise alluded to him having done while under Voldemort's power, that she wasn't sure who she was martyring herself for.

And she supposed she was martyring herself. Because she could run to the Floo, leave and go back home to her cottage until it was time to catch the Hogwarts Express, and leave the possibility of war to someone else to deal with. But she couldn't. Not when her friends had already suffered so much. Not when the wizarding world was still reeling and mourning from the last war.

Because she was a Gryffindor, and that meant that she was going to fight until her last breath for what was right and good, even if that meant she offered herself up as a lamb to the slaughter.

"I suppose you should go get ready, seeing as there's only one more hour until it begins," Blaise said, casting a glance over his shoulder. "I'll go wake Draco up. He was napping, supposedly."

"Oh . . . What should I wear?" Hermione asked a bit awkwardly. Blaise hadn't been clear about what would happen, what she could look forward to, and so far, her only idea involved what Malfoy had shown her on the loveseat. That was less than promising.

"Formal attire," Blaise said, and the two of them started down the hallway.

They walked around the corner, where Hermione could see the double doors to the Dining Hall were open. When she peeked inside, she was astounded to see what looked like 20 House Elves bustling about, readying the hall with lights, dark flowers, and what looked like magical twinkling stars that occasionally rained from the ceiling to disappear into nothingness before they hit the table. If it had been for a mere normal dinner, Hermione would have thought it looked beautiful.

"Oh, my," she said, lingering to drink in the sight. "And there's so many House Elves."

"They're from my parents' estate," Blaise said, waiting a few steps ahead of her. "The Malfoys used to have more House Elves, but after the Aurors came . . . They were all sent to other places."

Hermione frowned. Before this trip, she would have thought that was a good thing. But now that she knew the Malfoys freed their elves - or at least, Malfoy did - she was beginning to think the Manor was the best place for those elves to be.

The two continued on through the house, which hustled and bustled with more House Elves putting up lights that reminded Hermione of Christmas, and she found herself getting more and more nervous as she went. She wished Slytherins were more blunt, like Ravenclaws. They'd had a thirty-minute long conversation, and she had no more information now than she did before it began. She was, as Malfoy had said that day, seeking the Snitch blind.

Whatever happened, happened.

Blaise went into Malfoy's room, and Hermione rushed into hers before she caught a glimpse inside. She shut her door, swallowing hard as she went to the chiffarobe and opened the wooden doors. She reached for the only formal dress she had: the maroon sequined gown that Malfoy had purchased for her in Muggle London the day before. She fingered the satin material, closing her eyes. Hermione wasn't the type to dress up, and the last time she had was for the Yule Ball in Fourth Year. Dressing up was supposed to be a positive affair.

This was a Revel. Contrary to the meaning of the word that was its namesake, it was going to be anything but positive.

Tinky appeared in front of the door inside the room, smiling.

"Master sent me to help you get ready, since Mr. Zabini's elves are preparing everything else."

"Thank you, Tinky," Hermione said, smiling as though Tinky were a small child that she didn't want to worry. "That's very kind of you."

Tinky assisted Hermione with getting undressed from her trousers and jumper, but when Hermione went to step into the satin gown, Tinky shook her head.

"Master says . . . No undergarments," she said, giving Hermione a sheepish look.

Hermione felt a spike of anger ricochet through her body. No undergarments? Who was he to make

things unnecessarily worse? "I would absolutely not be comfortable with that, Tinky. You'll have to tell him that I politely decline."

When Hermione again reached for the gown, Tinky snapped her fingers and it disappeared.

"Master says you'd say that, and he told me to tell you that it's the rules. It's always the rules. That's what he said."

Hermione clenched her hands into fists by her sides. She failed to see how wearing no knickers was going to factor in with keeping her safe. She already wasn't able to wear a brassiere with the way the top of the dress was arranged.

"Tinky . . ." Hermione trailed off. "I'm not comfortable with that. I won't go if I can't wear my undergarments."

Tinky opened her mouth to reply, but then she sighed. She looked away from Hermione and snapped her fingers again. The dress reappeared in Hermione's hand.

"Master will be angry."

"He won't be angry at you," Hermione said, feeling much safer with her knickers on than without. What was Malfoy thinking? The goal was to keep her safe, not prime her body for the taking. Was he being cheeky? Why would he act so childish at a time like this?

Huffing angrily to herself, she turned to face the vanity as she pulled the red gown up over her hips and torso, ensuring the thin straps were secure on her shoulders without being too tight. Tinky snapped her fingers and a stool appeared behind Hermione, where the elf climbed up and began to adjust the corset lacing in the low backline.

Hermione flushed when she saw just how low the neckline of the dress plunged. It revealed her entire sternum, and if her breasts were any larger, the dress would be way too inappropriate to wear. The bodice of the dress clung to her curves, accentuated by the corseting in the back, and the sequins sparkled like rubies. The skirt of the floor-length dress split in two places at the front, so when she walked, her legs were completely revealed up to the thighs and, for all intents and purposes, it looked like she was on her way to a fancy, romantic date.

If only.

"Very beautiful, Miss Granger," Tinky said when she was done lacing the corset. "Here are some shoes."

Tinky snapped and instantly, a pair of silver heeled shoes with multiple straps and a small platform appeared upon her feet. They weren't modest, but they were respectable enough for her to walk in without tripping or stumbling.

Hermione sighed. She wished she didn't feel so beautiful. She didn't want any of the Death Eaters or whoever they were to have any reason to look at her.

"Sit here," Tinky said, snapping her fingers and causing a chair to materialize in front of the vanity. "Let's make your hair look as pretty as you, miss."

Hermione sat down and gazed at herself in the mirror. She wouldn't wear any make-up. That, and keeping her undergarments on: those would be her two defiances.

"Tinky," Hermione said as the elf's wrinkled hands moved deftly through her curls. "If you're a free elf, why is it that you call Malf - Draco 'Master'?"

"Because Master will always be my Master," Tinky said happily. "He freed me, and I will always love him for that. He is my family, and I am his, and he will always be my Master."

Hermione felt her heart thaw a bit. "Malfoy is kind to you?"

"Oh, yes. He's promised that one day, he'll find a way to free my sisters from the Goyle estate. Then, he says we can all live here in the Manor together."

Hermione's heart thawed a little bit more.

When the elf was done, Hermione felt like she couldn't recognize herself. Her normally wild, thick curls had been charmed into loose, flowing waves that rippled like liquid chocolate down to her lower back. A diamond pin swept one side back, accentuating the cheekbones Hermione hadn't even realized she had. She sighed, taking in her entire appearance: from the hair to the shoes to the dress.

"Gorgeous, miss," Tinky beamed, hopping down from her stool. "Don't you think so?"

"That's the problem," Hermione murmured, and then stood. "Let's get this Revel over with."

Tinky froze and her eyes rounded so wide they looked like teacup saucers. Tears filled her eyes and began to drip down her face "This is a . . . A R-Revel?"

"Yes, Tinky," Hermione said, a bit nervous.

"A Revel? No . . . Not again . . . No . . ." She sobbed and sobbed, tears the size of small crystals rolling down her cheeks.

Hermione placed a shaking hand over her midriff before she leaned down to Tinky, trying to keep her stomach settled. Why was Tinky so upset? This couldn't be good . . .

Tinky was wailing, blubbering like a small child, each tear causing Hermione to fill up fuller and fuller with fear. Hermione was grateful for the slits in the fabric of her skirt as she easily crouched down and embraced Tinky, trying her best to calm her down. She didn't notice her door opening.

"Tinky!" Malfoy was at her side, kneeling down and placing his hand on Tinky's back. "What's the matter?"

"Not again, Master," Tinky pleaded. "Not a Revel . . ."

"It's all right, Tinky," Malfoy said in a gentle tone, so gentle that it took Hermione aback to hear it. She watched as Malfoy caressed Tinky's face. "Everything's going to be all right."

"Why, Master? Why?" Tinky wailed.

Malfoy didn't answer her question, he merely said, "Tinky, tonight is going to be unsafe for you. I want you to stay in your room up here, and under no circumstances are you to come downstairs. I will send for you in the morning."

Tinky started to protest, but Malfoy shook his head. With another loud sob, she disappeared with a pop, and Malfoy and Hermione were alone.

Trembling, Hermione fussed with her carefully-waved hair. "Malfoy, why was she so upset?"

Malfoy stood from his crouch, and held out a hand to her. She took it, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her own, and she gripped it tightly before he could take it back. He looked down at her, and she nearly recoiled. His eyes were deep, deeper than she'd ever seen them, and so, so silver. She gazed up into them, hoping she could hold onto the look within them for as long as she could, before the Death Eater mask came back up.

"Tell me why she was so upset," Hermione asked again, insistent.

He curled his fingers around her hand and lowered his eyes to the floor. "She was present for the ones Voldemort held here at the Manor. It was . . . Traumatic for her."

Hermione tore her hand out of his grasp and walked to the bed, holding a hand to her forehead as she sank to the end of the mattress. Her heart pounded with fear, her veins turned to ice, and she felt emotion stabbing at her throat.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against her vanity table. Hermione's eyes swept his form. He wore a full-black 3-piece suit, with more expensive fabric than the suits he wore to Hogwarts classes. His hair was slicked back, sharpening his already handsome features into dangerous beauty, and as his own gaze regarded her, she found she felt altogether too exposed. When she looked at him, she still felt his body pressing against hers from behind, his hand vicious in her hair.

He had been right. There was no preparing herself for this.

Before he could say anything, Hermione spoke.

"Malfoy . . . He knew I was there, in the room. During the meeting. Greyback." She closed her eyes for a moment, hand still on her forehead. "He smelled me."

"I know. That means he's going to test me. The moment he realizes that the scent he picked up was yours, he's going to test me and see exactly why I was toting my slave around the Ministry with me like that with some way of making her invisible. But if he's anything like I remember, he will relish in testing my loyalty."

"Why?" Hermione asked, unable to keep the whine out of her voice. "Why is there loyalty that needs to be tested? He's not Voldemort."

"He's not Voldemort," Malfoy confirmed. It seemed like he trailed off, like there was more to say. Hermione thought back to what he'd said earlier that day, when he'd said he'd tried to, in some way, stand up to Greyback, and how he'd said Greyback was too strong. What did that mean?

"But . . . ?"

Malfoy turned his head. "He's not Voldemort, but it's clear which seat at the table is his."

Hermione hung her head. She was terrified. Absolutely terrified.

"There's only twenty minutes left," Malfoy said. "And . . . I need to . . . I don't want to ask this, but I need to be at my full strength. If I'm going to be able to protect you."

Blood. He needed to feed. Hermione wordlessly held her hand out and accioed her wand from the vanity. As overwhelmed as she was, she knew he was right. If anything happened that he needed to be able to help her with, he wouldn't be as effective if he was fatigued. She cut her forearm, focusing on the pain as a means of calming herself. She wasn't even sure if it mattered. He couldn't protect her without outing himself.

She jumped slightly when he appeared beside her on the bed, forgetting how fast he was. He gingerly cradled her arm and wrist in his hands and lowered his lips to the wound. The moment his tongue touched the wound, she felt the magic twisting its way through her body, like it usually did. She ignored it steadfastly, knowing that it was no time for her body to be controlled by anything.

Malfoy sat up, still holding her arm as she, with a blank expression, used her wand to heal and clean her skin. Then, to her horror, he held a hand out.

"Your wand."

She clutched it close to her chest. "Wh-What?"

"You have to give me your wand," he said, his eyes still filled with that deep, intense expression. "It needs to be in a place where you can't accio it. And no matter what, you can't use wandless magic tonight. They need to believe what I told them this morning."

"Malfoy, no . . ."

He said nothing, just continued to hold his hand out. Hermione hesitated, but she knew she was being foolish. It was too late to back out, not when she wouldn't even make it to the Floo before the guests started to arrive. Slowly, she placed the wand into his outstretched hand. Her eyes widened as the wand disappeared in a burst of flames, but he shook his head.

"Just a vanishing spell," he assured her, letting her arm go. "I sent it to my room. There's wards for things to go in, but not come out."

They were quiet, and Hermione felt the seconds ticking down agonizingly slowly. Then, Malfoy placed his hand on her forearm.

"Granger," he said, his tone serious, "we need to discuss what's expected, and what your limits are."

"My limits?"

He gazed back at her almost stubbornly, as though he were proving to himself he could. "How far is too far?"

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. "I . . . I don't know how to answer that."

Malfoy's eyes searched hers and then he said, "I'm going to try my best to keep you to . . . Myself. But there will be things they may ask me to do, and I need to be able to properly come up with a way around doing those things. Do you understand?"

"All right," Hermione whispered, trying to stay calm. She pushed her long hair to one side of her head, the back of her neck feeling clammy and warm. "What is my role?"

"Pet," he said easily, as though he'd put prior thought in. "It's the easiest way to put them in the mindset that you belong to me, and it increases the likelihood they'll listen to me if I tell them no to something."

"Pet," Hermione repeated, and the word felt alien on her tongue. She felt her skin crawl. "And I call you . . . ?"

"You don't speak," he said in a flat tone. "Unless I speak to you directly. If someone speaks to you, always look to me for permission. If you don't, they'll expect me to punish you. I don't . . . I don't want to have to do that. If you do have cause to speak, only address me as Master."

Hermione felt her stomach roiling, and she worried she might retch. So far, it seemed like things might be all right, provided she followed Malfoy's instructions accurately. No matter how defiant she wanted to be.

This was going to be humiliating.

"Can you do this, Granger?" he asked, rising to his feet. "Because I can see it in your eyes - you're already trying to fight. They expect you to break quickly. You have to break quickly. If not, things will go on and get worse until you do. Greyback is not Voldemort. He's worse."

Hermione felt a chill run down her spine and she found that she couldn't look up into Malfoy's eyes. She supposed it was fitting, to already feel like this. She was going to have to be in this mindset all night, following orders and keeping her eyes down. But even with her eyes down, she knew she would be able to listen just fine.

If Greyback said anything of note, she would hear it.

"I can do this."

"Look at me."

Slowly, she looked up at him, and her breath caught in her throat. There it was. The mask. His eyes were blank, grey voids. He lifted his arms and crossed them over his chest.

"On your knees," he said quietly.

Hermione's mind whirled. Was he . . . Practicing? Testing her? She felt her heart pounding and beating. She sat there, hand curled around the bedpost, staring up at him with a stricken expression.

"Get on your fucking knees, pet," he sneered, and there was no Draco anywhere in his voice. He sounded like his father. Like a Death Eater. His voice - this dark wizard's voice - sounded like the promise of pain and death and darkness, and she knew she needed to do what he said. Because this was a test, and if she didn't pass it, they were fucked.

She slid down to the floor, her bare knees slotting through the slits in her skirt and sinking into the carpet.

"Good," he murmured, and she felt her skin crawling along her back. She trained her eyes upon his shoes.

She didn't like when he called her good in this context. It felt wrong. It wasn't like the moments they'd shared. It was just . . . Wrong.

"This is how you need to be tonight," Malfoy said, his voice cold. "Subservient. Always do exactly as I say, no matter what I say. If I tell you to sit on my lap, you sit. If I tell you to sit on the floor, you sit. If I tell you to sit on the table with your legs spread, you sit."

Hermione's shoulders curled in, and she hugged herself with her upper arms. She didn't like this. This wasn't the Malfoy she knew, it was the Malfoy of the past. This was the Malfoy she'd never gotten to see - the Seventh Year Malfoy that everyone was so terrified of.

"M-My legs?" she squeaked out, and she chanced a glance up at him. Vile images spread through her mind.

For a moment, his mask slipped, and she saw his eyes flash. "Better they're spread towards me than them. I'm not letting them put their hands on you."

In spite of herself, in spite of the situation, in spite of what happened earlier that day, she felt heat rise to her cheeks and her stomach flutter. She wasn't used to this, this fierce protectiveness. She wanted to trust it. She wanted to trust him.

"You can keep your knickers on," he then said, his voice soft. The mask was completely gone when he crouched down in front of her, and she saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. "Because I know you already did, little witch."

Hermione couldn't help but smirk. "You know me well, prat."

"That I do," he said. His thumb stroked her jaw, and then his hand moved up into the hair at the base of her head. He gripped it firmly, tilting her head back a bit, but still the mask had not returned. "Last chance. Do you want to leave? I'll give you your wand back, and you can Apparate to the edge of the property."

Hermione opened her mouth, and she considered it. She seriously considered it.

But then she thought of what Greyback would do to Malfoy if he found out that he wasn't as much his father's son as the public believed, and she knew that the fact that he was giving her this one last chance to risk his life was the only answer the Gryffindor in her needed. Malfoy's words had stuck with her all day. The real war was the war the women fought, and it always had been. Passed around like currency, no war was without rape, pillage, and plunder. And it was Hermione, a woman, who had the power to fly under the radar. Greyback would never know that he was discussing his secrets with two enemies all evening.

"I'm staying."

Malfoy nodded, and then he let his hand sift through her waves. His eyes fluttered all over her body: from her hair to her face to her dress, and she felt another blush rising to her cheeks.

"For what it's worth, Granger," he murmured, his eyes gazing intently down into hers. "You look exquisite."

"Thank you," she whispered, because for the first time, it didn't feel like a compliment said in the throes of bloodlust. It felt like he meant it.

"It's time." Blaise appeared at the doorway, and Hermione's eyes snapped to his. He offered her a small smile as she rose to her feet beside Malfoy. "You look stunning, Granger."

Another whisper of thanks, and when she turned to look at Malfoy, he was gazing down at her with an indecipherable expression. He fussed with her hair, like he had that day in the Great Hall, using his hand to ensure that it laid just right along her shoulders and back.

"I'll greet them at the Floo," Blaise said. "Granger, don't fret. We won't let it go too far."

"Blaise," Malfoy said, and Hermione shivered as his fingers tickled at her neck on their way out of her hair. "I don't think you should make yourself seen."

"What?" both Hermione and Blaise said simultaneously.

Malfoy said, "I think it's too dangerous. Blaise, it's the full moon. He's a werewolf. And you're not a known individual. What if something happens? Having your life and hers on my conscience . . ."

"Oh, your conscience," Blaise snarled, looking angry as he gestured to Hermione. "You're perfectly fine living without a bloody conscience until now, when she needs us both."

Malfoy took a step forward. "I can't protect both of you, and you know that. He may see you as a threat - or something to be used. I don't want him to have more to use against me."

Suddenly, Malfoy whipped his wand out and hissed a spell that Hermione had never heard before. Blaise only had a moment to look enraged before he went soaring backward, across the hall, and phased into his room through the far wall. Malfoy uttered another spell, pointing it at Blaise's door from her room, and then turned to Hermione.

"It'll let him out at midnight," he said, eyes hard. "I don't want anyone else involved."

Hermione bit her lower lip. As much as she wished Blaise was there, to ensure she was safe, too, she knew that if it were Harry or Ron or Luna, she would have done the same thing. This was Hermione and Malfoy's foolish little world, their solitary little castle on a lonely cliff.

No one else needed to get hurt.

"Let's go."

Here we go, Hermione thought, hugging herself around the waist so she could feel less exposed for even just a few moments. There was no doubt her dress was gorgeous, and it made her feel every inch the woman she wanted to be, but she knew that after tonight, she would likely never wear it again. Whatever happened, she would burn it.

Hermione jumped as Malfoy's arm suddenly shot out to his side, stopping her right at the top of the grand stairway. He didn't turn to her.

"You can't walk down the stairs like that," he said.

"What, do you want me to crawl? In this dress? It's Versace, Malfoy." She fought the urge to roll her eyes, because he couldn't be making her go that far. She knew it wasn't time to joke, and that he probably didn't even understand that he'd bought her a Donatella Versace gown, but the mood felt so somber, that she had to say something to lighten the weight on her heart.

"Yes."

Hermione's stomach flipped and when she lifted her gaze to his, the deep, intense look from earlier was completely gone. Standing before her was the Death Eater Malfoy. He looked like a pillar amongst a raging storm, and there was nothing but frozen ice in his eyes. He was in-character, for lack of a better description, and all at once, she felt utterly alone.

"What?"

"I said, crawl." A hiss, a reminder. An order.

The air grew thick with tension that caused Hermione's breathing pace to quicken, and they stared each other down.

"Or do I need to punish you, pet?" A snarl.

Hermione sunk to her hands and knees quickly, grateful for the velvet carpet beneath her. Her hair fell forward to shield her blushing cheeks, fortunately, and she gazed down at the steps in front of her. The carpet continued down the stone, but the steps weren't wide. She was nervous she'd fall head over heels, and was doubly glad her dress had slits in the skirt.

"Wait until I tell you to come," Malfoy said, adjusting his suit jacket and then descending the stairs.

Hermione groaned inwardly. He was testing her. He was starting now, because she, too needed to get in-character. But Hermione was no actress - she was honest to a fault. She didn't know if she was going to be able to be the person - or animal - he wanted her to be. She felt her eyes burn, her fingernails digging into the carpet. What if she screwed everything up?

One of Blaise's House Elves awaited them at the bottom of the stairs, from what she could see, and he bowed to Malfoy from his place.

"Your guests have arrived, Master Malfoy," the elf's voice ground out. "Shall I bring them in from the Drawing Room?"

"Is dinner prepared?"

"It will be ready for consumption within the hour, Master."

"Then we shall take imbibements in the Drawing Room until then. Thank you, Krandy."

The elf bowed, and then disappeared with a crack.

Malfoy stood at the foot of the stairs, and turned to look up at Hermione. It was like she was looking down into the eyes of a demon.

"You may come." He slipped his hands into his pockets and watched her intently.

Humiliating.

That was the only way to describe it. It was humiliating and absurd, Hermione Granger crawling awkwardly down the stairs of the Malfoy Manor towards Draco Malfoy, who was treating her like his pet for the night just so they could trick a werewolf into thinking he was on their side. She would simply shrivel up and die if any of her friends saw this, as if it already wasn't going to be difficult to look Malfoy in the eyes after this evening.

When she finally made it to the landing, she debated standing, thinking with apprehension about how far the Drawing Room was from the entryway in this huge Manor. She debated asking him, looking up and seeing if she could catch even the tiniest glimmer of normalcy in his eyes. Something from him that offered a brief reprieve.

"Come," he said, and then he started towards the hall. "And keep your eyes on the floor."

There would be no reprieve. It had begun.

No, Hermione thought miserably as she began the slow, long crawl. The carpet wasn't helping anymore, the stone beneath it feeling hard and unforgiving. She could feel the bruises on her knees already forming, and each movement she made caused her to wince. But still, Malfoy continued on. His pace was moderate, causing Hermione to instinctually try and crawl faster, the train of her expensive gown shifting along the floor behind her.

This was overwhelming. In all of her years alive, she never thought she'd be in this position. It was beyond humiliating. She almost wished she'd taken Malfoy up on his offer to Apparate away.

Be brave, Gryffindor, she thought, her mind whispering it to her over and over. She needed to be brave. This was only the beginning, and it was, in a weird way, helping to ease her into her role. This was necessary. I have to do this. We have to do this. If Greyback is plotting a war and he's got Kingsley under the Imperius curse, all we have is Minerva. And I don't want her involved, either. It's just me and Malfoy. I have to do this . . . I have to do this . . .

Hermione took a deep breath. She may not have been a great actress, but she was a fast learner. She would look at it like a problem to solve, and she would solve it. Simple.

How did one act like a pet? Hermione didn't exactly have much experience with pets, other than her familiars. Pakatugg did whatever he wanted, and certainly didn't listen to her. Half the time, he was scurrying out the windows and reappearing at strange hours of the night with chestnuts. Crookshanks definitely followed his own rules, though he did love a good cuddle every once in a while.

So she tried to draw on what she knew. She knew that Malfoy wanted her to be subservient, to do whatever he asked, and to call him Master. The latter was easy, but what of the former two? What if he asked too much? She hadn't exactly told him her limits because she didn't know what was on the scale. And subservient. What exactly did that mean?

She racked her brain. Subservient. Servant. Submissive. That implied deferrance. The way House Elves followed orders, no matter what, and bowed out of respect. All right, she could do that. She would keep her head down, her gaze lowered, and she would ensure that she did whatever he told her to do in a way that showed she wasn't defiant.

Hopefully. Hermione was no weak girl. She had no issues following rules; that was, dare she say, one of her best skills. The issue was when those rules went against her morals. She knew when to sift through the rules and pick out the ones that were flawed, and then break them. She would be able to do most of what Malfoy wanted, and say what he wanted her to say.

Her cheeks heated. She had no issue saying the things that Malfoy wanted her to say. The only issue was the only time she seemed able to do so was when they were sharing a . . . Moment. When she felt safe and secure. Right now, she didn't feel safe or secure, and she had a feeling that consent was out the window at this point.

"W-Wait," she said, feeling winded when they were halfway down the hall. The Drawing Room doors were cracked, and light spilled out from within. Hermione could hear voices and laughter coming from within, male and female.

Malfoy did not wait.

Hermione scrambled as fast as she could on her hands and knees to catch up, panting a little heavily to try and catch her breath, and then they were in front of the Drawing Room.

Krandy stepped out. "Shall I announce you, Master?"

Malfoy nodded.

The elf went back in and as Hermione sagged beside Malfoy's feet, sweat trickling down her temple, she felt his hand brush through her hair.

"Eyes down. Talk to no one. If you hit a limit, say, 'Thank you', and I'll know." He breathed it out. She looked up at him, but it was like staring at a stone face. There was nothing there. But she'd heard it - he was in there.

Thank you? Why would I . . . Realization dawned. By her thanking them for whatever it was, she would appear to be subservient, grateful to her master for allowing her to participate, and then he'd be able to stop them without it looking suspicious. Embarrassing though it would be, it was a good plan.

Malfoy, clever as always.

The Drawing Room doors opened and Malfoy strode forward into the room. Hermione hissed in pain as her aching knees and throbbing hands moved across the stone, and the multiple voices began to laugh in delight. Hermione tried not to feel sick, keeping her eyes trained on the floor as they made their way to the carpet, where she could see three pairs of male feet scattered about. She sucked in a breath of shock when she saw that there were three other sets of knees on the carpet as well, and she realized.

She wasn't the only Muggle-born in attendance.

"Ah, Draco, my boy!" Hermione heard Gareth's voice. "She. Is. Exquisite. Crawling like the filthy animal she is. I never thought I'd see the day when Voldemort's dreams of subservience came true."

"Good evening, Gareth. Evening, all." Malfoy's voice was cold, impassive. "Where is Greyback?"

"Lord Greyback," Gareth corrected smoothly. "And he is on his way; he was held up with his Healer. As you well know it's the Full Moon, and Wolfsbane Potion is not easy to brew."

So it's Lord Greyback, Hermione thought with a tiny inner cry of triumph. It renewed her resolve. Now they knew more than when they started: Greyback was the leader, and he had earned enough respect from wizards to have earned the title of "Lord." It was only a matter of time before more information started trickling out, and when Greyback himself arrived, she had a feeling that was when the rain would start to pour.

Feeling strengthened, she straightened her arms and made sure her head stayed ducked down.

"I do," Malfoy said. He sounded bored.

"May we see her?" Gareth said. "I've been promising them quite the specimen. Hardly any of them believed what I told them. I didn't invite as many as would attend a traditional Revel, but I felt that your slave was too precious of a commodity. Not everyone deserves to lay eyes upon her."

"Is that so?" Malfoy then surprised Hermione by kicking her lightly in the side of the leg with his boot. It looked worse than it felt. "Up, pet."

Shakily, her cheeks burning, Hermione rose to her feet, reminding herself that it was all for show. Her knees ached, causing her to remain slightly bent, but she didn't grab onto Malfoy in any way. She had a feeling he'd just shake her off, or worse.

Hermione lifted her head and her eyes danced around the area between the sofa and loveseat. She saw that there were indeed three other girls on the floor, and to her discomfort, she saw that they wore decidedly different gowns that hers. All three of them had some variation of gauzy negligee, one with lace and glitter, one with feathers lining the edges, and one that left nothing to the imagination. Around them, she recognized Gareth Greengrass and the man from earlier, Enicto Carrow. The other man was a bit older than her and Malfoy, with a shock of jet-black hair falling about his head, a curious set of crimson-red eyes - A vampire? - and a gaze that rivaled the gaze Malfoy gave her when he was touching her. All three wizards wore suits and dress robes, and all held a wine glass in their hands.

Every single one of them was gazing at her with a hunger that she'd never experienced before, as if they'd been starving in a desert for 10 years, and she was the first morsel they'd come across. She hugged her arms around her body, and then gasped when she suddenly felt hands twisting through her long hair, painfully so.

"Eyes on the ground, Mudblood." Malfoy's voice was vicious, full of ire.

Hermione nodded quickly and lowered her eyes, and when he let go of her, he shoved at her head a bit. She stumbled, nearly toppling over in her heels, and then steadied herself at the last minute. She was shocked, but she took a deep breath. Dinner hadn't even begun. Everything he did was necessary. He had to make it look real. She thought the words repeatedly, and kept her face down.

"She looks awfully healthy for a Mudblood slave," Enicto said. He took a step forward, and she saw his him lift his wine glass, presumably to take a sip.

The raven-haired wizard came forward and when he spoke, his voice was dark and sinister. "Not a bruise on her, Malfoy. She doesn't look broken-spirited to me."

Hermione stiffened. She wasn't stupid. That was suspicion she heard from both of them. She wracked her brain, trying to figure out what to do. She wanted to lift her eyes, to ask Malfoy what she should do, or to see if he had something in his gaze that told her what to do, but she refrained. "Do whatever I say," he'd said.

"I prefer to take care of my toys," Malfoy said nonchalantly, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Krandy appear beside him with a glass of wine, which he accepted. "Don't you, Demetri?"

Demetri took another step towards Hermione, and she shrunk away from him. He smelled awful, like rotting meat and dirt. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her body, but she remained calm.

Eyes down, she told herself. Eyes down, Hermione.

"I wouldn't know," Demetri said, and his breath nearly made Hermione gag. "I broke all of mine."

Hermione bit down on her tongue, focusing on the pain to redirect her thoughts away from the horrid images that played in her mind. Judging by the fact that there were three other girls on the floor in front of her, to these wizards, 'toys' meant 'people', and that sickened her. How many other Death Eaters had Muggle-born slaves? How were their disappearances going unnoticed? Who were the three girls, and had their families been found, heard, or ignored?

Enicto came to stand beside Demetri, and he grabbed Hermione's chin roughly, dragging her face up. Surprised, her eyes darted up to meet his and then quickly looked down. Her heart beat wildly, and she hoped Malfoy hadn't seen. If he had, she hoped he let it go.

She could feel his eyes burning into her from her right.

"Perhaps she breaks in other ways," Enicto said, turning her face left and right. "There's more than one way to break a toy, gentleman. For example. Orchid, please come here."

Hermione saw the girl in the feathered negligee rise to her feet and drift over. She looked away from Orchid's visible breasts and pubic area, feeling grateful that she hadn't been made to wear anything similar to that. Her heart wrenched. How many other girls had been taken, just like Orchid? It was awful, to think of how vile Voldemort had been, and how malevolent his followers still were.

"Do you put yours under the Imperius curse, Malfoy?" Enicto asked, and Hermione saw him withdrawing his wand. "I've heard Granger is a feisty, disobedient little cur. I should like to think the curse would be necessary for her?"

"I . . ." Malfoy only paused for a brief second, but was quick to recover, his tone flat, lifeless. "I enjoy when she struggles. Defiance is the storm, obedience the calm afterward."

Hermione's mind flashed back to that morning and her breathing pace quickened. He doesn't mean it. He kissed my tears. He only did it because I told him to. He doesn't mean it.

"Hm," Enicto said. "I prefer to have complete control myself. Imperio."

Orchid, who had been swaying from something Hermione couldn't name, now stood rigid and firm with her arms at her sides.

Hermione lifted her head slightly, unable to fight the curiosity. She couldn't see Orchid's face, but she could imagine it: the blank, unseeing eyes, flat facial expression, and set jaw.

"Orchid," Enicto said. His glee was palpable and it slid through the air, greasy and horrid. "Break your fingers for me, will you, poppet?"

Orchid used her left hand to grab the fingers of her right and bend them backward. She kept going and going, the audible cracking noises causing Hermione to flinch and squeeze her eyes shut. There was a split second of silence, and then the girl began to scream, a steady cry of anguish. She collapsed onto her knees on the floor in Hermione's downturned line of sight. Hermione fought the urge to stagger backwards.

Four of her fingers were hanging limply backward from the sockets, the knuckles touching the backs of her violently-quivering palms. Tears streamed unchecked down her grieving face, and Hermione began to realize that the Imperius curse was a prison, and the cursed individual was simply a passenger in their own body while the dark wizard who cast it controlled their every move. Under the curse, Orchid felt everything.

"I like to wait until the very last moment to lift the curse," Enicto said casually, an audible shrug. "That way I can hear the Muggle-borns scream."

Them. Them? There were multiple people. How many people had been kidnapped, taken, and destroyed? Tortured? Killed?

Hermione felt a hand on the back of her neck, and she jolted out of her panicked reverie, trying to catch her breath. She didn't need to look up from Orchid's tear-stained face to know it was Malfoy. Hermione quickly wiped the tears of fright from her own eyes; Malfoy was giving her a warning.

"I'm sure you all have . . . Interesting pastimes," Malfoy said, gesturing towards them with his wine glass. "I have no need of magic with my Mudblood. She's not as brave as her House would suggest."

"Is that so?" Gareth asked curiously. "How do you mean?"

Hermione felt Malfoy's eyes on her, felt his hand squeeze the back of her neck a tiny bit, as if to remind her to stay focused and alert. She could tell - this was likely dangerous territory. "She fears the unknown. All I need to do is say the words, and she does what I ask. Don't you, Mudblood filth?"

His face was right by her ear, she could feel his nose brushing her hair. She took a deep breath, not knowing if she was supposed to respond or not. Not wanting to risk it, she clenched her fists and sealed her lips.

Wrong choice.

Malfoy squeezed her neck so hard that it hurt, and sent lightning bolts of agony downward through her spine. She hunched her shoulders and cried out, forcing herself not to reach up and grab at his hand. I fucked up. I should have answered. Merlin dammit.

"I asked you a question," he growled.

"Y-Yes, Master," she spluttered, her eyes fearfully glancing up at the wizards watching her. She wished she hadn't. The hunger in Demetri's eyes had intensified; Gareth was rubbing his hands together in an unsettling manner; Enicto watched her over the rim of his wine glass with a glint in his eyes. Hermione's eyes fell. Orchid was still trembling and catatonic. The other two girls had their heads down and were very still save for the twitching of one girl's pinkie finger.

Malfoy loosened his hold, but did not drop his hand from her tender neck.

"Will Lord Greyback be arriving soon?" Malfoy then asked, and Hermione wondered if it was him trying to cut things short before they got worse, or if she was just trying to believe the best of him. "I'm quite starved."

"Soon, I'm sure," Gareth said dismissively, and then Hermione heard him gulp. "Now, you say she does whatever you say?"

Hermione's heart sank. This didn't sound like it was headed in the right direction.

"Absolutely anything," Malfoy said coolly.

"So if you asked her to get down on her knees right now and wrap those pretty Mudblood lips around your cock, would she do it?" He panted quietly, but loudly enough for Hermione to hear it.

Hermione's brow furrowed and alarm bloomed in her chest amongst a bed of disgust. Gareth Greengrass was Daphne's father. Hermione was the same age as his daughter. The thought of him, of any of them for that matter, watching her do something like that . . . It was too much.

Hermione wished she'd told Malfoy her limits. This was one of them, and it would sound bizarre for her to suddenly thank him out of nowhere for nothing. Her heart beat so loudly she could hear it in her ears. He wouldn't do it. He wouldn't dare. She'd never forgive him. Never. Her palms began to sweat and as the terror increased, she was unable to stifle the whimper that cried from the depths of her throat.

"She would," Malfoy said in a casual tone.

Nononohewouldn'thewouldn't. Hermione was losing it. She knew what they'd discussed, knew that he'd promised no harm would come to her. But here, now, hearing that and being in this situation where Malfoy had to play a part she didn't understand, it was difficult to discern reality from nightmare. What Malfoy had done that afternoon, when he'd showed her his darker side simply because she'd asked, what if that had been a warning?

"P-Please, Ma-Master," she stammered, wringing her hands in front of her. She was careful to keep her eyes down. She knew she hadn't been asked a question, but he needed to know it was a limit.

Malfoy waited a moment, and she felt him start to tighten his hold on her neck. Her breathing hitched and the tears filled her eyes. Was he going to . . . ? Would it be right there, while he stood? Would he sit on the loveseat she picked out?

"See?" Malfoy finally said. "Her fear alone is enough to control her. At the mere suggestion, she's shaking in her knickers."

Relief flooded her body and she tried not to outwardly show it.

"I rather like that her skin remains unmarred," Enicto said. "Dirty blood shows up so much better against a clean canvas, don't you think, gentlemen?"

"My Mudblood bruises easily," Gareth said, gesturing to one of the girls on the floor, the one with the glittering negligee. "I find myself growing tired of her. Perhaps I will let Lord Greyback have her this evening, as an offering."

Have her? Hermione bit back a noise of terror. She remembered the things Greyback had promised her the night he and Bellatrix had terrorized her. She knew what Greyback was capable of. She didn't want anyone being given to Greyback. She bit her lower lip. How could she help this girl? Was there any way, anything she could do?

"But perhaps not," Gareth went on. "May we have a demonstration of her subservience?"

"Yes, a demonstration," Enicto said, and his wine glass lifted again. "I would like to see it firsthand. Orchid, I'd like you to watch, too. Perhaps you could learn something about true obedience."

True obedience, Hermione thought, breathing heavily. Her pulse pounded, and it was a wonder the entire room couldn't smell her anxiety.

Demtri's hand went to the remaining girl's hair and dragged her head up. Her eyes met Hermione's, and then quickly looked away. Hermione felt despair. There was nothing there. No life and no hope.

"Watch purely for the sake of enjoyment," Demetri ordered her. "But be wary. If she makes a mistake, I'll simply punish you."

Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin. Hermione began to panic again. She had to do whatever Malfoy said now. No matter what. Whoever that Muggle-born girl was, she didn't deserve to have that disgusting pig smelling of rot tormenting her because Hermione was too much of a coward. Whatever Malfoy asked her to do, she would do it, without hesitation. When it was her and her alone, Hermione had limits. When it involved the safety of someone else, an innocent person, she would not let them get hurt.

"Very well," Malfoy said, and then she saw him turn to face her. "Knees, Mudblood."

Hermione dropped to the floor so fast that her hair flew up off of her shoulders. She placed her hands on the floor between her kneecaps.

"Look at me." Malfoy's voice was chillingly cold, and devoid of any warmth or care whatsoever. Hermione built up her walls, hiding her fear behind it, and called up the lioness with her.

She refused to let anyone other than herself get hurt.

Malfoy held his hand out to her and curled his fingers inward, leaving his fore and middle fingers outstretched. Her eyes darted upward and she saw his face was just as cold as though she really were his slave.

"Suck."

Hermione felt her stomach twist with a mixture of nausea and mortification, and she leaned forward. She kept her eyes lowered as she placed her mouth on his fingers. She closed her lips and did as he asked, unable to keep the blush out of her cheeks. She felt the room waiting in tense silence and when her eyes lifted to Malfoy's again, there was a strange, familiar glint in his eyes.

She felt a bit angry. He had no right to derive any pleasure from this.

Her tongue wrapped around his fingers once more and she finally drew her head back, panting slightly. He wiped his hand on his trousers, as if he were disgusted by her saliva. She caught a flash of guilt in his gaze and then the mask was back.

Hermione looked up at him through her lashes, seeing the familiar sneer of Fifth Year Malfoy and the dead eyes of Malfoy at the Manor the day she'd been was good. If his eyes were dead, that meant there was something alive there in the first place. He was there, somewhere.

"I treat you well, don't I, pet?" he spat out, and she heard the pompousness of Second Year Malfoy.

"Yes, Master," she said, not taking her eyes off of him. She could hear the labored, terrified breathing of Demetri's captive.

"I reward you when you're good, yes?" The cheekiness of Fourth Year Malfoy. Malfoy slipped the hand not holding his wine glass into the pocket of his black trousers.

"Yes, always, Master," Hermione said. Her eyes darted to the side for a moment, and she saw the girl looking directly at her. Her eyes were pleading. Hermione knew she had to stay strong.

What was Malfoy leading up to?

He took a step toward her, and she lifted her chin higher to keep their eyes locked on one another. He tilted his head to the side, regarding her curiously, and she wondered: was he trying to scare her with anticipation? Or was he thinking of a way to make this easier on her?

"Touch yourself," he finally said, and then he sipped his wine.

Hermione went rigid, her hands curling into the carpet. He couldn't be serious. She felt anger rising up, feeling stuck between a rock and a hard place. If she followed orders, she'd never be able to trust Malfoy again. If she broke them, the girl being held by Demetri was going to get hurt.

Is he doing this because he said no one would touch me? Does he think it's okay as long as it's me touching myself? With all these people watching? What is he thinking?

"Touch yourself, and I might let you cum." That voice belonged to none other than Eighth Year Malfoy. Her Malfoy. The Malfoy that she'd been scared was possibly using her for his own personal gain. The Malfoy that he promised her he'd protect her tonight.

And it was her limit.

How dare he use that against me? How dare he? What is he playing at? Hermione's mind reeled. Why, of all the things he could have brought up, would he use the very thing they'd discussed that morning against her in such a way? Was he trying to push her buttons, to make it look real? Did he need genuine anger from her? Was he just in over his head? She had so many questions, and she was livid.

"Thank. You," she bit out through gritted teeth, her eyes blazing. "Master."

His eyes flashed, but otherwise, he said nothing. He merely watched her. The entire room seemed to be holding its breath as Hermione, still on her knees, lifted her hands. She moved them towards her chest, her cheeks flaring bright red, wondering why Malfoy would do this to her. Why she hadn't told him her limits. Why she'd been so stupid as to think he'd actually keep her safe.

"Stop," Malfoy suddenly said, soft and dangerous.

Relieved, Hermione let her hands fall back to her lap, but she kept her glare trained on Malfoy's face. This is too real. He went too far.

Hermione was glad he'd told her to stop, but she didn't trust him anymore. She lowered her gaze and turned her face away, seething. It would be one thing if it was a complete lie, but the fact that it was based in truth was what irked Hermione the most.

Prat, she thought, enraged. Bloody prat.

She don't know what she'd thought a Revel would be like. This was worse than what she'd expected, but less than what she'd feared, and she didn't know how to feel. What she did know was that Greyback hadn't even arrived, and she was already spent. She didn't know how much worse it was going to get.

Malfoy smirked at his house guests. "See? I can make her do anything I want. She responds to stimulants - rewards and punishments. It's really quite simple."

Gareth scoffed, but it was a mocking laugh. "You don't allow her to cum?"

"It sounds perfectly acceptable to me," Enicto huffed. "Mudbloods exist for our pleasure, not their own."

Hermione narrowed her eyes up at Malfoy. She wished she could snarl at him. Is that what I am to you? Just some animal to exist for your pleasure? What do you even get out of tormenting me? Her angry thoughts kept repeating. She wished he could use Legilimency still. She wanted him to know how much she loathed him right then.

He just stared back at her with those dead, blank eyes and sipped his bloody wine.

"I derive pleasure from pain," Demetri said, and the girl by his leg whimpered as he twisted her hair quite cruelly. "But your method has its benefits. Perhaps we shall see some more at dinner."

"Perhaps . . ." Gareth made a strange panting noise and took a step toward Hermione. "Perhaps you could share her tonight? I should like to see how she shakes when she finally comes apart . . ."

What? Hermione's head whipped to the right, to stare at him in alarm. Share?

Gareth leered towards Hermione, and she saw his hand reaching toward her out of her peripheral vision. Reflexively, her hand shot out and smacked his away, wandless yet nameless magic pouring out of her and slicing a wound into his cheek. She whirled around, landing on her bottom on the floor as she glowered up at him, baring her teeth like a cornered creature.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione snapped, a savage look in her eyes. She hadn't felt this angry in a long time. She didn't know if she'd ever felt this outraged. She didn't even care about the consequences, she'd just reacted. Because she was Hermione Granger, damn it, and she was the brightest witch of her age. And Merlin be damned, if she had her bloody wand . . .

"Bitch!" Gareth snarled, and then he glowered at Malfoy. "You allow this defiance from your slave? Against a house guest?!"

Hermione knew then that she'd made a mistake. There was no way he could get her out of this one, or lead the dark wizards into thinking she was actually being harmed.

She felt his hand wrapping around her throat and dragging her up onto her tip-toes. She automatically reached up to pry at his fingers, her eyes pleading with him to understand, her high heels scraping against the carpet. His eyes scanned her, blazing hot with intensity, and she knew. He had to do it. She'd fucked up, and he had to punish her.

"You stupid bint," he snarled, and she heard it in his voice. I have to do this now. I have to.

Hermione cried out as he tossed her down onto the ground so hard that she landed on her elbows with a reverberating pain, her hair flying out about her like a fan. What is he going to do? What can he do? Why did I mess up so poorly? Hermione tried to remain calm, lying there trembling with her face turned to the carpet as he advanced on her.

From where she lay, she could see Demetri gripping his slave's hair even tighter, and Hermione knew she'd failed not only Malfoy and herself, but she'd failed the Muggle-born girl.

"Unfortunate," Demetri said, and then he whipped out his wand and pointed it at the girl. "Crucio!"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror as the room filled with the sounds of agonized screaming. Demetri kept his hold on the girl's hair while she writhed and convulsed, his wand pointed directly at her the entire time.

Malfoy crouched down beside her, and Hermione cringed as he raised his hand with the back of it brandished at her like a club.

Please don't, she thought, breathing heavily while she waited for the blow to rain down. All Hermione could hear was the Muggle-born girl screaming and screaming, and it caused her own hands to shake with phantom pains from the times she'd been cursed.

"I should beat you," Malfoy hissed, his face pale with white-hot fury. Hermione couldn't tell if it was for show. She just knew it was her fault the Muggle-born was screaming.

But nothing came.

Malfoy stood up and whirled on Gareth, his wand aimed at the center of his chest and his half-drank wine still in hand. The man looked stunned and he held up his hands in defense.

"Never touch my things," Malfoy snarled, and Hermione felt the familiar pressure of his magic weighing down on her, almost enveloping her like a blanket. Death Eater mask or not, Malfoy's magic was speaking for him, telling her that he was still in there and he was going to protect her. "Never touch what is mine."

Hermione watched in shock as Gareth bowed his head. "Y-Yes, Draco. Malfoy. Sir Malfoy. Yes."

Gareth Greengrass was scared of an eighteen-year-old wizard.

Just who had Malfoy been during the war?

Then, without turning around, Malfoy snapped, "Get up off the floor, Mudblood. If you disrespect my guests again, I'll beat you until you can't walk."

Hermione, still shaking, lifted herself up onto her still-aching knees, and then she immediately lowered her eyes. She could still feel his magic wrapped around her, coming off of his body in waves and finally, finally she felt at least some semblance of safety.

But she knew she'd done a horrible thing, and had made a terrible mistake.

Demetri finally raised his wand from his slave, who had gone into shock. She lay crumpled at his feet, shivering and unconscious. He smirked.

"I do believe I'm having a fantastic time, Malfoy."

"Lord Greyback will be pleased," Enicto added. "Ah, here he is!"

The Floo flared to life, and Hermione didn't even need to lift her eyes from the floor to know who'd arrived.

The vicious snarling told her.

Hermione heard multiple clicking noises coming toward her from around the left side of the room. She felt her breath freeze in her chest and she couldn't stop herself: she looked up.

She screamed.

Fenrir Greyback, in his werewolf form, looked nothing like Remus had. Where Remus was thin and curled up, a pitiful, whimpering creature, Greyback had become something out of a nightmare. He was hunched over on all fours, and his claws were razor-sharp, scraping the stone as he slunk towards her. Completely covered in dark grey fur, his eyes were angry and the color of an afternoon sunset, blazing like fire. His torso was almost human, but blanketed with thick fur and smothered in corded muscles. The wolf's neck was thick, and his head was huge with a long snout teeming with deadly teeth, the sharp ears pointing straight up. He licked his chops, and Hermione realized that he looked unlike any werewolf she'd ever seen in any book in the Library.

Hermione fell onto her back as Greyback stood up on his hind feet, rearing up to his full seven-foot height. He let out a loud snarl and then his clawed, almost human hand, lashed out towards her. Hermione screamed again, throwing her hands up in front of her face, but it was no use. His hand, larger than her face, wrapped its way through her hair and dragged her up into the air. He didn't break the skin or even scratch her, but the pain on her scalp was excruciating.

She couldn't take this, this fear. It was her absolute limit. This was not a werewolf. This was a monster. Her eyes slid to the left, where Malfoy was staring with wide eyes. He looked alarmed, troubled, like he was on the verge of snapping.

"M-Malfoy, please," Hermione begged, her hands wrapped around two of Greyback's massive claws. She was terrified he was going to crush her head into a pulp.

Greyback's massive head turned to glare down at Malfoy, who quickly gathered his wits before he saw his loss of composure. Malfoy stared up at him, much like he had in Gareth's office. Greyback growled, but neither of them backed down. Hermione saw Malfoy's brow furrowing with concentration, holding Greyback's gaze for what felt like minutes.

What is going on? Is he trying to use Legilimency?

Malfoy staggered backward, grabbing onto the Grecian pillar display behind him, and Greyback gave another snarl. He turned his rage-filled eyes on Hermione, and then he let her go. Hermione fell to the ground in an unceremonious heap, looking up at Malfoy. His teeth were clenched, but his Death Eater mask was carefully in place.

"Mudblood," he hissed. "Here. Now."

Hermione scrambled over to him, cowering behind his leg. She didn't care if it was weak or if she was breaking character. Greyback was massive. She clutched the leg of Malfoy's trousers, her eyes wild and fixed on the wolf.

There was a woman standing behind Greyback, wearing an extravagant set of emerald green dress robes with an onyx-and-silver broach at the center. Her hair, black as charcoal, was piled atop her head, and her lips were red like blood. She took a few steps to the left and offered Malfoy a sweet smile.

"Hello, Draco," she purred. "You just get more and more handsome, don't you?"

"Hello, Cecilia." Malfoy's voice sounded strained.

Cecilia Yaxley, Hermione thought, and some of her fear melted away. Because this was why she was here, doing this. To get information. To learn as much as possible.

Cecilia withdrew a vial from her bag and tossed it up into the air. Greyback's jaws clamped down on the entire thing before it fell, and he chewed it up, glass and all. Hermione watched from behind Malfoy's leg as Greyback's fur began to shed, his flesh to melt. She felt her stomach flipping over with nausea as his entire snout simply fell off and landed on the floor with a loud squelching noise. Pieces of him continued to slough off, until finally, the Greyback that she'd seen in the Ministry that day stood there.

Cecilia Yaxley . . . Is Greyback's Healer, too?

Cecilia waved her wand and Greyback's skin was scourgified. Another flick, and he was clad in an impeccable blue suit, his cropped hair gelled flat.

If she'd thought Greyback was dangerous before, she'd been sorely mistaken. Not only had he turned back into a human on the night of a full moon from drinking a mere potion - likely Wolfsbane - but he was definitely not a normal werewolf. Lycanthropy was a disease. It weakened the host. Greyback looked stronger.

Hermione decided right then and there that she'd made the right decision. If she had to humiliate herself by crawling, endure Malfoy forcing her to do cruel things under the guise of being emotionless and hating her, and stare into the face of a monster, then it was worth it as long as she gained an understanding of her enemy that she'd never gained about Voldemort. If not for girls like the Muggle-born slave that were sitting at the feet of the dark wizards behind her, then for her friends who were currently at Hogwarts. She would do it for them.

"Interesting, Draco Malfoy," Greyback said as the last of his fur drifted to the ground. "She begs so beautifully. I am intrigued to see what beauty awaits us at dinner."

Malfoy's leg tensed beneath Hermione's hand.

Cecilia threw her head back and giggled. "I'm positively starved."

---

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