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

27. The Devil Inside

The Scottish sorcerer Gamelin MacGriogair is of my own making! MacGriogair is the Gaelic spelling of the name MacGregor. Also the author Haggerty Prim, who we will be seeing a lot of, is my own character.

---

Invisible

Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Demon Inside

I Don't Think We Have It by Future Jr., Ludens by BMTH, Bad Idea by Ariana Grande, and Find You by Ruelle

Draco POV

Something was wrong.

Draco didn't know if it started when Granger mentioned demons, or if it started long before that, but something was wrong.

When they got back to Hogwarts, everything seemed fine. He didn't feel any differently than normal, just hungry and tired, but willing to wait until later. He hadn't lied to Granger when he told her he spoke to Blaise. He did speak to him, but he just didn't want Blaise's blood. He wanted Granger's. But he'd known that was almost out of the question, after what he'd said, so he tried to apologize in his own way.

She wasn't having it.

He'd tried to talk to her again, even though Potty was lingering nearby, because he didn't care about anything other than making things right. He hadn't known exactly how to do it, so he'd simply made it clear he would find her. The forehead kiss was unnecessary, but again, Potty was nearby. And Granger was his, so if he wanted to kiss her forehead, then he would.

So things that day had started off relatively normal, and Draco hadn't had any reason to think it would be any different than any other day. Which was saying something, since their weekend had been traumatic and nightmarish. His guilt was becoming as normal as any other emotion he felt, so the fact that he wished he could follow Granger around all day just to watch over her wasn't out of the ordinary, either.

He knew what he'd said was confusing and totally not what he'd meant to imply, but at the same time, it was somewhat true. Not because of who she was, but because of who he was. There was no way in Merlin's hut that he was going to ask her to mate with him for life just to keep him alive when all he'd done this year was fail to protect her. She'd been through Hell, and a lot of it was either preventable or directly his fault.

Draco didn't know much about Veelas, but if that's what he was and he really did have to mate to stay alive, he assumed it would have some all-encompassing emotional effects. If he took away her freedom to love or marry whoever she wanted, on top of everything else horrible he'd done to her, he'd regret it for the rest of his life.

Everything was so fucked up. It was just fucked up. He knew he shouldn't even be speaking to her after taking her to a damn Revel. He knew he didn't deserve her - he didn't even deserve to breathe her air. After he'd kissed her on the forehead, he'd known he was too selfish and deserved to wither. He'd had no intentions of finding her later, even though he desperately wanted to, but he couldn't keep taking and taking from her when he had nothing to give her in return.

He was irredeemable, and he deserved no part of her.

As the day wore on and the exhaustion settled in, Draco began to notice that things weren't as normal as he'd thought they would be. He began to notice that his wolf was uncharacteristically quiet and the other part of him, the part that he hadn't yet been able to name?

It was talking to him.

It started with a whisper, like a gentle breeze on a warm Spring day. Simple questions that he thought were coming from within his own mind. Questions like, are you sure you're not hungry? Or, don't you just wish this professor would shut up? Or, why are you moving aside for them? Shouldn't they be moving aside for you? Questions that seemed harmless, coming from an immature place of intrusive thinking. Questions that he hadn't given deep thought to.

Next came the anger. It wasn't as ferocious as the anger he felt on the second day of the full moon cycles, but it was present and unable to be ignored. He was angry at his professors for talking too much or too loud or too quiet. He was angry with Blaise for being much too chipper in the morning, and then again, much too chipper at lunch. He was angry with the doors for being in his way, or angry with the sun for being too bright in the late Fall, or angry with the numbness in his fingers from it being too cold in the castle. He was angry with everything, and the voice in his head told him so.

By the time the voice was telling him to pin Granger down on the Eighth Year table at dinner, he knew there was something seriously dangerous going on.

Not only was that not conducive to the environment, but it was not warranted. At all. Especially because he was in class, and nowhere near Granger or the Great Hall. He'd lifted his sleepy head from his arms quickly after that, feeling as though the request had been whispered into his ear from the left. Or maybe it was the right? He wasn't sure. He just knew he'd heard it. But when no one else budged from their quiet note taking, he'd realized the demand had been spoken into his head, and not in a nice way.

His fangs finally presented, too.

He was standing outside of the Great Hall before lunch, debating whether or not to even attend since he didn't eat human food any longer anyway. He could stomach rare meat, but the rest of it, his body simply rejected. He had eaten a bite of peach cobbler, but it was so small it had no adverse affect.

He tried Blaise's blood after the train ride. It tasted flat and dead. He didn't know how he was going to overcome that and even though mentally he thought he should just starve to death, physically he was too much of a coward to do it. He had only one other option, and that was to go back to what he and Granger had been doing before, and to stop fighting his bloodlust for her.

In through the doors, he could see that Granger hadn't arrived yet to the Hall. After the unsettling thoughts he'd had regarding her that day, he was glad for it. He was wondering if he should even bother going in, if maybe he should just go back to the dorm, when the faint scent of blood reached his nostrils. He'd glanced behind him and seen a small group of Second Years huddled around a witch with tears in her eyes and a bloodied palm, and a discarded Eversharp Quill floating to the ground.

Kill her, the voice said simply. Kill them all, and eat her.

By the time he realized it was his top two canine teeth that were jabbing down into his tongue, growing and lengthening into sharp fangs, he was already turning on his heel to go back to the dorms.

He'd spent the entirety of lunch sitting on the edge of his bed, warring with himself in an attempt to keep from going back to the Great Hall and devouring everyone in sight. He'd never felt so ravenous, even when he'd gone days without feeding, and he'd dug his fingernails into his forearm over his Dark Mark until he drew blood.

And all the while, the voice continued to whisper, Kill them all, and eat them.

By the time dinner rolled around, he couldn't stand it anymore. He didn't care if everyone was watching. He didn't care if Granger's friends despised him. He didn't care that he'd fucked up the previous night by telling her something he didn't actually mean, something he hadn't worded correctly. The voice inside of his head told him to take what was his, and so he got up and went to sit beside her. And even though he engaged in annoying bickering with Scarhead, all of his attention was devoted to Granger. Her hair, her smile, her face, her . . .

Pulse.

As they left the Great Hall and escaped into the quiet darkness of the corridor, he had to force himself to keep his hands at his sides. He could smell her. It filled his head with hunger wrapped in a fuzziness that allowed him to think of nothing else but her.

"I'm not sure what we're going to be able to find," Granger was saying as they strolled, "but I'm hoping there's something in either the supernatural creatures section, or with the History of Magic books."

"And what exactly are we looking for?" He kept his eyes trained forward.

"Anything we can find on demons. If possible," she said, sounding troubled. "Incubi, specifically."

"And what makes you so sure that's the right one?"

"Nothing makes me sure," she said with a bit of a shrug. "But it's a good point to start at."

"Right," he said. The voice in his head was starting to whisper again, mingling with the faint growls of his wolf, and it was taking every fiber in his being to keep his face on the corridor ahead, and not on her throat.

"I don't know much myself, but I do know that Muggles are quite fascinated by the study of demonology," Granger said as they neared the Library entrance. "They make movies, read books, and pass stories down. Legends, if you will."

"Movies?" Draco frowned.

"Yes, like moving pictures, but with sound, and they go on and on." Granger looked at him strangely. "I knew your family was against all things Muggle, but I'm honestly surprised you've never seen a movie. I guess that means you've never been to a movie theater, hm?"

"I've been to the theater," Draco said, glancing down at her. "It was a play, with actors and singing."

"Ah," Granger replied. "Not quite the same, but . . . Maybe I'll have to show you sometime."

"Maybe you will."

She looked up at him sharply, but he was too focused on keeping his eyes away from her to care.

They walked into the Library, which was empty during the dinner hour, and Draco followed Granger through the stacks. She talked to herself as she searched, under her breath, and it helped Draco to focus on the sounds leaving her lips.

"Hmm . . . This one might work, but I'm not sure . . . This might have a section in it, but I can't be one hundred percent certain . . . Let's take this one . . . Oh, and this one!"

Draco blinked when Granger turned to him with three books in her grasp and shoved them against his chest. He stared at her.

"Why don't you just use wingardium leviosa?" he asked as he held the books.

She placed another one in his arms. "I don't really feel like casting the same spell over and over. Do you?"

"I don't have a new wand yet," he replied, frowning as she put two more atop the others. They barely weighed anything for him with the new strength running through his body, but it was annoying.

"Yeah, well. My wand, my rules," Granger muttered. She reached up on the tips of her toes to take down a book about summoning spells and then placed it on top of the other five books. "And I'm not lazy."

"You're saying magic is lazy?" Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Yes, I am, actually," she replied, casting a scathing look over her shoulder. "There's no world where using spells to get dressed, make tea, and cook food is not lazy."

"It's not lazy," Draco protested as he followed her around the corner and down the aisle towards the history section. "It's helpful."

Granger pulled out a book and opened it, flipping through the pages. "Helpful is what you're doing, Malfoy." She looked up and smiled at him, a real smile, and Draco blinked at how startlingly beautiful she looked. "Carrying these books for me."

Before Draco knew what he was doing, or why, he leaned down and kissed her.

Her lips were soft, softer than he'd expected, and the fact that he'd caught her by surprise mattered little to him. It was not like the first time they'd kissed, with the passion and the fire and flame. This time was the light dusting of Winter's first snow. The chill that nips your nose when you step outside in the early morning. It was light and gentle, and it was his way of telling her he thought she was beautiful without ever needing to utter the words.

When he pulled back a hair's breadth, she gasped slightly, and their eyes met.

"I'd say it's a bit of both," he breathed out. "Helpful on my part; lazy on yours."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Oh." And she smiled, a graceful twist of the lips. Then she turned back to the bookshelves. When her fingers skimmed the spines of the books, he saw they were shaking.

Once Granger had selected one final book on dimensions, they headed to a study alcove. Draco stole a chair from the next alcove over and pulled it up beside the table Granger sat at, their knees brushing against one another's. Granger didn't react, but Draco gritted his teeth and fought against his urge to lean down and bite her. He'd never exactly had the urge to bite before, but right now, he was having a difficult time not doing so. Especially now that he knew he had fangs after all.

"Well, this book has a lot of nothing," Granger said, eyes rolling as she set the first book aside. "Let's try this history book."

"I'll try . . . This one," Draco said, selecting the book about dimensions. He flipped through it, most of the information blowing through his mind like a rainstorm.

All he could think about was bleeding her dry.

The two of them settled into a silence that for Draco, was anything but comfortable. Every second that passed by felt like an eternity, and every time they turned a page in their books, he felt like the sound grated on his eardrums. It felt like he was being shoved down into a small cage, with his wolf pacing the perimeter and the voice in his head surrounding him from all sides.

She's weak, it said. Much weaker than you. It would be so simple. So, so simple.

It would be simple. He knew that. He was much stronger than her. It would be like lifting a small animal. All he would need to do was grab her by the back of the neck, shove her head down onto the desk, and render her unconscious. Then, then he could eat. And he was so, so hungry.

Just like at the Revel, remember? The voice whispered, echoing softly in his head. All you had to do was squeeze, and she was helpless. You just need her to be helpless.

He ran a dry tongue across his top lip slowly, his eyes lingering on her from the side. She was hunched over her book, her finger sliding across the page as she read aloud under her breath. Her hair was all over the place, as usual, and it covered her neck, shoulders, and upper arms. Draco lifted one hand, his fingers hovering over the curls, trembling.

Do it. Do it now. Feed.

No, he thought in response, his hands balling into fists on his lap. He tore his eyes away from her and stared at his book, the words blurring together as he focused all of his energy on willing the voice into silence.

Kill her.

"Shut up," he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

Granger lifted her head and looked at him. "Excuse me?"

"What?" Draco schooled his face into giving nothing away as he looked at her.

"You just told me to shut up, but I wasn't saying anything."

"No, I know," he said. "I didn't say anything."

Granger narrowed her eyes. "Yes, you did. You -"

"I didn't say anything, Granger," he said, voice coming out in a growl. He turned his attention back to his book, even though the words meant nothing to him any longer.

He felt Granger's gaze burning into him and when he looked up, he felt caught.

"What's going on?" she asked, and she sounded suspicious.

"Nothing."

"Something is going on, Malfoy."

Draco opened his mouth, debating whether or not to tell her what had been happening. He knew if he told her, they'd have more proof as to what he was, and perhaps she might know something about it. He knew if he told her, she could help. But something inside of him snatched the words up before they could leave his throat, telling him that if she knew, it would be too dangerous.

"Nothing is going on," Draco said. "I just got confused."

"Confused?"

"Yes, confused. Now, will you get back to reading? I'd like to figure out what's wrong with me as much as you."

"Hm . . . Well," she said with a huff. Then, she tapped her finger on the passage she was reading. "This might mean nothing, but in this book about the history of magic in the medieval times, there was a Scottish sorcerer who tried to summon a demon for an unknown reason in 1350."

"Did he succeed?"

"It just says, 'The Scottish sorcerer Gamelin MacGriogair was killed in the process of summoning the demon Azag in Argyll, Scotland. It is believed that he failed, however some believe the subsequent appearance of the Bubonic Plague shortly after his home burned down is an indicator that he succeeded. Azag, according to some texts, is primarily summoned using the magic of a contained star, and the ruins of MacGriogair's home was reported to contain trace amounts of stardust.' So they're saying -"

"The swottiness positively drips from your tone when you read aloud. I mean, wow."

She glared at him. "So they are saying, you arsehole, that some believe that the Bubonic Plague was caused by the demon Azag, and the process of summoning said demon killed the wizard who summoned it."

Draco frowned. "Is there a chapter on demons in that book?"

"No, it's just a little blurb on the side of this passage regarding the Bubonic Plague. Muggles believe the disease was spread by rats, but wizards state that it was actually caused by dark magic. But this little blurb posits a lesser known myth about its origins."

"Huh."

"Yes, interesting."

"So you're thinking I'm possessed by the demon Azag?" Draco looked at her in disbelief that he didn't feel. After all, it was possible.

He'd been hearing something talking to him all day.

"No, and that's why I said it might mean nothing. But it does prove that demons can possibly be summoned from somewhere, and that they might be able to influence our world."

"Key word: possibly." Draco dragged his fingers through his hair. "And I did no summoning, so that would mean someone else summoned it and inserted it into my body."

Granger ducked her head to hide her smile. "Inserted it, hm? I wasn't aware demons could be inserted."

"Neither was I," Draco said, shutting the cover on the book he was reading. "Yet here we are, and you're implying that I've been inserted into."

Granger began to laugh, and even Draco's lips twitched at the immaturity of the conversation. It helped, distracting him from the way the voice continued to whisper at him. He listened to her laugh. The soprano of her voice was light and melodic, like the song of a flower fairy on a Spring day. He focused on the laughter and reminded himself that as strange as it was, he cared about Hermione Granger and he in no way, shape, or form wanted to kill her.

Draco, realizing he was simply staring at her, grabbed another book and hurried to busy himself with it.

"I have a suggestion, but you may not like it," Granger said after her laughter faded, her mouth pulling down into a grimace.

"What is it?" Draco asked, eyes still scanning a passage about interdimensional travel and the dangers of magical core splinching.

"A Muggle bookstore," she said. "Like I said, Muggles are very intrigued by this sort of thing. They have entire stores dedicated to the occult. That's what they call it - the occult."

Draco slowly looked at her. "You want to go back off campus after . . . ?"

"Well, not right away, of course," she said quickly. "Perhaps on Winter holiday?"

Did that mean . . . ?

Draco casually looked back down at the book, his heart beating a bit faster. "Perhaps we could stop at your cottage to feed your kneazle and stop off in Muggle London . . . Before we head to Denmark?"

He heard her turn a page.

"Perhaps we could. Although, Crookshanks isn't a kneazle. He's a cat."

Draco looked at her sidelong, preparing to argue semantics. Granger stopped him, however, when she gasped and tossed her hair over her shoulder. The movement caused her freesia scent to hit his nostrils like a forceful breeze and he nearly shoved his chair back from the seat. He stared at her and he could feel that his eyes were wild.

Granger, who hadn't noticed his reaction, began to speak excitedly.

"This book mentions MacGriogair again! It says there was a possible sighting of him in 1353 by surviving members of his village, but no one could be sure because it was hearsay."

"Okay," Draco said slowly, more to himself than to her. He was trying his damndest to remain calm, to separate his senses from his hunger and tell himself that she smelled good, and that was it. That he didn't have to act on it. That he didn't have to listen to the voice.

"The book goes on to say that there is potential for the demon Azag to have entered MacGriogair's form and spread the plague in some way, but since he was never seen at any time past 1353, it's impossible to say." Then, she grinned at him while flipping pages frantically. "And the best part is, it offers a source for where the author got the information! And . . . And it's right . . . Here! Medieval Sorcery by Haggerty Prim."

Draco nodded, refusing to look up from his book. He was terrified that if he locked eyes with her, he might lunge.

"Let me see if it's here somewhere," Granger said, and she whipped out her wand. "Accio Medieval Sorcery by Haggerty Prim."

The two of them waited, tilting their heads and listening for the telltale sound of an object whistling through the air. When nothing came, Granger heaved a theatrical sigh.

"Bollocks." She was quiet for a moment. "Perhaps on the next Hogsmeade trip, I can go to Tomes and Scrolls and see if they either have that specific book, or something else he's written. Or, at the very least, some information about Prim as an author."

"What ever would we do without your swotty self, Granger," Draco said, flipping the page in his book to appear busy. He briefly skimmed a paragraph about Grindylows and then snapped the book shut. When he chanced a quick glance at her, she was glowering at him.

"I shall choose to ignore that," she said, and then she slapped her palms lightly against the tabletop. "Well, I think it's safe to say we won't learn anything about demons here tonight, so I think we should focus on what we know, and what we can find here."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

She said, "We know you're a werewolf. We also know that you consume blood. Veela is still on the parchment, as far as I'm concerned, so we should read up a bit deeper on those two species and see what can be done to help you cope. What are you?"

He stared at her. ". . . That's the question, innit? Merlin, woman, you can be -"

"No, Malfoy!" She waved her hands, brow furrowing in annoyance. "I mean your heritage. German, Welsh, English, etc?"

If he wasn't Draco Malfoy, he would have been embarrassed.

"Oh. I'm French."

"Thank you. I'll be right back."

With that, she stood up and wandered off. Draco remained seated, willing his blood to cease boiling, and his mind to go quiet. He didn't want to hurt Granger. He didn't understand what was going on with him, but he knew he didn't want to hurt her.

"Here." Granger's hand slid into view as she held a book out to him. "You read this, and I'll read this one. It's a book about French Veelas specifically. French Veelas are typically female, but there may be some useful information in it."

"Werewolves by The Wolfman?" Draco sighed after reading the title of the book she handed him. "Seems a bit on the nose, hm?"

"Well, you're a werewolf, aren't you?" She reclaimed her seat.

He didn't feel like laughing. "I wasn't aware. Thank you, Queen Swot, for informing me."

She shot him a look and began flipping through her book. "I should take notes on this."

"I'm surprised you haven't been. You take notes on the sunrise, so . . ."

"You sure are snarky today," Granger muttered as she reached into her bag and withdrew parchment, a stoppered inkpot, and a quill. "Gone is the suave gentlewizard that sat beside me at dinner, it would seem."

"He's still here," Draco retorted. The words on the page were blurring again. "He's just taking a backseat to the wolf."

She scoffed, plucking the cork out of her inkwell. "Oh, honestly, Malfoy. Are you telling me it's like Multiple Personality Disorder? You've got a bunch of people in your brain, and the others take naps whenever one is talking?"

"I refuse to pretend I know what Muggle nonsense Multiple Whatever Dis-what's-it is." He stared down at a paragraph about full moon cycles, which he knew more intimately than the book's author suspected. "And for your peace of mind . . ."

Draco trailed off. The thought of telling Granger that she was right, that it was a matter of having multiple personalities existing inside of him at once, terrified him. It meant that he didn't have complete control of his faculties, that he was lost. After the things that happened at the Revel, he didn't know if she realized it, but he was on thin ice. He had placed himself on thin ice with her. He was already a fuck-up. He didn't need her to have more reasons to be wary around him.

"For my peace of mind, what?" She was writing on the parchment, and he wondered if she was even paying close attention to the conversation.

"For your peace of mind, this book is a waste of my intellect. It tells me nothing I don't already know about myself. It tells me what a werewolf is, and how it happens. But it doesn't tell me what it's like to be a wolf."

"Provided we're assuming you have intellect to waste, you're saying you need a firsthand account. You need to talk to a werewolf."

"Provided we're assuming you have any intellect at all, you might be right. I think the only way I'm going to understand alpha wolves, beta wolves, and Greyback's power over me is to talk to a werewolf who is a member of a pack. Preferably not one of his wolves, though."

He sensed the air between them cooling at the mention of Greyback's name and she fell silent as she wrote a couple of sentences. Draco read and reread the same passage about the study of lycanthropy as a disease and not a curse, until he thought the letters might melt into the page itself.

In his mind, he saw the events of the Revel flashing on and off. His ability to remain calm under pressure was no doubt a skill, but when faced with Greyback's power, it was like shoving against a stone wall. The loss of power showed Draco that being beholden to an alpha was no better than being a Death Eater and answering to the Dark Mark. He was essentially a slave to Greyback. Greyback could control him, and Draco had no idea how to overpower him. He did need to talk to a werewolf, if only to find out if there was a way to break free.

"I suppose we could speak to Professor Weasley," Granger said eventually, her quill scratching her parchment. "He's not a werewolf, but he was scratched by one and experiences many of the affects. I've spoken to his mother about it before. Perhaps he knows -"

"No. I don't . . ." Draco frowned again. "I don't fancy my enemies knowing things about me. Things that make me weak."

"He's not an enemy." She paused in her writing, scowled, and then continued it. "You're so dramatic. He is a bloody professor. It's not like he follows you around and has a shrine to you in his room where he plots your demise. Honestly, Malfoy."

"He's my enemy. He isn't fond of me. I promise you that if he finds out what I am, he'll go straight to McGonagall, who will in turn go directly to the Ministry. They'll force me to register. Frankly? No, thank you."

Granger whirled on him in her chair. "Well that's the law, isn't it?"

"I said no, Granger. You don't speak to Weasley, you hear me?"

Granger lifted her chin. "You know it can only end badly, keeping your status quiet. What happens when it gets out? What happens if you graduate and go to work for your father's company and it gets out then? You could be punished in some way by the Ministry for the omission."

"I could lose everything by registering, do you not comprehend that?"

"You would not lose everything," she protested. "If Greyback was allowed the money and - and the properties and the - the estates -"

"Greyback," he said while slamming his fist on the book in front of him and glaring at her, "is filth. He is filth who is almost certainly using alternative means of to get what he wants out of the Ministry. I couldn't even fight back against him. What makes you think I would be awarded some form of leniency? What makes you think I'd be an exception to the law? Should I just," he waved an arm theatrically, "imperio the Head Auror and the entire Auror Department?"

"You did fight back."

"What?"

"You did." Her facial expression took on a soft, empathetic look and his heart wrenched at the memory. "You did fight back."

"And I lost."

"It doesn't matter whether you win or lose. What matters is that you try."

Draco felt his wolf growling and the voice in his head began to hiss, She's going to tell. All the more reason to eliminate her now, while you can.

Granger sighed, exasperated. "I am not asking you to fight a battle. I'm not asking you to win a war. Godric, I'm not even asking you to register with the bloody Ministry! I'm asking you to get help where you can. Professor Weasley -"

She's going to tell. Kill her.

"No."

"Professor Weasley is -"

Rip her throat out. Silence her before she ruins everything.

"No."

"Draco Malfoy! Will you let me finish my sentence?"

Whore! Fucking slut with her disgusting mouth! Kill her now!

"I fucking said no, Granger!"

Draco picked up the werewolf book and tossed it past her head with all the force he had in his body. She screamed and ducked away from it with her hands up. It crashed against the wall behind her and she looked up at him in terror.

He threw himself back away from the chair, sensing it toppling onto its back. He held his forefingers up, panting heavily and staring anywhere but at her. After the tense conversation he'd had with Bill Weasley in his classroom, he absolutely, under no circumstances, could know what Draco was.

"Just," he said, "no. I said no. I meant no. I'm all right with the Weasel and Luna Lovegood knowing. And only with a Vow. They say no to a Vow, then we tell them nothing. But not Professor Weasley."

Granger, with her shoulders hunched, slowly lowered her hands. She turned them to hold her palms outward in a defensive position. Then, she started to speak, but was cut off.

"Are you determined to be banned from the Library? Merriweather's apron, I come back from dinner to hear the walls of this castle coming down!" Madam Pince stormed into the opening of the alcove. Her eyes went wide when she looked from Granger to Draco. "Miss Granger . . . And Mr. Malfoy?"

"I - we apologize, Madam Pince." Granger sounded like she couldn't take in a full breath. "We were just . . . Debating."

Madam Pince crossed her arms. "Debating. You . . . And Mr. Malfoy."

"Yes, I know it's hard to believe," Draco sneered, hands on his hips, "but I am capable of informed argument."

Madam Pince looked offended, but it was Granger that came to the rescue.

"We will be quiet, Madam Pince. We promise. We just have a group project due tomorrow and it's been stressful."

Draco raised an eyebrow but when Madam Pince looked at him again, he forced his face to appear impassive. She pursed her lips and issued them a sharp nod.

"Very well," she said, glare lingering on Draco. "Please remember that this is not your common room; it is a Library. Lower your voices."

Once she had stomped off to wherever she was headed, Draco watched in surprise as Granger pulled her wand out of her sleeve and cast muffliato.

"Since you're so capable of informed argument," she said, sourly wrinkling her nose at him. "Do not throw things at me."

Draco stood there, chest heaving, unable to lift his eyes from the floor. He felt confused and guilty. He'd thrown the book not just because she wasn't listening to him, but because the voice in his head kept growing louder and louder, and it had felt overwhelming. He'd just wanted it all to stop.

"Are you . . . ?" He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

Granger took a small, shaking breath. "Okay. It's . . . Okay. I'm okay." She sucked in her cheeks and glowered up at him where he stood. "Do not throw things at me ever again. I understand that things are tough right now and that you believe you have enemies, but I am not one of them."

Draco knew that. He knew that better than she did. There was no excuse for his outburst and he had absolutely no idea what was wrong with his head. He didn't know if things were going to get better or worse, and that was why he couldn't look at her. He couldn't meet her eyes and definitively tell her it wouldn't happen again. He did, however, know that he was going to try. He stared at his shoes and then slowly picked his chair back up. He hesitated and then sat down.

Granger sighed. "Where are you, Malfoy?"

"What?"

"You're not here," she said, frowning. "What's going on?"

"I'm sitting here, aren't I? What, you need me bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like your precious Potter? Cordial and agreeable like Weaselbee?" His lip curled.

Granger blinked, visibly taken aback. "Excuse me for trying to be a friend -"

"Friend? We are not friends." Draco turned his face away, glowering at the stacks and stacks of books outside the study alcove.

"Then what are we?"

Draco clenched his teeth. What could he say? Predator and prey?

Funny how you're quiet now, Draco thought to the voice in his mind. It was strangely silent, and even his wolf seemed to be watching with amused disinterest.

"I haven't the slightest clue anymore," he said.

"That makes two of us."

Draco was ruining everything with his words, he knew he was. But it was like venom, spewing out of him like molten rock from a crater and he couldn't stop it. He hated himself for what he'd done at the Revel, for kissing her then and kissing her not even an hour ago. Who was he to call her his? She no more belonged to him than Muggle London did and if he weren't so damn selfish, he'd walk away from her and spare her the misfortune of his existence.

Salazar, if he wasn't selfish as fuck.

Granger stood and went to retrieve the book he'd thrown. His jaw tightened. She was limping. She was still hurt from when he'd struck her, and he'd been so self-absorbed that he hadn't noticed or cared.

"All right, so why don't we just . . . Focus on this," Granger said, gesturing to her book and notes. "For now, talking to a werewolf is off the table . . . And we don't need to involve Ron. I can speak to Luna in private; she won't need a Vow because she is trustworthy."

Draco nodded, sitting rigid in his seat with his arms folded over his chest.

She went on, "As for what I've read here, there's nothing new except for this. It turns out that French Veelas are able to sense one another and while they're predominantly female, a male is born once every cycle of a specific unknown planet around the sun. It doesn't say which, and it doesn't say why. You might be that male. If we were able to meet with one of the female ones, she may be able to detect if you are."

"Do you know any?" Draco put one hand on his thigh and ran the other through his hair.

"I do."

After the silence stretched on, he held up one hand in confusion. "So we speak to her . . . When?"

"Her name is Fleur, and she's one quarter French Veela. Fleur . . . Weasley."

Draco remembered Fleur Delaceur from Fourth Year. He would have given his left bollock to have that bird look his way.

"How the Hell did a Weasley snag her?"

Granger glared daggers at him and, as if it were possible, her hair seemed to grow larger. "I'm not surprised you seem to share the same sentiments as Ron and Harry do regarding her."

Draco studied her face. "And what sentiments might those be?"

"Let's just say, Veelas are somewhat irresistible." She looked away. "If you are a male Veela, it would explain why I can't seem to tell you no." Granger tapped a spot on the page she was open on. "It says here that Veelas give off a natural magical lure to males of all species to them. Think of it as a hormonal sort of thing designed to continue the species in any way, shape, or form. The attracted males are then less prone to believe the Veela can do wrong."

Draco leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows. "So . . . You think I can do no wrong?"

"Oh, I think you do many things wrong," Granger retorted. "But I have a tendency to . . . Behave unlike myself when it comes to you. I tend to tell you things that I wouldn't even tell Harry, or do whatever you say with hardly any opposition. And then of course the . . . Pet situation. We discussed how easy that was for me. From a magical viewpoint, the explanation could simply boil down to you being a Veela and I being a female."

Guilt clouded the cavity of Draco's chest and he averted his eyes. "I see."

"However, Veelas cannot mate successfully with just anyone. They do have a specific mate and if the Veela does not bite that person near or on their magical core before they fully present, the Veela will die. They can have . . ." She blushed. "They can sleep with one another and the female Veela can have children before the presentation, but it won't save their life. Basically, let's say a female Veela is set to present at 21. They could have children before then, all part Veela, but that mother would still wither away and die at 21. Does that make sense?"

Draco rubbed his chin. Normally, he'd remark how swotty she was knowing all of this information, but the stress of the situation was too overwhelming to allow for it.

"Well, I'm eighteen," he said. "There's no specific age to watch out for?"

"Typically, according to this book, presentation happens between the ages of 18 and 22. But," she closed the book and the corners of her lips turned downward, "you've been showing blatant signs of withering. The consumption of blood, in addition to your exhaustion, is hard to ignore."

"So you think it's likely I'm a Veela, then?" He scoffed. "Brilliant. Bloody brilliant."

"Personally, I think yes. But the lust you've been experiencing is not actually a Veela trait. That one . . . I think we still need to keep our options open. Incubus is a really likely possibility, as strange as that seems. Well, it's not actually that likely, but I'm stuck on it."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and scrubbing his face with his hands.

"How would I be a demon? Wouldn't I know?"

"I have absolutely no idea, Malfoy." Her fingers picked at the edges of the book cover. "I can only work with what we have and my intuition. I don't know how this could be possible, but my theory is that . . . It's absurd, but . . ."

"Just say it, Granger. It can't be any more absurd than where we're already at."

"My theory is that Crabbe is a demon of some sort and a werewolf, and you are genetically a Veela. He scratched you and somehow - somehow - the genus of the demon was transferred to you with the genus of the werewolf. Therefore, you could be all three at once, and the magic is twisted, and that's why you have so many partial symptoms."

Draco felt . . . Drained. He stared at the wall. It all made sense, and that was the most mind-blowing part of it all. He didn't know how it could be possible, but it seemed possible, and that was what mattered. They could work with possible.

If Crabbe was some sort of demon, if he was an Incubus, how had he managed to hide it all the years they'd been in school together? Could that be why he survived the Fiendfyre? Was that why he seemed to harbor so much hatred towards Granger this year compared to previous ones? Draco hung his head between his hands as his mind raced. The voice inside of his head had gotten nastier and more vehement.

Did Crabbe have a voice inside his head, too?

"What do you propose we do, oh swot almighty?" His tone dripped sarcasm as he leaned back in his chair and looked at her through lidded eyes.

"Do you recall the . . . The potion Cecilia Yaxley created for Greyback?"

Draco steeled himself against the memory of horrid things that Cecilia had done at the Revel. He was having a difficult time accepting everything about that night, and he was sure Granger was, too. Her hands seemed to twitch at the utterance of Yaxley's name. He nodded to her.

"I think," Granger said, "that they believe you're on their side by now. I think you might be able to get some of that potion if you simply write to her and ask her for even a mere sample. It would help if we could clear the slate a bit so we can narrow our focus, and having the wolf be less of an issue would be ideal. Wolfsbane isn't anywhere near as ideal as that potion."

Draco nodded, his tongue running along his upper teeth. She was right. Wolfsbane would keep him from transforming, but the drain on his magic would be immense. Greyback seemed to have all of his strength and then some.

"All right," he said. "I'll owl her. Perhaps we played our roles well enough."

"I hope so," Granger whispered. Then, louder, she said, "As for the Veela situation, I suppose we could come up with another solution. Fleur will almost certainly tell Bill."

Draco frowned. "What are Veelas classified as?"

"Beings. Why?"

"Having Weasley know I might be a Veela would not be an issue. Beings don't have the same laws as Beasts."

Granger's face lit up. "Perhaps we could go that route and speak to Fleur? I can write to her. If she speaks to Bill, we can keep silent the other symptoms. As far as the two of them will know, you're simply worried you may be a Veela."

Draco waved his hand. "Fine. Do that, then."

"Good, good." She seemed relieved for a moment, and then her disposition grew somber. "So we put 100% of our focus on the third issue."

As if on cue, Draco heard the voice in his head again.

Why do you let her speculate? Kill her, and let yourself become who you are. It matters not what you are. It matters that you rip her open and taste the blood running through her veins. Eat. Her.

"How do you propose we do that?"

Granger tucked her hair behind her ears, appearing somewhat pale. "There's not much we can do until we can get some Muggle books on demonology. I don't know enough now."

"That's a first," he muttered.

"Contrary to popular belief, Malfoy, I'm not all-knowing. You have to pick up books and read them before you can say what's inside of them, yeah?"

Bitch, the voice snarled.

Draco's mouth twitched in anger at himself and he looked at the table.

"But I have seen some Muggle movies," Granger said, "that have demonic activity in them. They're likely not truthful or accurate, but it's all we've got for the next couple of weeks before Winter holiday. Most movies depict demons as angry, lustful creatures that like to cause emotional and physical pain."

Draco tried not to flinch. That sounded a lot like the things he'd been feeling and thinking.

"So, what? You want to fuck and see if the demon comes out?"

He'd meant it as a sort-of joke - a blatant sarcasm - but it apparently affected her greatly. She spluttered a few non-words and her hand jostled the inkwell on the table. She barely managed to stop it from toppling all over her Veela notes. When he looked at her to see what was going on, she was staring wide-eyed at the parchment.

"Merlin, Malfoy. Honestly. That would be - that's completely inappropriate. It's -"

"Is it?" He narrowed his eyes at her, feeling a strange hatred for himself settling into his bones. "After everything that happened at the Revel, it doesn't seem that out of the blue."

She was silent and he looked up. She was staring at him.

"You can't be serious?"

"Of course I'm not serious, you daft bint!" He snapped, and she turned her face away sharply.

"Of course."

He eyed her, unable to stop his heart from clenching with pain at the way the relief flickered in her eyes. "Well, don't sound so disappointed, Granger. You might hurt a Death Eater's feelings."

"Don't be crass," Granger said, and her brow furrowed. "You're not a Death Eater any longer."

"I'm sure as Salazar good at acting like one," he said softly, gazing down at her.

Draco turned to face her, and then he lashed out. He grabbed the side of her chair and dragged it closer. She yelped and grabbed onto the edge of the table, her hair whipping around her head as she regarded him with wild eyes. He placed one hand on the table and one on the back of her chair. He didn't know whether he was doing this to intimidate her or because he wanted to. He hadn't realized that in the midst of their conversation and studying, he'd stopped noticing how delicious she smelled.

"Yes," she replied, "you are. And that's why you need to make sure you can discern reality from fiction. You're not a Death Eater, and I don't think of you that way anymore."

She would if she knew about Seventh Year, the voice purred in his head.

"Well, Granger, that sure is stupid of you."

"I don't know the meaning of the word," she said, and then she surprised him by rising to her feet. "I say, enough studying. It's getting late and if I remember correctly, you said you were hungry."

Draco stood, too, watching as she waved her wand to gather the books and levitate them. Part of him wanted to deny her, to lie and tell her he was going to take it from Blaise, but now that he turned his attention inward, he realized that she was right. His veins rubbed together like sandpaper against an open wound and if he didn't feed, it would get worse. He'd never forget what happened the last time he starved himself, and the way he'd attacked Granger in the corridor on his first full moon. He never wanted that to happen again.

Once she'd put the books away, she led the way out of the Library and into the corridor. From the looks of it, dinner was way past over, but Draco knew the common room would likely be crowded. When they crossed the hall and neared the portrait, something occurred to him. He stopped walking.

"Wait. Earlier, you said Veelas need to bite on or near the magical core to bond? I wasn't aware our magical cores weren't merely metaphysical."

"They are, sort of." She turned to him. "Do you know what chakras are?"

"Yes. Wizards in the East believe they are entry points to our magic stores. They don't believe in one core, per se, but multiple." Draco recalled learning that in History of Magic in their Second Year.

"Well, according to some more spiritual wizards here in the West, our magical core is in our entire bodies, and the chakras are the entry points to access it. Like when we use wandless magic, it usually comes from our crown chakra. Or when we use our wands, it comes from our heart chakra."

"And Divination?"

Her eyes flashed. "Divination is a load of tosh. However the magic that is used to scry, and Legilimency and Occlumency comes from our third-eye chakra. According to the more spiritual wizards."

Draco slipped his hands into his pockets. "And how does this relate to Veelas?"

She began to absentmindedly twirl a curl around her finger. "Well, I once read that wizards in Bulgaria believe our main access point into our magical core is located near our throat chakra. It's where it all stems from. So, a Veela would need to bite the throat at the peak of the bonding ceremony. I believe we performed a . . . A false bonding ceremony once before. Had you bitten me then with fangs then, we would be in a completely different situation. Not mated, of course, but just . . . You would have accidentally claimed me."

Draco remembered the night she spoke of. He remembered it well. He just didn't know how to feel about it anymore, after the Revel. He wasn't sure he deserved the fond memory.

"Claimed?"

She blushed. "Made me unavailable to any creature with the ability to track scents."

Interesting, said the voice. Interesting indeed.

Granger turned and entered the portrait, after which he followed. Draco was unsurprised to see a lively, raucous common room. Some were imbibing, some were playing games, and some were sitting near the fire. Hardly anyone took a second look at them, which was a pleasantry for Draco. It had begun to get irritating having everyone always staring at them like gaggle-eyed fools, so to have it finally be considered normal to see Draco beside Granger was welcome.

"Took you two long enough!" Blaise walked up to them and gave Granger a one-armed hug. He held a glass of firewhiskey in one hand. "Where were you?"

"The Library," Granger replied. "We were studying and got carried away. Malfoy, did you want to catch him up?"

At her pointed look, Malfoy nodded to Blaise. "Yes, but not here."

"Let's head to the corner," Blaise suggested, pointing with his glass to a couple of armchairs in the corner furthest from the girl's dorm staircase.

"Granger," Draco said, "will you . . . ?"

"I'll be all right. I'm going to go visit with Harry, Ron, and Luna."

Much to Draco's shock, Granger placed a hand on his chest, pushed herself up onto the tips of her toes, and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. Just like that, their classmates were back to staring. He supposed it was one thing to see them walking together. But a kiss on the cheek? That was going to be gossip-worthy.

"Meet me in my room a bit later," Granger said, sounding distracted as she turned and waved to Potter. He was sitting at a wizard's chess table across from the Red Weasel, and Granger made her way over to them while Draco stood there and marveled at the fact that she'd kissed his face in front of the entire common room.

Draco stared after her for a moment before looking at the smirking Blaise.

"Get used to it, I suppose."

"Oh, I am, I am," Blaise replied with a grin. "I'm more worried about you. How are you? Has she got you writing in a diary yet? 'She barely looked my way today. I'm absolutely gutted.'"

"Piss off," Draco said with a small smirk as they walked across the common room.

Once they settled into the armchairs, Draco signaled to Blaise.

"Better cast muffliato, mate," he said. "I haven't heard from Ollivander yet."

Blaise cast the spell and then he took a sip of his drink. "I take it your study date went horribly?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Let's not allow our hearts to bleed to each other, mate. It wasn't a study date, and it didn't go horribly."

"So that means it went less than horribly? Perhaps a mere awfully?"

". . . Mildly inconveniencing?"

"I'll take it. I can help with mildly inconvenient. It's 'awful' and 'horrible' that I haven't any experience with. Especially when it comes to witches."

Draco shot him an amused look and then he crossed one leg over the other. He took a deep breath, struggling to figure out where to begin. They hadn't learned much of anything in the Library, but they had been able to formulate plans for how to move forward. That was something.

So he started there. He told Blaise about Granger's plan to clear his slate, as it were, and effectively set aside his wolf and his possible Veela so they could focus entirely on the third option. Like with Granger, Draco was careful to leave out the fact that his fangs as well as the sinister voice had presented that day, and only told Blaise what he felt was safe for him to know. He told him about the alpha situation and about how it wasn't safe for Draco to be around Greyback again until he could figure out how to break free of his control, and he told him about their plans to write to Cecilia Yaxley and Fleur Weasley.

". . . And though I'm not keen on Professor Weasley knowing that I might be something that needs to be registered with the Ministry, it's currently unavoidable. Given that we are possibly racing against an internal clock in regards to my lifeline, writing to Fleur Weasley is a risk we'll have to take." Draco anxiously tugged his fingers through his hair. "Writing to Yaxley is a no-brainer. The potion she has will fix our wolf issue for the time being. Side-effects be damned. As for my other possible issue . . . A trip to Diagon Alley and Muggle London are on the horizon."

"Well, my family library has a few books on the subject of demons," Blaise said after some thought. "Perks of not joining up with the Dark Lord, I suppose. The Ministry never shook our manor down. And as our ancestors were more the type to dabble in the Dark Arts, we have quite a few dark texts in our possession."

The voice didn't like that.

What, he thinks because he's your friend, that he can insult your family like that? it hissed.

"Rub it in, why don't you?" Draco said to Blaise, eyes flashing. He smirked. "Your family always was one of the weak ones."

Blaise's brow furrowed for a moment before he laughed. "Yes, well, I suppose your family was better at kissing arse than mine was."

He speaks of your family like he stands on a pedestal, the voice scoffed. Perhaps you should knock him down. Weaken him the way he weakens you.

Draco willed the voice to be silent. He had no desire to listen to it, let alone to hurt his best mate. In any case, Blaise was right. His father had kept their family alive by the strap of his boot during the war by doing whatever Voldemort told him to. Narcissa had gotten by with careful whispers into the Dark Lord's ear. Draco survived by doing what he was told. And that was just it: survival. They'd done what they needed to do to survive and it didn't matter what the voice said about Blaise because he was right.

The Malfoy family took the coward's path.

"Does that extensive family library happen to contain any books by the author Haggerty Prim?" Draco asked, changing the subject before the darkness in his head could get any stronger.

"Prim, you say? Why would you want to read anything by that nutter?" Blaise looked bewildered.

"We came across something while reading," Draco said, and then he propped his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin in his hand. "I take it that means you know of him?"

"Know of him?" Blaise snorted. "He's me da's best mate!"

Draco's eyes widened in stages. "He's your . . . ? Ace, mate, can you write to him?"

"He doesn't accept owls."

"He doesn't accept owls?" Draco pulled an expression of perplexion. "What sort of wizard doesn't accept owls?"

"Haggerty Prim."

Draco stared at him. "I gathered that."

"Prim's . . . Different."

"Gathered that, too," Draco drawled.

"He accepts snail mail?" Blaise offered.

"Is that supposed to be a -"

"His familiar is legitimately a snail, Draco." Blaise knocked back some of his firewhiskey. "I can write to my father, however, and see if he can send me some of Prim's books. If we don't have any, then I'm afraid it will have to wait until Groundhog's Day."

"What, pray, is that?"

"A strange holiday they celebrate in Canada and the US." Blaise shook his head. "It's also the only time he leaves Canada to come visit. Every February, like clockwork. My mum's sent me photos - the two of them decorate the manor like a ruddy sweets factory and eat themselves into a sugar coma for three days straight. Last year, mum had to call a Healer for the both of them to ensure they hadn't given themselves real, actual comas."

"Haggerty fucking Prim," Draco said, sounding awed. When he thought of demons and summoning them, his mind conjured up images of dark dimensions and sorcerers with nefarious purposes. He didn't think of oddball wizards who loved to eat sugar until they passed out. Especially not with Blaise's father. The man was so somber and studious.

Blaise nodded gravely. "Haggerty fucking Prim."

"All right, well, I'll take what you can do. He's not our only option, but it's the only name we have for now," Draco said with a sigh. "Muggle London is second on the list. Granger says Muggles are fascinated by the subject of demons. Mad, I say."

"What do you think he's planning, Greyback?"

Draco stared at the floor. "I don't know, frankly. But it's clear he's planning something. He maintains the ideals Voldemort upheld, he's got some modicum of control over the Ministry, and he's got enough money at his disposal to fund whatever venture he plans. Whatever he's got planned, it isn't good."

"You think Crabbe's got something to do with it?"

"Possibly. Only way we'll ever find out is if he comes back to the school. Unfortunately for him, using Fiendfyre on the Great Hall is no way to get invited back to these hallowed halls." He rolled his eyes.

"Hm. Well, I think it's a possibility worth thinking about. Nothing good ever comes from disregarding things that seem harmless. They almost always turn out to be -"

"Problematic."

"Exactly."

They sat in silence for a while, looking around at the slowly-emptying common room. There were only a couple of groups left, one surrounding Potter and Weaselbee's heated wizard's chess game, and one trading secrets by the fire. Granger had already gone up to her room, where Draco knew she was waiting for him so he could . . . Well, eat. He wondered if he ought to just go up to his own room and lock himself away for the night to spare her the trauma of another feeding. But when he thought about it, his entire body seemed to groan in protest.

No, he needed to stop fighting his new nature. He needed to take what she was offering and make sure he didn't wither before they had a chance to figure out what he was. It was up to him to make sure he didn't get carried away.

At least, he hoped he could manage it.

"I hope Granger's all right after this weekend," Blaise suddenly said. His half-empty bottle hovered in the air beside his head. He was gazing at the girl's dorm stairwell with a concerned expression. "The one Revel I attended wasn't exactly something I recovered from quickly, and all I did was sit there and stare at the wall. I can't imagine she's doing much better."

Draco glanced over at him. The wolf, which had been so eerily silent all day, rose up and mingled with the dark voice that hadn't been nearly as quiet.

Why does he care about your witch? they both growled.

"You and Granger seem to have gotten rather friendly," Draco said, suspicion dripping from his words.

"Obviously. I haven't got an ill word to say against her."

"Since when?"

Blaise scoffed. "Think about it, Drake. When have you ever heard me say a bad word against her? Or against Muggle-borns, for that matter? Just because we're in Slytherin doesn't mean we've all got to subscribe to the Pureblood ideals. My parents don't believe in them, and neither do I."

Kill him. The moment the room is empty. End his life.

Draco studied him. Now that he thought about it, Blaise had never said anything negative about Muggle-borns the entire time they'd been at Hogwarts. But the voice in his head didn't seem to realize that, and his wolf didn't seem to care. The voice seemed to go back and forth, too. In the Library, it wanted Draco to kill Granger. Now, it was calling her 'his witch' and ordering him to kill Blaise?

He's lying. He's trying to cover up the fact that he lusts after your witch. How far have you fallen from grace, Draco, to suffer this mutineer to live?

Whatever it was that was talking to him inside his head? It hated everyone equally.

"I should get to bed," Blaise sighed. "You're obviously hangry."

"Hangry?" Draco felt like he was slogging through mud to tear his focus away from the voice and redirect it to Blaise.

"Hungry and angry. Angry because you're hungry." Blaise waved his wand and the bottle hovering by his head vanished. He glowered at Draco. "And I'm just angry because you're a bloody git. Good night."

"Blaise, wait."

Blaise stood up, but he didn't walk away. When he looked down at Draco, the flames in his eyes were the same as the ones Draco had seen there when he sent Blaise flying into his room the night of the Revel. Draco felt a need to make it right, but he didn't know how. He rose to his feet as well.

"It's no secret I made the wrong choices in the war," Draco said, his eyes burning into Blaise's. "But maintaining our friendship wasn't one of them."

Blaise's hard look softened and he crossed his arms. "I'm only looking out for her, mate. She's just as much a friend to me as Pansy or Daphne. And I'm not daft. I know she's your witch."

Hearing it aloud sounded wrong. In his mind, it was normal. In the real world, it was like saying stolen merchandise belonged to him. He didn't deserve her.

"She's not -"

"She is," Blaise cut in firmly. "And I'm not interested in disrespecting that. But you're notoriously selfish, and selfishness isn't always the most effective means of protecting someone, all right?"

Draco tightened his jaw and nodded.

Blaise said, "This isn't the war, mate. You don't have to go through everything alone. Two of us are better than one, especially since you're somewhat compromised right now. Now," he patted Draco's cheek, "go get you some dinner, and I'll see you on the morrow."

Draco sat back down for a while and closed his eyes, steepling his fingers in front of him with his elbows on the chair arms. Inside, he heard the voice whispering, unintelligible and acrimonious testaments to some deep-rooted hatred that neither belonged to him nor to anything in particular. It just existed, and he could feel it poisoning him from within.

Why was this happening to him? Could it really be true? Was he part demon? Were the thoughts coming from his own twisted darkness? Or was he simply possessed? Could the thoughts be coming from a sentient being? He and Granger were so focused on Incubi, but what if the type of demon he was was something different? Something worse?

After a while, he realized that only a few people were left and it was getting rather late. Potter's game had ended, leaving the Weasel victorious, and the students left were starting to disperse. Draco got up and headed for the girl's dorms, hoping he made it before the three of them were the only ones remaining, and before he talked himself out of going up to Granger altogether.

"Oi. Where are you headed?"

Draco paused on the tenth stair, turning to glance over his shoulder. Potter and the Weaselbee stood at the foot of the stairs, and Potty looked vexed.

"Heading up to my witch's bed," Draco drawled, because he could never resist ruffling their feathers. "And you?"

"You're not going up there." Potter withdrew his wand and pointed it at Draco. "Ron. Ron."

The Weasel jumped when Pothead nudged him, and he gulped as he drew his own wand. It wavered slightly in the air. Draco arched an eyebrow at his very visible reluctance.

"Just . . . Come back down, mate," Weaselbee said, and the pleading look he gave Draco was curious indeed.

"I don't fancy it," Draco said to Potter, turning back around.

A jettison of red sparks zipped past Draco's head, rustling his hair and tearing a crumbling hole into the wall. Inside, his two passengers began to snarl like a feral beast, and Draco whirled around to glare at them.

Rip their fucking heads off! the voice shouted with rage in the confines of his head. Destroy them! Tear them both apart!

Draco descended the steps with murder on his mind, and he felt his fingernail beds begin to hurt as his claws ached to burst forth. Inside his mouth, his canines began to grow, and he prepared to bare them in warning. Potter and Weaselbee's eyes widened and they both took steps backward, Potter fluid and Weaselbee stumbling, as Draco neared them.

"Malfoy."

All three boys looked at the landing above them. Granger was standing there in her typical long-sleeved top and blue striped pyjama bottoms. Her hair was tugged up into the messy hive Draco had always hated, and she had her hands on her hips.

"Are you coming, or not? It's been over an hour."

Draco turned to smirk at the dumbfounded Potty and the guilty-looking Weaselbee, and he adjusted the lapels of his black blazer with a smug pop of the collar.

"Why, yes I am, love," he said, lifting his eyebrows to accentuate the final word.

Weaselbee rolled his eyes and Pothead sneered.

"Stop acting like First Years," Granger scolded. "Harry and Ron, go to bed. Malfoy, hurry up."

"Hermione, this is mental," Harry said, throwing his hands up. "You cannot seriously be shagging Malfoy!"

"I'm right here," Draco said, leaning back against the banister with a mock pout.

"I'm not shagging anyone," Granger said after shooting Draco a withering look. "And if I was, it's my business."

Potter started to say something else, but the Weaselbee clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not worth the fight, mate," he said, but he sent Draco a quick look.

"Well, well," Draco murmured, his eyes washing over the Weasel. Of anyone, he would have assumed Potter to be the most amenable to his existence. But Weasley?

Suspicious, said the voice.

Watch him, said his wolf.

Draco turned to ascend the last couple of stairs.

"Of course it's worth the fight, are you mental?" Potter hissed to his oaf of a friend.

"Which would you rather? Hermione hexing your bollocks off, or Malfoy? I don't prefer either. I prefer bed. And sleep. And keeping my bollocks."

"I'll hex you both either way," Malfoy said, smirking as he stood in front of a thoroughly miffed Granger.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" The Weaselbee, Potty, and Granger cried simultaneously.

"We'll speak tomorrow, Harry. Both of you go to bed," Granger said to them.

Potter scowled, but Weaselbee's answer was to nod and start tugging on the sleeve of Pothead's robes.

"Sleep well, boys," Draco drawled. And then Granger grabbed his wrist and dragged him down the hall.

"Stop egging them on. You're going to give Harry a coronary. And Ron -"

"Our little Weasel King didn't seem to mind." Draco twisted his arm out of her grip and slid it around her waist, pulling her against him. "And neither do I."

"Honestly, Malfoy," she said, slapping her hands against his chest. "You have been absolutely insufferable all day! Come off it!"

Draco let her go as they came to her door, and he crowded in behind her as she pulled her wand out. She made an exasperated noise as their feet tangled.

"Malfoy, honestly!"

"Only thing I'm bad at, naturally. Being honest."

Her door swung open and she staggered forward, tripping over his feet. He quickly wrapped an arm around her waist from behind to catch her, grinning to himself as he lifted her into the air and stepped inside. The lanterns in the room appeared to be charmed to stay lit, the entire room bathed in a soft yellow light.

"Malfoy, what has come over you?" She gasped, kicking her legs.

Malfoy kicked the door shut behind them and set her down. She whipped around, her fist slamming into the front of his shoulder. She drew it back again, but before she could land another blow, he caught her wrist in his hand and pressed his other hand against her back.

"You said something about a home-cooked meal?" He smirked as he spun around like they were dancing.

A light sparkled in her eyes and she let out a small laugh. "Stop spinning! You're making me dizzy!"

"Good." He dipped her down, his eyes studying her face as his smirk intensified.

"I said nothing about home-cooked," she said, still laughing. "However, I did promise a meal, you morbid git."

He pulled them both upright, his uncharacteristic bout of merriment fading into calm. She stood there for a moment, holding her fingers to her temples and closing her eyes.

Draco marveled at how far they'd come, and how different things were for them. That he had just made merry with her in her dorm room, and they were in a situationship like the one they were, even though their weekend hadn't been the most positive weekend, had him feeling dumbstruck. He supposed it was time to stop marveling, though. He was here, she was here, and they were here, and it was clear that wasn't changing anytime soon.

"Just sit down," she said after a while, running her fingers through her impossibly long curls. "Now that I'm no longer dizzy. I want to try something."

Draco sat down on the edge of her bed and leaned forward on his elbows, watching her as she paced in front of him.

"So while I was up here, I started thinking about what I was saying earlier, about the Muggle movies. There's a lot of movies where they have a priest - I'm sure you know what that is?"

Draco nodded. He hadn't been fond of Muggles as younger wizard, but that didn't mean he didn't pay attention in Muggle Studies.

The horrid memory of watching Professor Burbage being killed on his dining room table burst forth in his mind, setting his teeth on edge. He mentally waved it away before he drowned in it.

"Well, in the movies, typically the characters end up calling a priest to get rid of, or 'exorcise' the demon, to send it back where it came from. But before they can do that, they have to do whatever they can to exacerbate the problem. To force the demon to show itself. And then I started wondering, what if we could apply what's in the movies . . . To you."

Draco leaned back on his hands, crossing his outstretched legs at the ankles. "Explain your swotty thought processes, bint."

"If it is a demon - if you are a demon," she said, and then she took a deep breath. "Perhaps there's a way to draw it out."

"To what?! Ask it to bloody tea?!"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course not. But it would undoubtedly prove its existence."

"You say 'it' as if it's got a life of its own. As if it's not a part of me."

"Well, you weren't born a demon, were you? I don't think it's the same as being a Veela, which is genetic, and I think it's not as simple as infection, like lycanthropy." She began to pace again. "If my theory is correct, transference of all or part of the sentience makes the least and most sense at the same time. Least, because we know nothing about demons. Most, because if I'm correct, I should be able to . . ."

"To what?"

"To talk to it."

They stared at each other, and Draco felt an uneasy pit spreading deep in his abdomen. He knew it had the ability to talk; he'd been listening to it all evening. His fear was what if would have to say to her. The fact that it was suspiciously silent right now was enough to tell him that if it spoke to her, it might end very, very badly.

"What do you propose we do?" he asked as he shrugged out of his blazer.

"Well," she said, one hand on her hip and the other rising to rub her chin. "I propose a test, of sorts. I want to push it. To make it want to come out."

"All right, how? Hit me or hex me until it does?"

"No. There's only one thing that I think produces the strongest reaction in your body and that . . . That's your bloodlust."

"My bloodlust?" He scoffed in disbelief. "I do not -"

Granger raised her eyebrows and held her wand to her neck. She began to utter the spell and the mere thought of the blood spilling from her veins was enough to make him sit up straight. His gaze zeroed in on her wand tip. With a self-satisfied smile, Granger stopped the spell.

"Your bloodlust."

Draco curved his hands around the edge of the mattress, struggling to calm his rapidly-beating heart. She was right, as usual.

"And what if I can't stop?"

"Then you'll have to try."

"What if I fail?"

"Try harder." She fixed him with a glare and then sat down next to him. "So. We're going to try to push it. Making it angry -"

"That should be easy for you. You're excellent at pissing me off."

She pursed her lips. "No matter what, do not touch me and don't react. Whatever I do, even if it feels unbearable."

"And if the great, big, scary monster stays inside?"

"Then we'll count our blessings and wait until we can learn some sort of detection spell, after we get a chance to read some more literature."

"What are you going to do?"

"Make it angry. As I've already established."

Granger pushed back her sleeve and pointed her wand at her wrist. She whispered the spell and Draco watched as the skin split open and blood welled up in the open wound. She looked at him with a serious expression and moved her arm until it was in front of his chest. He stared down at it and tried to tell himself he didn't need it, that he could look at it and smell it and not need to . . . To taste it . . .

Granger snatched her arm back, and Draco realized his hands were hovering in the air beneath where her arm used to be.

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier as she fixed him with a stern look. He said nothing and waited, contemplating whether or not he should just sit on his hands.

His eyes followed as the blood began to drip off of the edges of her wrist. The droplets fell onto her thigh, staining the striped fabric of her bottoms, and his stomach churned. Granger lifted her other hand and, to Draco's utter astonishment, dipped her fingers into the blood. She winced and hissed between her teeth.

"Why are you doing that, you crazy bint?" He made an expression of bewilderment, but it quickly turned into an almost fearful one as her fingers reached toward him. He jerked his head backward, feeling confused. He knew her plan was to make whatever might be inside him angry, but how exactly did she plan to do that?

And then her fingers, covered in her blood, brushed against his lips. A jolt ran through his body and he went perfectly still. He didn't know if he could do this. He could feel it on his skin, on his lips, close enough to taste. Even though minutes ago he'd been completely aware she was about to push him, he hadn't taken it seriously.

He just wanted to taste it.

"Do not," she warned, her voice quiet as she ran her fingers across his lower lip a second time.

Draco felt the blood there, warm and inviting, and he clenched his hands in the blanket beneath him. His eyes closed briefly and then they snapped to hers.

"Please," he whispered, and his entire mouth felt dry.

"No." She trailed her fingers down off of the edge of his chin.

Draco looked up at the ceiling, as if he could find strength there, and tried to ignore the fact that he could feel a frustration building up within him.

Just taste it. Who cares what she wants?

The voice was quiet, innocent-sounding, but Draco could feel it brooding behind the false calm.

Suddenly, Granger scooted closer to him on the bed and turned, moving backwards until she was sitting across his lap. Using her unhurt hand, she pulled her hair to the side of her head, exposing her throat. The scent of her blood overwhelmed his senses and, like a bolt of lightning, he felt the hunger rip through his shoddy defenses.

"Fuck, Granger, please," he groaned, lifting his hands to hover over her hips as his face tilted toward her throat. His nose tickled at the skin where her jaw met her earlobe, and she yanked her head away. Her hand smeared blood on his white button-up as she pressed her palm against his chest.

"Do not touch me."

Who the fuck is she to deny you? Take it. Take it and drain her dry.

"This isn't enough," she said, sounding fed up. "We've been in similar situations before. We need to try something else."

Draco felt a small amount of relief as she slid off of his lap and stood up. Blood dripped down her palm, coating it and trailing down her fingers as she put her unhurt hand on her hip and stared at him with a frown. He stared at the blood, watching it drip onto the floor, and he wet his lips with his tongue.

"Right, well," she said, "I apologize in advance for this."

"For wha -"

Granger lifted her bloodied hand and lashed it across Draco's face. It stung, the feeling reverberating down into his core where the voice rose up to meet it. It combined and created a searing, vehement ire that nearly blinded him.

The voice spring to life, angrier than it had been all day, and Draco almost felt like he would go deaf if it didn't stop yelling in his mind.

Fucking whore. Fucking insufferable, annoying whore. Kill her, Draco. Flay her skin from her body and tear her apart. She thinks she's the one in control. She thinks she can do whatever the fuck she wants. Rip her fingernails out one by one, and then tear her hair out by the -

She slapped him again, on the same cheek, and the air in the room was cool where the blood painted his skin.

Draco felt it, physically felt it washing over him, eclipsing his mind and plunging it into darkness and rage. His face contorted into a vicious snarl and he bared his fangs in an animalistic hiss. Before she could react, his hands shot out and wrapped around her upper arms. She screamed as he lunged forward and shoved her down onto the hardwood floor, slamming her head backward. He straddled her hips, tossed his head back, and prepared to sink his fangs into her neck.

"Malfoy, no!" She cried, her hands shoving against his chest in desperation and her feet kicking against the floor beneath her bed. "Don't bite! No, don't bite!"

The plea was enough to halt him, and he slammed his fist against the floor by her head. She turned her head to the side and looked on with a terrified expression as his claws broke through his skin and gouged into the wood. Bloodstained shavings curled away from the furrows, signifying how badly he wanted to do exactly what the voice wanted him to do.

"Why not?!"

"The bonding magic." She panted heavily, her fingers curving into the fabric of his shirt as her words fell frenetically into the air. "If I'm not your - if you bite me, you will claim me. If that happened, we - we have to mate, and if your feelings aren't strong and you claim me, it - we would - it could kill us both. Please, Malfoy."

Draco stared at her, feeling his body scream with ravenous hunger and his head pounding against his skull. He heard what she was saying, but the voice inside of him was telling him it didn't matter.

None of it would matter when she was dead.

Make her suffer. Don't listen to her. She lies! She lies about everything. Filthy. Filthy whore. Kill her! Kill her!

Draco, with the hand that was still wrapped around her upper arm, lifted her and slammed her down again. She cried out in pain and then shrieked when he gnashed his fangs down at her.

"Wait, please! Please?"

Draco stopped, face inches from her own, eyes flashing dangerously.

She gasped for breath. "L-Let me do it, all right? Let me do it."

Draco, with the last of his strength, waited while she accioed her wand and held it to her throat. Breathlessly, she whispered the spell and Draco watched as she cut her neck open for him. He didn't even wait. He grabbed her hair and dragged her head to the side. Then, he shoved her wand away and buried his face against her throat, drinking greedily as the blood pulsed out of her in time with her rapid heartbeats.

"It's okay," she breathed, her fingers twisting in the hair at the base of his head. "It's all right."

Draco knew she wasn't saying that for his benefit.

He fed with a voracious frenzy, an unstoppable starving energy exploding outward from within him and enveloping the both of them. He felt her writhing beneath him, heard her feet sliding against the floor as she got weaker and weaker. The voice in his head was dead silent, but he could feel its smug satisfaction pulling the strings on every movement of his body.

Her head lolled to the side.

Draco steadied his mind. "Try harder," she had said. That's all she'd asked. All that he'd asked from her, all that she was giving to him, all that she had given to him, and she only wanted him to try.

With a deep, almost violent shuddering breath, he pulled his mouth away from her throat. The sweet, cloying tang of her blood filled his nostrils, but he resisted the urge to dive back in. Hunched over her body, he dropped his forehead onto the top of her shoulder and attempted to catch his breath.

"Potion." Her voice sounded like she was speaking through a thick, viscous fog.

Draco lifted himself up onto his hands and knees over her, still panting. His eyes washed over her disheveled appearance, alarm spiking within him at the sight of her lidded eyes and bloodied throat. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Granger." He grabbed her chin in his hands. She was losing consciousness, her chest rising and falling deeply. "Don't. Don't fucking close your eyes! Where is the potion?"

Her lips parted and the rattling breath she gave made him nearly lose himself to panic. "V-Vanity . . ."

Draco flashed across the room with the speed of his wolf, slamming into the vanity table so hard that the things scattered on top of it began to scatter. He caught sight of his own appearance in the mirror, but had no time to feel affected by her blood smeared all over the bottom half of his face, nor the way his shirt was wrecked with it. All he could focus on was that he'd drank too much, and that his witch was in danger of never waking up again.

He picked up bottle after bottle, eyes scanning the labels she'd adhered to the outsides. There was Sleekeazy's, a cheek rouging brew, Pepper-Up, one small vial of Dreamless Sleep that was empty, and - voila! A Blood-Replenishing potion.

"Draco," she whimpered from behind him, the word ending on a breathy exhale.

"I know, love, I'm coming," he said, whirling around.

She promptly passed out. For a moment, Draco's brain told him she was dead and that he had killed her. It terrified him so badly that he almost froze.

"Fuckfuckfuck," he hissed as he fell to his knees beside her.

Throwing Pureblood manners to the wind, Draco shoved his fingers in-between her teeth and forced her lower jaw down. Once her mouth was open, he uncorked the potion with his own teeth and tipped it into her mouth. The relief he felt when she started to cough and stir was enough to bring down the entire Death Eater regime.

"Oh, fuck, thank Merlin," he breathed. He combed back her hair as he gave her more of the potion. He knew you were only supposed to drink it once per hour, but he was freaking out. "That's it. Not too fast, Granger."

Granger finally finished the potion, and then she opened her eyes to look up at him. She licked her lips and spoke in a hoarse voice.

"I think it's safe to say something - someone - is there. Maybe not a demon, but the way your face changed . . ." She propped herself up on her elbows and shook her head up at him with a grave facial expression. "It wasn't you, Malfoy."

He stared at her for a long moment. "I thought I'd killed you."

She sat up fully and tousled her hair with her fingers, still looking weakened.

"Well, you didn't."

Their eyes met. He briefly noted to himself that he was covered in blood. Her blood. He must have looked like a monster. Her personal nightmare.

Draco grabbed either side of her jaw and dragged her towards him, pressing his lips against hers with a fervor that he didn't quite understand. She fell forward in her current state, into his lap as he leaned his back against the side of the mattress. He snogged her with wild abandon, with his apologies on his tongue and his affection in the firmness of his touch.

The moment her knees touched the floor on either side of his hips, his hands were on her waist. He pulled her as close as possible, tilting his head to deepen the kiss as their tongues melted together again and again. He heard her make small noises. Noises that he couldn't tell if they were arousal, or a result of her weakened state, and they only served to fan the flames of his passions.

The voice inside Draco's head? Completely silent, but infuriatingly smug.

He pulled back briefly to brush his nose against hers, his eyes opening slowly to gaze at her with a heated look. She looked back down at him, her own eyes burning brightly, and then she swooned. His hands slid up her back as she sagged against him. The scent of fresh blood was continuing to waft upward and so, still holding her upon him with one hand in-between her shoulder blades, he leaned over and grabbed her wand.

"Episkey," she said, holding it to her neck. Then, she let it fall to the floor and let her head rest in the crook between his neck and shoulder. He felt the heat of her fingers searing through the sleeves of his button-up.

Draco felt like his entire body was on fire. He could feel the weight of her in his arms, wrapped around him as if the only person she felt safe enough to be this way with was him. Underneath the scent of her blood, her natural scent was there as always, and he couldn't deny that it had become as welcome and familiar a scent to him as the smell of a rainy day in London.

"We'll get through this," she said softly. "Just like during the Revel."

Draco turned his face to her. He leaned his forehead against hers and he trailed his fingers under her chin. He feathered his lips over hers again, and when she kissed him back, his heart clenched.

"Fuck," he breathed against her mouth. "How can you even be near me? After what I did to you there?"

She was quiet, and then she whispered, "Because what you did, you did to protect me."

A spike of self-revulsion shot through his gut. He glanced toward her bottom. "And I suppose the bruising was necessary?"

"That wasn't your fault. Greyback forced you."

Draco's frown mirrored hers, and then his hand twisted in her curls. He set aside all of his self-hatred and his fear over what evil he was harboring inside of himself, and he hoped she could see in his eyes how much things had changed for him. He wanted her to know that after the Revel, they had something that united them. They had survived it together and now, their little world of two had constricted around them.

"I'll always protect you now, Hermione. Do you understand that? From Greyback. From people here at Hogwarts. From Death Eaters. From anyone and anything."

He felt her body tense. "Yes."

"Good," he murmured, and then he covered her mouth with his own.

Draco pushed his tongue past the seam of Hermione's lips, tasting the cavern of her mouth as though he would never taste anything ever again. He wanted her to understand that what he didn't possess the emotional skill to convey with words, he could express to her in the dance of their tongues and the play of his fingers along her ribs.

Hermione righted herself, not breaking the lock of their mouths as her hips pressed against his. Her fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head, her arms resting atop the mattress behind him, and she lifted herself up onto her knees. His head fell back to keep up with her impassioned movements, pleasant little shocks following the paths of her fingertips against his scalp.

Much to Draco's surprise, Hermione was the one to tear her lips away from his. He felt her pressing scorching hot kisses along the line of his jaw, each one sending little Golden Snitches off to flutter in his stomach. His eyes rolled back into his head as she kissed her way down his throat, and he struggled to keep himself from making any embarrassing noises. He hadn't quite been kissed this way by a witch before, as typically, he was the one doing the kissing, and he hadn't been aware that his neck and ear were so sensitive.

Her tongue curved along the lower part of his earlobe and the resulting flames of desire that licked their way down his veins caused him to nearly go mental.

"Fuuuck, Hermione," he moaned aloud, his fingers digging into her hips. "You have t-to st . . . Stop . . ."

She continued to lavish attention to his neck, her fingers moving through his hair, and he bit his lip to stop himself from whimpering as his skin grew more sensitive by the second.

"Stop, Hermione, please," he begged, feeling somewhat delirious with need. It was nightmarish keeping himself from grinding his hips upward into hers.

She pulled away and rolled off of his lap. Draco pulled his knees to his chest, rested his elbows on his kneecaps, and buried his face in his hands.

"What are we?" she asked.

Draco looked up, his mussed-up hair falling into his silver eyes. She'd asked that same question earlier, and he hadn't known what to tell her. She was asking it now, and he knew what he wanted. He just didn't know how to say it when he barely felt like he deserved to breathe her air.

"Draco," she repeated, and her hair was a complete disaster, her lips plump from snogging. She looked phenomenal. "What are we?"

He felt pain. Acute, unending pain.

"I don't know, Granger."

"What do you want to be?"

Draco felt like he couldn't breathe. He stood up, and snatched his blazer off of the bed. He didn't have an answer for her that didn't end in heartache. He wasn't good for her, he didn't deserve her, he'd put her in danger at his house, the situations they went through at the Manor. He didn't fucking deserve her, why couldn't she see that?

"I don't know," Draco repeated as he buttoned the blazer back on over his stained shirt. He headed for the door. He felt stifled.

"If you don't know the answer to that question, Draco Malfoy," she pulled herself up and sat down on the edge of her bed, "then you don't deserve me."

"Fancy that." He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe once and turned to glare at her. "There's something we can agree on."

---

Want to connect with me?

Playlist at honeysweetwriting dot com

HoneySweetWriting on Facebook

Honeysweetcutie dot Tumblr