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

35. Making Sense of It All

This is the last chapter I had written up at the point that I deleted it. As you can probably see, it has a lot of issues and is somewhat embarrassing to have up. But I have a ton of readers who have PMed me, messaged me on Tumblr, sent me FB messages, and left comments asking me to put this story back up. So I did. But I mean . . . This story is literal trash lmao. There's way too much going on, the smut is over the top, the characterizations are ass, and literally ALL of my other stories are better than this one.

But it's up now xD

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Invisible

Chapter Thirty-Five - Making Sense of It All

Candy by Doja Cat, The Chain by Evanescence, Struggle by Tove Lo, Come Undone by Tove Lo, and Sorrow by Flyleaf

Song that Hermione sings in the stairwell: Let the Flames Begin by Paramore

Hermione worked with Harry during Advanced Potions, and while the conversation had started out stilted, by the end of the period, things felt a lot better. They hashed out their issues regarding the argument, and Hermione managed to assuage Harry's concerns about Malfoy's little display of enhanced speed by telling him Draco had taken a vitality potion that day because he was unwell. They'd then discussed what to do in the future, and Harry agreed to be less hostile.

"I will be civil," Harry had agreed icily. "But that's all I can promise. Civility."

"I'll accept it," Hermione had replied as she stirred their potion.

After class, Slughorn approached her and told her not to worry about the two detentions she'd received. When she asked him why, he'd said that he was getting old, and he couldn't remember why she had gotten the detentions in the first place. At first, Hermione wanted to protest, but when she felt a bead of sweat rolling down her temple, she knew she'd better just get out of the classroom. Harry congratulated her under his breath on Slughorn's aging, and then the two of them left the room.

Malfoy stood there, arms crossed and leaning his shoulder against the wall. He was facing the potions classroom door, his eyes trained steadily on the ground, his hair falling forward into his eyes. When Hermione stepped out into the corridor, his eyes lifted from the floor and zeroed in on her. It was quite unsettling, the way they were so sharply focused on her, like she was the only thing on the entire planet worth looking at.

She took a step backward, the memories rushing in, and nearly stumbled into Blaise. She heard his voice saying her name in surprise, then felt his hand on her elbow from behind.

Malfoy's silver gaze shot directly to Blaise's hand and remained there, his face somber.

"What's going on?" Blaise asked, and his voice sounded tense. "Drake, mate?"

Malfoy said nothing. He just stared at Blaise's hand, arms still crossed over his chest, shoulder still propped against the wall. Around them, students were filing out. Harry walked out past Blaise and slowed as he passed Malfoy. He looked back at Hermione, who held her breath and nervously drew back against Blaise's front.

Harry did what he'd promised. He was civil. He gave Malfoy a curt nod. "All right, Malfoy?"

Malfoy continued to stare at Blaise's hand.

"Fine," he mumbled. Even his voice sounded strange. Blank and void of the turmoil that she'd felt from him earlier.

Hermione felt nervous. His eyes were not red, but why did he sound so unemotional? What if the creature was back? She felt the fear returning, mingling with the memories, and Malfoy's eyes finally snapped up to meet hers. She nearly cowered. It felt like he was looking into the center of her magical core.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" she asked, reinforcing her voice with threads of anger for strength. Blaise's hand on her elbow was a steady constant, and Harry standing nearby reminded her that she wasn't alone, even if the monster was the one she was talking to.

His gaze seemed to bore into her.

"You call for Alpha, he comes," he said quietly.

Hermione blinked, and if it weren't for Blaise standing there, she might have taken another step back. Alpha? Why was he referring to himself as Alpha, and in the third person? She frowned, eyeing him in bemusion, and then she gasped slightly. This wasn't the demon, and this wasn't Malfoy.

It was the wolf.

Her mind raced as her naturally inquisitive mind urged her to ask questions. She started forward, but Blaise stopped her.

"Wait, 'Mione," he said a bit darkly. "Something is off."

"Nothing is off," Hermione said, sounding somewhat begrudging. She turned and gently removed Blaise's fingers from her arm. She looked up at him and gave him a faint smile that she hoped looked encouraging. "Go on ahead without me."

Blaise looked disturbed. "And leave you here alone with him?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but found that she didn't know what to say. As she stood there, she felt sweat rolling down the center of her back, and an unpleasant pulsing heat in her loins. She hated it. She hated it, but the mate bond had apparently seen fit to coax her into sending out the plea for his help. She would try to resist what biology wanted her to do, and would instead use the time to ask questions. She was fascinated by the fact that she was in the presence of the wolf, and she wanted to know what it had to say. It felt a lot less terrifying speaking to it than to Malfoy, or to the demon.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, Zabini," Harry said, blissfully unaware of the reason why Blaise was so hesitant. "Wanna walk together?"

Blaise started to shake his head, but Hermione offered him a meek smile.

"We have to talk eventually," she said in a low voice. She could feel Malfoy's eyes on her. "Better now than never, and I'll call for Professor Slughorn if I need to."

Blaise sighed heavily and then pursed his lips. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." She turned back around to find Harry peering at them with a puzzled expression, and then she looked at Malfoy. He was still watching her like a hawk. "Shall we go to the alcove?"

He nodded once, and then pushed off of the wall. His hands fell to his sides and he walked towards her. Hermione fought the urge to flinch away, even as the memories assailed her, and gave Blaise one last thin smile. He gave her a reluctant look, and then he went to join Harry. They walked away, Blaise sending her one last worried glance, and then Malfoy's body was blocking them from view.

Hermione trembled as she tilted her chin up to look up at him. The heat in her body was increasing to the point where she could barely breathe, and when he lowered his face towards her neck, she thought she might faint. Her fear warred with the desperation her pain was causing her, and she clenched her fists beside her thighs.

"Mate smells like the wizard," he growled, and he pulled back just enough to be able to look into Hermione's eyes. To her astonishment, he flashed his fangs. "Alpha doesn't like that."

Hermione peered at him curiously. "Why?"

He snarled again. "Mine."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She thought to herself for a moment. Were Malfoy and his wolf one being? What about the Veela? Who was it that felt she belonged to them? From a scientific standpoint, this was fascinating. Malfoy's wolf had the ability to take control of his body. Was that a werewolf trait? If so, was that how the entity had taken control? Or was that separate? She knew the entity was different because it had spoken more coherently. The wolf seemed only able to speak summarily. Could the Veela also do this, or was its genetic code ingrained in Malfoy's body?

As questions barreled around in her head, she finally felt a bit of relief from her grief. Learning. Something she'd always loved and would never tire from. It had always been the best way for her to lose herself, and right now, she felt like it was the only thing that was giving her a respite from the pain and confusion.

She tilted her head as she regarded him. "Mine," he'd said.

"Yours? Or Draco's?"

"Both."

Hermione nodded slowly. It was as she'd thought. So Malfoy was separate from the wolf. From Alpha.

Thinking the word made her hands tremble and her knees feel a bit weak, but she forced herself to remain focused. She gestured with her thumb behind her, to the opening of the alcove hallway. He just stared at her. Hermione wondered how present the wolf was in Malfoy's mind when it wasn't the full moon.

"Do you not remember the alcove?" she asked curiously.

Alpha shook his head. "Alpha knows only the boy's thoughts."

Hermione held her chin, peering up at Malfoy, whose wolf kept referring to himself as "Alpha." When her magic had sent the plea out to him, he'd responded in the first person point of view. Had the wolf taken control after that? And why now, when he'd been a werewolf for a while? She could feel the cogs spinning and wheels turning in her mind. As painful as it was to be in heat, if that's what she was going to call it, the allure of getting answers to questions she'd never have the courage to ask Malfoy were things different was too great.

"And what does he think of, most of the time?"

Alpha's silver eyes pierced into her. "Granger."

Hermione ignored the racing of her heart and turned, leading him over to the alcove. They stood near the window, Hermione at the sill and Alpha a ways behind her. She took out her wand and cast as many wards as she could on the area, including the most powerful Disillusionment spell she could muster. She wasn't sure what she wanted or what she felt, because her intrigue regarding the biology of her mate was helping distract her from the overwhelmingness of it.

She leaned against the sill with her hands behind her back, the sound of the steady rain adding to the calm vibe that surrounded them. Alpha stood there, staring down at her with an almost calculating expression. Like he was analyzing her, watching her to see what she would say or do next. It wasn't like the Library, where his eyes were a different color and Hermione could clearly tell that Malfoy was not who was present. Looking up at Alpha was like looking at a Malfoy who had shed the mask that society forced him to wear. Like the things about him that he tried to hide - his dominance and his intense, analytical nature. How quiet he was, when everyone expected him to have some sort of arrogant thing to say.

Hermione knew this was her chance to get some answers, answers that might help her make sense of how she felt about the trauma, and she was going to set biology aside to do so.

"At the Revel," she started, and then she looked up at him, trying not to lose her breath at the way his gaze pinned her in place. "At the Revel, Greyback called you - him, or you - whoever . . . Greyback called you beta. But you refer to yourself as Alpha. What does that mean?"

"Greyback is Alpha of his pack."

"And do you have a pack?"

Silver eyes glittered. He combed his hair back, which seemed like a Malfoy sort of move. "Alpha is not strong enough yet."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Yet?"

Draco would have averted his eyes. Alpha held her gaze.

"Alpha will get stronger."

Something about the gravelly tone to his voice rolled all the way through her body and went straight to her loins. Knees weak, she leaned fully against the wall beneath the window, her hands curving tightly around the windowsill to anchor herself upright. She forced her eyes to remain locked with his.

"Do you have a name?"

He wet his lips with his tongue and took one slow step forward. "Alpha."

"Does he have a name?" Her breathing quickened. The memories of her ordeal were drifting towards her, pushing through the scorching hot haze of her mind.

Alpha nodded. "But Alpha does not know it. Neither does the boy."

Hermione frowned and looked down at the ground. If it was a demon, then perhaps knowing its name would give her power over it, just like in Muggle horror movies. She felt an ache in her heart. Maybe if she could gain power over it, she could keep it from taking over Malfoy again.

Apparently, Alpha had similar ideas. It was clear he wanted to gain some sort of control over something, too. Hermione remembered the night of the Revel, how large Malfoy's wolf form was. It was nearly as big as Greyback's. Were Alpha wolves a certain breed, or were they like other animals that varied in size and shape according to genetics? Perhaps the strength of their magical cores before being infected with lycanthropy affected their conduciveness to being Alphas and Betas?

Did he call himself Alpha because he wanted to be an Alpha? Or because he saw himself as an Alpha in his own right?

Then, Alpha spoke.

"When Alpha is here, when Alpha is in control . . . The monster is silent. Alpha can hear the boy, and the boy can hear Alpha, but the monster is blocked."

Hermione bit her lower lip anxiously and then said, "Blocked? By who?"

"By Alpha," he snarled, a sudden rage flaring up in his eyes.

Hermione stared up in surprise. So the wolf had the power to keep the demon out. For how long? And what role had the wolf had in what happened in the Library? Had he just been caught off guard? What if he -

She shook her head. She didn't want to think about yesterday.

Hermione turned around fully and gazed out the window, her palms flat on the windowpane. The coldness of the glass grounded her, the rest of her body baking like an oven while her hands prickled with the icy chill. She took in the sight of the grounds, of the rolling hills and the Quidditch Pitch in the distance, the rain pouring down from dark grey clouds almost ominously. She bit her lower lip.

Even though it felt like tossing a pebble into a lake full of problems, she had one thing that she needed to know above all else.

"Alpha?"

"Mate." His voice sounded a tiny bit closer.

Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright, but she did not turn back around.

"What does Draco - the boy - think of my blood status?"

"The boy cares for Granger," he growled.

"But what about my blood?" She fought the urge to whirl about. Her voice was tinged with the bitterness of insecurity. "Does he find it sullying? Too muddy, and that's why he wanted nothing to do with my body beyond what he could marginally stomach? Was I so unclean to him, to his precious Pureblood bloodline, that his disgust got me raped by a monster who was so sick of waiting for him to let us both die to avoid being with me that he attacked me?"

A tear fell down her cheek, faster than the raindrops on the window, and she didn't bother to wipe it away.

There was an extended period of silence, during which Hermione continued to weep silently. Her throat ached from holding in her urge to sob, all while the heat in her body continued to burn her from the inside out. It was torment, but she would gladly let it eat her alive if that's why this had happened. If Malfoy was so repulsed by her that it had caused the demon to take her, then she would rather be scorched to ash than stand here breathing the same air as him.

"The boy cares not for blood status, Granger." Alpha's voice came from directly behind her, causing Hermione to stiffen marginally and stare so hard at one of the far-off Quidditch hoops that it blurred.

"Then what does the boy care for?" she whispered.

"The boy . . . Cares for Granger."

His hands began to slide down the length of Hermione's arms, his palms covering her own on the window. They were so much larger than hers, reminding Hermione of how weak she was compared to him. How weak she must have been to not be able to fight the monster off.

Hermione's voice shook as she drew backward, as if to escape, but Alpha's body was a wall of warm stone against her back. Her heart was breaking.

"If he cares, how could he let this h-happen to m-me?" she whimpered, her voice cracking.

Alpha's left hand curled inward, his fingers twining around her own. Seeking the comfort, Hermione dragged their clasped hands to her chest, their right hands remaining pressed to the window. She ducked her head down, tears still falling steadily, and took a shuddering breath.

"Alpha, does he . . . Does he like hurting me?" She squeezed his hand, feeling her heart pounding erratically as she fought back the desperate sob that wanted to come out. She flinched as though she could still feel his hand against her bottom, the whip tearing into her flesh, the back of his hand against her cheekbone. Was that all the truth, when she'd thought they were just playing roles? Was there truly a monster? Or was Malfoy the monster? As she thought the words, they didn't feel right, but they had to be true. They had to, because it just kept happening. Bad things just kept happening.

"He must like hurting me," she said, her tears increasing. She wasn't strong enough to hold back a whimper. "Because he keeps doing it. Over and - and over . . . I must mean . . . I must mean nothing to - to him, I . . ."

She began to weep unashamedly, her knees going weak as she slumped forward. Alpha's arm tightened around her and she felt his other hand removing itself from the window. He pushed her hair back, pressing kisses to the side of her face, tasting her tears, small growls coming from the depths of his chest. Hermione felt him enveloping her, his magic wrapping around them in a way that felt alien and yet not completely unknown, and she relished the ability to weep without feeling like the ground was going to tumble out from beneath her feet.

"Alpha will take care of you," he murmured into her ear, his growls fading into lupine whines. "No tears."

No tears. I love you.

Hermione's mind splintered as the mental images she had of Malfoy, Draco, Alpha, the monster, and her dog Louis all jammed themselves together and looked at her. She let out a wail and dissolved into the gut-wrenching sobs she'd been hoping to never feel again. It felt as though her soul were dying, being ripped apart by all the things she knew and didn't know. She had no eloquent words to explain how broken she felt by what had happened, and how conflicted she felt about finding solace in Malfoy's arms - the arms of her mate, her Alpha - when his body was the one who had dropped her off to break.

As she sobbed, Alpha began to speak into her ear.

"Alpha never hurts his mate. Alpha hurts when Granger hurts. Alpha blames self when Granger hurts."

Hermione sucked in a breath. He continued, and when he did, Hermione could almost hear Draco's voice melding with his, two becoming one as synonymously as could be.

"Draco hurts when Granger hurts."

Hermione didn't know what exactly did it. It may have been the way their magicks reacted when she pushed hers outwards towards his. It might have been the feeling of his lips kissing the skin underneath her ear to comfort her. It might even have been the words of affirmation leaving his lips. It might have been one of those things or all of those things, but the wave of heat that suddenly washed over Hermione's body was all-encompassing and terrifying.

"Alpha," she sobbed, her right hand dragging his down to the front of her trousers. "I don't want to hurt anymore."

"The boy doesn't want that. We will take care of you." Alpha's hand stilled, nearly drawing back. "The boy wishes for Alpha to tell you -"

"I don't want to hear it," Hermione spat through her tears, the pain of her heat and emotional trauma mingling sending her mind into a near-delirious tailspin. Then, just as quickly, her anger faded into desperation. "I don't want to hear anything right now. I just want - I need - I need -"

She didn't want to say it. Not after yesterday.

But it hurt so badly.

Hermione's hands had minds of their own. She pulled his left hand tighter against her chest and used her other hand to pull frantically at the button of her bottoms. Alpha growled and pushed her hand away, taking control and ripping the entire button off. She heard the distant clink as the metal hit the stone ground and for a moment, her mind was clear enough to realize that she was missing her final class of the day for this - clear enough to feel guilty for doing what she was doing - and then his fingers were on her core, seeking to erase not only the pain, but the horrors that the demon had wrought upon her body.

"No tears," Alpha whispered, but it was Draco's voice. "Please. No tears."

Hermione's legs shook. He was stroking her outside of where she needed him - where her body craved him - and her legs trembled violently. Her hips rolled like the waves on a stormy sea as she tried to grind against his hand, seeking friction. She could hear herself whispering pleas underneath her breath, her head falling back against his chest and her lips falling open as she tried to catch her breath. Sweat was rolling down her back - it was too hot. The temperature, she felt like she was going to melt.

"Dr - Al . . . Alpha, please," she moaned, her hand pushing and pulling at his wrist. She didn't know who it was - whoever he was - she just knew that she was in pain and she needed it.

"Alpha will take care of you, always," he growled into her ear, and then his fingers slipped inside of her over-wrought body.

The resulting pleasure that came from being filled by something sent an almost-violent shock through her body and sent her careening out into a space that was occupied by millions of glittering, breathing stars. She cried out and lost herself in the tail-end of a galaxy, allowing Alpha's hand to play her body like a fiddle as she swirled around and around to its burning center. His left hand released hers and traveled down to her hips, where it pushed up underneath the hem of her jumper and caressed the flat of her abdomen.

Hermione felt her bruises beginning to flame, to feel tender, and she whimpered. "Alpha, n-no, it . . . Hurts, it -"

"Alpha won't hurt Granger." His touch lessened, grew softer, and she felt his teeth scraping lightly at the flesh of her neck. She felt her body relaxing in his by the slightest, and his fingers continued to stroke her stomach lightly. "Alpha will fix it. Alpha will make everything better again."

Hermione felt his fingers sliding out of her and up to press against her pearl with motions that were much gentler than the nips of his teeth and lips to her neck, and the contrast caused her hips to buck. She could feel parts of her conscious mind trying to break through the haze of the heat, trying to remind her who she was with and what she was doing, but it was like a magical barrier had come up to keep her from it. A magical barrier than revealed the truth, rather than hide it behind questions and puzzles.

This was her Alpha. He was her mate. He would make the pain go away.

He may have looked like the monster, and felt like the monster . . . But he wasn't the monster.

This was her Alpha. Not the monster. Alpha. Alpha. Draco.

She moaned, the heat in her womb intensifying by the moment. There was a hollow emptiness inside of it that begged for him. It yearned to consume him, to draw him in and let it chase the heat away until she could breathe again. Her heart ripped itself open. "Draco, Gods, please!"

She raised up on her tip-toes, her fingers grasping the windowsill as the sparks that rippled all throughout her body intensified into lightning bolts. She was hanging right at the edge. She was so close, and then the pain would stop. Then she would fly, and he would catch her and bring her back.

Alpha's face pressed to her neck, and she heard him let out a heavy breath, his body moving forward until she was pressed firmly to the wall with the windowsill digging into her lower belly. His teeth scraped her throat again, and he ran his tongue in a molten-hot line to her ear, where he sucked the lobe into his mouth. Hermione's entire body sang to the Heavens for comfort, for release, for Draco. For whatever she could get. She ground her hips against his hand as his fingers moved her arousal against her, and she whimpered like he was remaking her in his own desired image.

"Ah, fuck, good girl," he groaned into her ear, and the voice was entirely one note. One note of despair, of anguish that she recognized in herself. "Good girl. Come on."

Good girl. Yes, she was good. She'd be so good. She'd be . . .

Good . . . Girl?

The world began to tremble around her, rumbling with realization and pitching her forward so that her hand slammed against the window hard enough to make it vibrate. She was scared and emotional and she wanted to turn and look over her shoulder, but she couldn't. Hermione's eyelids fluttered open and filled with tears again.

She hung off of the cliff by the edge.

"Draco? Is it you?"

He let out a desperate, ragged sound, and then he was pressing almost feverish kisses to her neck. "It's me. It's me, I -"

Hermione surrendered herself to the haze, letting it carry her away into the stars, and the orgasm that rippled through her body when she did so was so arresting that she choked on the air in her lungs. Her entire body shook and convulsed as she rode out her climax against his skillful, deft fingers. His other hand moved from her belly up the front of her chest, dragging to wrap around her throat and tilt her chin back. The heat in her body was exploding and imploding at the same time, and she was only barely aware of the fact that there were tears streaming down his face before he was kissing her mouth.

Their tears mingled, and Hermione kissed him back with everything she had in her. All of it. From her insecurities to her trauma to her desire to her pain to her fear. She let him take it, hoping that he could taste her grief in her mouth that their first time had been taken from them by a monster.

"I'm sorry," he whispered desperately, kissing her lips over and over. He pulled his hand out of her slick heat and wrapped his arm around her waist. His left hand gripped her chin tightly. "I'm so sorry. You're my everything, Hermione. You're everything to me, you understand?"

Hermione could barely hear him. The heat was in her head. She felt like she was boiling. Her magic was starting to burn her. She pulled her lips away with a fervent cry. "Please, Alpha. In-Inside me . . ."

"Draco," he murmured, holding her chin and his tear-filled eyes scanning her face. "Call me Draco."

"Draco," she moaned, rolling her hips back against his. "Draco, I need you."

"Fuck," he sobbed. "I can't just -"

Hermione couldn't handle the thought of walking away when the heat was so painfully scorching her flesh. She bent forward, arching her back as one hand gripped the windowsill and the other curved around the edge of the wall. She pushed her hips backwards again. She didn't want to turn around and see that his eyes were red, and that was the last conscious thought she had.

Her heat took over, and delirious pleas sprang unbidden from her lips.

"Draco, please. Please. I'll do anything. I'll do anything."

"Stop," he said, sounding commanding but sad. "You don't have to promise me anything. I'll take care of you."

His hands gripped her hips and then spun her around. Her head fell back and their eyes met for the briefest of moments before the overwhelming emotions brought their lips crashing together once again. Hermione's fingers tangled in his hair and pulled with ferocious zeal as she dragged him as close as she could get him. Their tongues battled back and forth between each other's mouths, and then she was sitting in the windowsill. The coldness of the window did nothing to combat the heat in her body and all Hermione could do was moan into the kiss.

Draco's hands roamed all over her body, caressing her breasts and sliding up to cup her face. Her head slanted down over his from her position on the sill, and she pulled her wand out from within her sleeve. She pulled out of the kiss and prepared to vanish her trousers.

Draco's hand shot out and wrapped around her wrist, and he gave her a pleading look.

"Wait. I don't want -"

Hermione fought against him, the heat causing her to act almost manic. She whimpered, locking her ankles behind his rear and rolling her hips against his. She could feel that he wanted her - she wanted him now, like this, here. Without anything ruining it. She rolled her hips again, her lips pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses to the junction of his neck and shoulder, and she heard the wanton moan that he issued forth like a merman's song. The moment he rolled his hips to meet hers, she felt the dam beginning to crack. She cast a contraceptive charm and then let her wand clatter against the floor so she could go back to pulling at his hair.

She didn't know exactly what she was doing. Her heat-addled mind was influencing her actions, telling her to do whatever she could to relieve the insane pressure that had never abated between her open thighs. Her trauma-ridden heart was telling her to drown herself in Draco before he was gone again. To try and get their first time back.

"Bite," she begged, pulling his head up by the hair at the back of his skull. She tilted her head to the side, feeling his lips brushing her neck. "Bite me, Draco."

"Oh, fuck," he growled, and then she felt his fangs sinking into her neck.

Her magic responded immediately, and she felt the scent of her arousal wafting up between them as he fed from her, his tongue sending tiny pulses down to her clenching womb as it pressed to her sensitive skin. She spread her legs wider, her feet flattening against the wall beneath the sill, and snaked her hands between them to drag his length out of his trousers.

"You'll thank me."

"Don't worry. You will be grateful for this."

"I'm not him. But you do belong to me."

Hermione ran from the voice, letting it chase her further into Draco's embrace, urging her onward. The faster she consumed him, the faster she would be cleansed. She knew it. She just knew it. The faster everything would stop hurting. The faster she would stop burning.

As her fingers closed around him, stroking the length of him as full as she could, Draco dragged his fangs out of her neck and snarled. His eyes flashed and then his hands tore at her knickers. He kissed her neck and face, finally ending on her lips as the fabric was split in two. Hermione felt the beginnings of her fears starting to break through, so she quickly drowned them by kissing him back with more fervor than he had to have expected.

Their kissing became a battle for dominance, until his hand came up to wrap around her throat again and pressed her into the window. His eyes flashed hungrily and he stood there, studying her the way Alpha had studied her, and she saw them both looking back at her. She leaned forward, feeling the press of his hand against her trachea, but he did not back away.

"We should stop," he whispered, a frown knitting his brown beneath his tousled blonde hair. His blazer was rumpled, his tie loosened from their heavy snogging, and Hermione knew she probably looked much the same. His eyes drew her in, and everything else around them fell away. The students, the corridors, the castle walls. The Revel, the demon, their past. All that was left were Draco and Hermione.

"Draco, please," she whispered, her eyes trained on his lips. She felt him, millimetres away from her core, and she shook with need. She didn't know why she wanted it, she just knew that right now, every fiber in her being was telling her that the only way she was going to look at him and see Draco was if she did this with him now - now, before the demon came back.

Their lips brushed and they breathed one another's air. He shook his head, his eyelids half-shut. His hands moved to her thighs, fingers trembling with repressed energy. "I can't hurt you. I don't want to hurt you."

"Erase him," Hermione begged, her eyes wild as she beseeched him. "Please erase him!"

The look in Draco's silver eyes intensified and just as they began to water with emotion again, he closed them and kissed her deeply. As he did, she felt him sliding inside of her as far as he could go in one smooth, solid thrust. They both cried out simultaneously as he bottomed out and Hermione's walls clenched around him, wracking her body with ecstasy. Her eyelids fluttered open and looked down into his, and within them, she saw him. No Malfoy, no Alpha, no monster.

Just Draco.

"This should have been our first time," he whispered, a tear falling down his cheek that Hermione caught by holding his cheeks in her hands. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione, overcome with emotion, just shook her head and pressed her lips to his in a kiss. She didn't care that they were in the alcove hallway outside the Potions classroom with only muffliato and a Disillusionment charm to keep others from stumbling upon them. She didn't care what happened yesterday, or what it all meant. She didn't care that she didn't know whether or not to forgive him, nor if they could ever go back to the way things were before. She just cared that they were finally one person, that they were together in every single way. Friends, master and slave, sir and good girl, predator and prey, Alpha and mate, witch and wizard . . . She didn't fucking care.

"Mine," she whispered, and then she started to cry. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly.

"Mine," he whispered back, and the tears that dropped down his cheeks were kissed away by her forgiving lips.

Her magic felt like a sweet song, and when it reared up to meet his for a melodic chorus, her heart crooned.

Their eyes locked together with rivers of bliss running through them. Draco pulled out and pushed back in, her legs spreading wider of their own accord. He wrapped one arm around her waist, and put his other hand on her hip to anchor himself as he set a careful, steady rhythm that had Hermione's entire body shivering. She had no metaphors to explain how good it felt to have him inside of her, chasing away the darkness that the monster had left behind, and she didn't want to stop to think about any of them, lest she miss out on even one second of what it felt like to be one with the person she had wanted to be one with.

"You're so fucking perfect," he moaned, his brows pushed tightly together. "You feel fucking perfect. It's everything. You're everything."

"I need you," Hermione said, overcome with sadness and pleasure and something entirely different. Something that dragged tears out of the depths of her heart. "I need you. Please don't leave again. Please stay."

"I'll stay," he said, his arm tightening around her. His forehead tipped forward and landed on her shoulder. "So good. You're so good."

Hermione's hips met his thrust for thrust, the delicious intensity of him filling every inch of her body rendering her nearly speechless. Her stomach twisted, parts of her body that she hadn't known existed thrumming with magic and energy and electricity. She moaned louder than she thought possible, and she felt sweat pouring from her body as she quite literally tried to fuck her trauma away.

But she could feel them. There, on the horizon of her mind, were the memories. Memories of bruising fingers and crimson-red eyes. Memories of the demon.

What he was doing wasn't everything. She needed all of him. Every part of him to match every part of her, and then maybe, just maybe, the monster would be gone.

"More, Alpha," she managed to choke out. "Give me you. You, Draco."

He shuddered visibly and then she felt something snapping into place in the air around them. She felt his magic rearing up and shoving hers backward, and then her head fell back.

Draco straightened his back, and his hand went to her throat again. He slammed his cock in and out of her body, watching their lurid movements with a look of concentrated longing on his face. He bit his lip and moaned, and then he bared his teeth in an animalistic snarl. The hand of his that wasn't around her throat swiped at her pearl with precise, firm motions, and Hermione felt her entire body seizing up.

"Fuck, Hermione. Oh, fuck. Your cunt is so fucking tight. Are you close?"

Hermione nodded, sucking her lower lip in-between her teeth to stifle her whimpering moans, and he shook his head.

"I want to hear you, love," he breathed, his eyes smoldering into hers. She saw a hint of Alpha in there, but mostly just him. Just her Draco. "Come for me. Come for your Alpha."

Hermione felt his words ripping through her from her head all the way down to the tips of her curling toes. Her eyes rolled up and her head slammed against the window over and over, his fingers playing with her body until she came around his length exactly the way he wanted her to. Her magic flared to life again, and she felt like she could hear it screaming in her ears as she cried out aloud with her pleasure. Draco growled and his pace increase as her walls clutched at him, and then he moaned.

"Come here," he snarled, yanking her forward by the throat so he could press his lips against hers. One final, firm thrust, and then she heard the long, low groan growing in his chest as he came deep inside of her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he wrapped his arms around her waist, the two of them cradling each other close. He gasped for breath with his face buried in her neck and then, collectively, their magicks shrunk away from one another.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, and then he burst out into tears.

Hermione was rigid as he wept, his tears sliding down her skin, and she felt sick to her stomach.

What had she just done?

She was trash. She was less than trash. She'd just been raped, and here she was, sleeping with the same person who . . . She squeezed her eyes shut as she slid out of the windowsill, still in Draco's bone-crushing hold, and she tried to remember that it wasn't him, it was the demon.

And yet it was still Draco's hands that the demon had been disguised in. It was still his boy that had been used to violate her. She was nothing, if not a slag for doing what she she'd just done. She felt confused and conflicted and like she just wanted to lock it away where she didn't have to deal with it.

She honestly didn't know how she was supposed to put on a smile and attend a Christmas party tomorrow when she felt this way.

"Please," she whispered, feeling shame filling her body. "Let me go."

He stepped back, his arms slowly falling to his sides and he gazed down at her without bothering to wipe his tears. Hermione felt something keening inside of her, yearning to wipe them for him, but she refrained. She didn't know how she felt anymore.

Hermione leaned down to grab her wand, and then she cast a tergeo. She restored her knickers and trousers, watching as Draco slowly zipped and buttoned his own trousers.

She lowered her eyes to the ground and then when she looked up, she was surprised to see that his face had gone somewhat blank. His tears looked like jeweled adornments. She peered at him, perplexed.

"Draco?"

"He hurts." Alpha had returned.

"Oh," Hermione said, her voice quivering. Her mind felt as blank as Alpha's facial expression. She rubbed her arm with one hand. She didn't want to be here anymore. "Will he be at the Christmas party tomorrow night?"

Alpha nodded curtly. "When Granger's heat returns, Alpha will come."

Hermione chewed the inside of her lip. She hadn't thought of that. That had been the third time the sudden wave of warmth had accosted her body. She didn't think it was a good idea to experience it again, but she had no idea what she could do to combat it. She sighed and then looked away.

"Granger will - I mean, I will . . . Let you both know?" It came out as a question, because she felt awkward. She didn't know how to deal with the fact that she had magical "heats," and she didn't know how to cope with the decision she had just made. It hadn't erased anything. It had only temporarily covered it up. She hadn't even begun to think about the fact that she was now mated to Draco for life.

And he was Draco, now that she really thought about it. She couldn't go back to calling him Malfoy. Malfoy was gone. There were only three: Draco, who was as entwined with his Veela as he was with his magical core; Alpha, his werewolf; and the monster, who she knew lurked somewhere in the background.

Alpha nodded again. "Alpha must tell Granger. The boy pines and hates, and it is the reason why. Not Granger's blood."

Hermione lowered her eyes. "What does he pine for?"

"He pines for Granger."

Her heart skipped a beat. "And who does he hate?"

"Himself."

Hermione closed her eyes against the small wave of pain that hit her at hearing it aloud again. So because he hated himself, he pined after her, and that was why he hadn't mated her? Why did he hate himself so much? Who could hate themself so much that they saw another person as off limits, even if it meant saving that person's life?

A small weight lifted from her shoulders, but in its place, another was left behind.

His self-hatred had caused her to be violated and torn apart by a monster. How could she forgive him for his part, when playing his part was the reason the monster had hurt her?

Hermione sighed and murmured, "Thank you, Alpha."

She turned to go, and there was a whoosh of air. Alpha appeared in front of her, and she gasped in shock and lingering terror. He kept his hands at his sides, but his gaze trapped her right where she was, still within the range of the muffliato.

"Granger should know," he said, voice muted and serious, "that Granger became the boy's the moment you defended his pack. Now, Granger is his pack."

"And how would you know that?" Hermione lifted her chin and frowned. "He was cursed with, well with you in September. I spoke for his father in August."

"When Alpha woke up inside the boy, the boy's magical core was already twisted with the Veela's. The Veela claimed Granger long before Alpha bit Granger." Alpha cocked his head to the side and his eyes pierced into hers much like a curious owl's.

Hermione searched his eyes with her own thoughts. So Alpha - the werewolf - could read Draco's magical core like a book. Draco was already presenting as a Veela before he was cursed with Crabbe's scratch, which she had suspected, which explained how he could be two magical creature species at once. If the monster had taken over because Draco was close to withering to death, then what were the chances that he had presented much sooner than September?

"And what would Draco have done if I didn't want to be his mate?" Hermione asked, still frowning.

"Die."

Taken aback, Hermione said, "And what if I don't want to be a part of his pack? What will Draco do?"

"Die." His gaze burned into her, as steady as a running river.

The word hung in the air, heavy like smog in London, and Hermione felt it coating her lungs and throat like a film. It seemed that now, he was the one whose life hung in the balance. Hermione didn't know how much choice she had in the matter, but she did know that she would make the decision her way: through informed study.

Hermione needed to know what role the monster played. It was sentient and it was intelligent, and the chances that it was a demon was extremely high, in Hermione's opinion. She needed to go back to the drawing board with her new insight and double down on the demon research. First, she needed to take a more in-depth look at the book she'd bought in Hogsmeade. Next, she needed to get the diary of MacGriogair from Bill. Then, she still needed to go to Denmark so she could go with Blaise to see his father and Haggerty Prim. And finally, she needed to talk to the monster.

She should probably write to Narcissa Malfoy, too. A teatime was likely in order, if she was going to be mated for life to her son.

"I will go now," Hermione announced.

Alpha nodded for a third time, and did not reach for her, which she was grateful for. He allowed her to walk past him too, and she forced herself to go at a normal pace until she was around the corner of the alcove, back in the corridor.

And then she ran all the way back to her dorm, where she locked herself in until dinner.

O

Dear Narcissa Malfoy,

I hope my letter finds you well; I'm sure there is snow in Denmark right now that your owl is likely to detest. I have yet to deliver this letter to the owlery, but when I do, I plan to use the Malfoy family owl. I hope that doesn't bother you, but I typically use the Weasley family owl, and he is blind in one eye. It's best he doesn't take flight in the snow.

Upon our arrival in Denmark, I would love it if we could take tea together by ourselves. I have something important that I wish to discuss with you.

In regards to your request that I sing at some point, just know that I play the piano!

All my best,

Hermione Granger

It was the day of the Christmas party, and it had taken Hermione thirty minutes to write about two paragraphs in a letter to Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa was not someone you jotted a quick note to in the post, and Hermione was unsure what her mindset was around Muggle-borns. The last thing she wanted to do was write on parchment that she was practically married to Draco, and that he may or may not be possessed by a demon. Once it was written, she sealed it with a wax stamp and tucked it into her purse. She would take it to the owlery aft, mail it off sometime that day, and the first thing on her list would be crossed off.

Hermione spent the previous evening in her dorm, skipping dinner because she was too nervous and ashamed to be seen after what she'd done with Draco in the alcove. She knew that there was no possible way anyone knew about it, and she knew that it was unlikely that Blaise would tell anyone about the Library situation, but the shame that permeated every nook and cranny of her body was absolute.

She took three showers before she went to bed, but when she woke, she still felt unclean. She laid in bed for hours, staring at her wall, mulling over everything she had learned from Alpha.

What she knew so far was that Draco had been a Veela for quite some time, and had unwittingly chosen her as his mate, for whatever reason. He may or may not have been aware that he wanted her as his mate, but his behavior towards her before Crabbe scratched him could prove it. Helping her when Azalea Chirithy jinxed her, assisting her with the cauldrons in class, taking it upon himself to investigate her attack in the owlery - even going so far as to "recruiting" Rory Bell and Koichi Harada. It all showed there was some sort of feeling towards her present before Alpha showed up.

Thinking of Alpha as a separate entity - as a werewolf who was her mate - it was easier to stomach what she'd done with Draco in the corridor. Biology was science, and science was undeniable. She'd been in heat, a heat that was likely to ensure offspring and continuance of the wolf's family or "pack." She'd been in pain, as heats were usually a bit painful for, for example, cats. So her magic and the mating bond had sent out her silent plea, and then Draco had answered. But he'd hidden himself away because he was in emotional pain, and Alpha had come to assist instead. As intense and straightforward as Alpha was, he was a lot more comfortable for Hermione to be around than Draco was at the moment.

But when she thought of him as part of Draco, the guilt came rushing back. She'd slept with the person whose body had been used to violate her, to tear her body apart and force her to feel things the wrong way. Hermione had only ever asked for three things from Draco: consent, safety, and security. Without those things, it had been wrong. Add in the horror of speaking to the sentient monster that had taken control of him, and it was something that Hermione had never thought would happen to her. Something she could only think up in her worst nightmares.

Control of his mind or not, Hermione felt disgusting. She'd slept with the body of her rapist. As much as she cared about Draco, the monster had succeeded in inflicting whatever pain he'd wanted to inflict. He'd succeeded in causing Hermione to feel like she might never be able to be with him without feeling her skin crawling. She'd thought if she just slept with him like normal - shagged him the way she would have had they had the choice to do it the right way - that she would be able to replace the trauma with something else. But she should have known that it wouldn't work.

She should have known she would feel worse.

How was that fair, though? It had been quite possibly the most passionate experience of her life. How was it fair for her to feel disgusting after that when he hadn't been in control of his body or his mind? He never would have hurt her, and all he'd done since was cry every time she saw him. Draco Malfoy. Crying. That was surreal, though not as surreal as thinking of herself as being in some sort of relationship with him.

At some point during the night, when she was lost within her thoughts and not paying attention, his consciousness brushed against hers through the mate bond. She hadn't reacted, and so he'd slipped into her mind and just rested there for awhile. His emotions were under control, as though he were simply there to be there - as though he'd found some sort of solution to the pain he'd been feeling the day before. Hermione didn't know what that solution could be, but it did feel nice not having to deal with her emotions and fend off his own turmoil.

So Hermione had just let him remain there, connected through the bond. She let him see what she was feeling, let him feel her pain and torment and self-loathing, and she wondered if his lack of response was because he didn't know what to do, or if it was because he was too scared to do anything. She hoped it was the former, but had a feeling it was likely the latter.

She went into heat again, too, her fever blistering underneath her skin and leaving her shivering in pain. She made sure he could feel that she didn't want him anywhere near her right now, and that was the only time she got any sort of emotion out of him.

Concern. It bled out of his consciousness like a wound, filling her up with his worry and his desire to take care of her, and she didn't want any of it. She did, but she didn't. She didn't want to lose herself in him. She didn't want to feel his hands on her body. She didn't want to hear his voice.

She touched herself and he knew she did it, but it didn't relieve her ache and his concern intensified.

When she awoke, he had severed the connection, but the feeling of him still lingered, almost as though he'd been in the room with her.

Hermione skipped breakfast, not feeling hungry even though she hadn't eaten dinner, and managed to make it to her first two classes. She put all of her focus into them, finding that it felt quite nice to just be a student for a little while. To not focus on werewolves and Veelas and the Revel and demons and the fact that she couldn't sit next to any of the boys in her classes because she feared they might try to touch her. Her professors were a lot happier with her today as opposed to previous days, where she'd been distracted and listless, and it made Hermione feel a little more removed from her trauma.

At lunch, she sat down amongst her friends, sitting on the very end of the bench beside Luna so no one could sit on her other side. She kept a smile plastered on her face.

"Where's Malfoy?" Harry asked from across her, his voice sounding a bit strained. He'd promised to be civil, and politeness was a step in the right direction. Hermione

Draco was not in the Great Hall. At the sound of Harry's question, Hermione found herself the target of multiple Eighth Year student gazes.

"I think he's in his dorm," Hermione answered with a quick flash of a smile, pushing away memories of him feeding on her the previous afternoon. "He takes his meals up there quite often."

"Pompous prat," Seamus Finnegan snorted as he tucked into his stew.

Hermione just stared into her food. In her head, she could still hear the sounds of his sobbing. He wasn't pompous at all.

"All right with you two, Hermione?" Dean watched her from Harry's right, his smile calm and friendly.

"Everything's fine," Hermione said with another polite look as she paused in her eating. "We're friends."

There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence, and Hermione felt Luna scooting a bit closer to her. Hermione had no plans to tell her about what happened, but Luna seemed to sense that something up.

"Perhaps the mistletoe will help," Luna whispered to her before popping a strawberry into her mouth.

Hermione gave her a small smile. "Perhaps."

Perhaps.

"Hermione?"

Hermione nearly had a panic attack at the suddenness of the male voice coming from behind her, and she whirled around to see Bill Weasley standing behind her. He was holding a book out to her that looked quite old, with a dark brown leather cover. The pages looked misshapen, like they were all different sizes, and Hermione knew from experience that this book was from the Renaissance period. It was the diary that she'd already been planning on getting from him in class that day. He grinned.

"I just thought I'd bring this to you directly," he said in a tone that was more chipper than Hermione thought she would feel for years. "I'll be leaving for Shell Cottage for the Winter hols on Saturday, and I figured you might want it for some reading this holiday, yeah?"

"Oh, thank you!" Hermione said, her heart rate winding down as she took the book from him and began to flip through it. She would need an enlargement spell to read MacGriogair's spidery handwriting, and she had a good feeling about the journal. There would be something useful in it, she just knew it. It would also give her something to distract herself with while she was in Denmark, since it would likely be stressful trying to navigate the choppy waters of her something with Draco.

Granger.

"Oi!" Ron sat up straight on Luna's other side and pointed at his elder brother with a spoon. "Mum's going to be right miffed if you don't show up for Christmas dinner on time!"

Bill rolled his eyes at him, earning Ron a couple of snickers from their classmates. "Mum knows where I'm going to be, and she also knows I'm going to be back on time. Fleur and I have a Portkey."

Granger, are you all right?

Hermione, a bit confused as to what happened and what was going on, realized that it was Draco that she was hearing her hear, and she could feel his anxiousness through the bond.

I'm fine, she sent back. Even though she knew that he clearly had the power to get into her head no matter what, she put up her mental blockades and refocused on her surroundings. She didn't know how she felt about the fact that he was paying so much attention to her emotions, but then again, it may be like a constant broadcast inside of his head. She had no idea what it was like being a mated wolf, or even an Alpha wolf, but it was clear that no matter what, he was watching over her.

She really didn't know how she felt anymore.

Hermione thought about how she felt all through Advanced Potions. Draco was there today, much to her discomfort, and she made sure to pick Ron as her partner before anyone else could ask her. It was nothing against Harry, but Ron was a lot less invested in negative opinions than she was. He talked her ear off, too, so she didn't have to say anything. She didn't have to put her mind on anything other than the potion they were working on, which was a lot less stress-inducing than thinking about Libraries and crimson-red eyes.

But it was inevitable that Hermione would lock eyes with Draco once or twice. He worked with Blaise, of course, who was dividing his time between giving Draco concerned looks and shooting Hermione encouraging smiles. Hermione wondered when Blaise had become such a mother hen, but then she realized that it probably had been overwhelming and frightening for him to have been thrust into the middle of her nightmare, with her screaming and Draco crying.

When Hermione did meet his eyes, she wished she hadn't.

He watched her from his table as he stood and worked, his gaze smoldering across the room at her as though he didn't care if she burst into flames. She spent half of the work time terrified she might go into heat again (which would not be out of the ordinary at this point, since it seemed to happen twice per day), and the other half panicking that he might come and speak to her. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't know what she wanted.

She didn't like looking back at him, remembering how the monster's hands inside of her body felt exactly the same as Draco's.

It wasn't until she breezed out of the classroom before anyone could stop her, that she realized she was angry. Angry at herself, angry at him, angry at the monster. Herself for being so naive and throwing herself in front of swords for someone when she was Hermione Granger and she was supposed to be the one who wielded them. At him for putting his blasted self-preservation first, guarding his heart so ferociously when her safety was at stake. At the monster, for raping not only her body, but his body, too.

At the world, for dealing her a really great hand, and then taking it away to replace it with the shittiest cards it could possibly dole out.

"He's loving you," Luna had said.

And Hermione had been trying to love him back, but he wouldn't let her. He wouldn't let her, and now she would never know if she loved him for real.

She felt like she'd lost him.

As she left the Potions classroom, she glanced behind herself before she took the stairs, and she saw him walking slowly with Blaise. Blaise gave her a small smile, but Draco just gave her that same piercing, intense expression. The one that said I'm sorry and I hate myself all at once. The one that made her feel like she was melting.

Her eyes lingered on his and she tried to tell him I know and please don't with her own expression. Then, just as his brows were lifting, Hermione turned and walked up the stairs so she wouldn't be tempted to talk to him until she was ready.

During dinner, the table was abuzz with excitement about that night's common room Christmas party. Everyone who had signed up to help had done their part, and it was all set to go off without a hitch. Hermione and Luna contended with an onslaught of compliments on their decorating job, and Dean Thomas saw fit to gush excitedly about how Hermione was going to perform songs for the Eighth Years for the entire dinner.

Hermione found herself growing more and more nervous as the hour-long dinner waded on. The more everyone wanted to know about her little hobby, the more anxious she got. She worried she might sound terrible, or she might forget the words. She wished she hadn't agreed to it. She wasn't ready. She wasn't in the right mindset.

"Hermione, where are your flowers?" Luna asked suddenly towards the end of dinner, her voice quiet.

"My flowers?" Hermione grimaced and touched the side of her fringe, where she normally wore them. "I suppose I haven't been feeling very happy these past couple of days."

"I noticed," Luna said, turning towards her a bit. "Is there anything that I can do to help?"

"I wish that there were," Hermione said softly, before she could stop herself. She gazed at her soup. Draco wasn't in the Great Hall, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was hungry. She didn't know what was wrong with her. Why did she care if he was hungry?

Was she completely incapable of putting herself first?

Luna watched her for a long moment, and Hermione just continued to stare at her soup. Around them, everyone was talking and laughing, and it felt like Hermione was living on an island.

"Just remember that I'm here," Luna finally said, and she placed her hand atop Hermione's to squeeze it. "Whatever's going on."

Hermione looked at her directly, at her best friend's gentle, caring expression, and she had the strongest desire to tell her everything. Her eyes watered and her chin trembled, and Luna's hand tightened around her own.

But she couldn't. She couldn't tell anyone. Blaise knew, and that was enough.

"Thank you, Luna," she said instead. "It means so much to me."

Luna's smile faltered with concern. "Of course, Hermione. Just . . . Don't try to do everything all on your own, all right?"

Hermione nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but was stopped by everyone suddenly getting to their feet in an excited frenzy. Her and Luna's attention was drawn to them, watching as they enthusiastically proclaimed their intentions to start the party.

"Let's get back to the common room, Lu," Ron said, holding his hand out to his witch. "They're starting the Christmas party early!"

Luna giggled as Ron whisked her to her feet. "Hermione, will you be coming?"

"I have to send a letter first," she said, smiling. "I'll be in afterward."

She waved good-bye to her friends as they dashed off out of the Great Hall, and then Hermione turned back to finish her soup. She was taking forever to eat, she knew, but every extra second she took was more precious time to try and relax. Honestly, she'd sung at the Revel in a high-pressure situation that was life-or-death. Surely she could make it through a common room Christmas party.

Hermione got up when she was done and began to make her way toward the owlery. It was finally time to send her letter to Narcissa Malfoy. She had just exited into the corridor when she heard someone's voice calling her name.

"Hermione!"

Hermione turned in time to see Bill trotting up to her. She gave him a querying smile, and saw that he was holding something new out to her. It was a small glass vial of silvery white liquid.

"What's this?"

"This is the Wolfsbane potion you asked for," he said with a wry grin. "I couldn't very well give this to you in front of students, you know. It's just a small amount for you to be able to use for your experiments, or whatever it was you said you were using it for."

Hermione thanked him and reached for it, but Bill held it just out of her reach for a moment. He gave her a pointed look.

"Remember. This is only for study." He lowered his voice and set it on her palm, wrapping his fingers around her hand. "Do not give it to anyone. Do not tell anyone I gave it to you, either."

Hermione nodded frantically, fighting the urge to beg him to let her hand go. She stared up at him with wide eyes, and a look of trouble curiosity crossed his face for a moment. He let go of her hand as though it were hot and pulled it back to his side.

"Are you all right?" he asked, brow furrowing. "You look like a frightened owl."

"I'm fine, I - I'm quite well," Hermione said, and she quickly tucked the vial of potion into her satchel. She forced on a smile, but Bill just looked perturbed.

"You don't look well. Hermione, what's wrong?" He took a step forward, and Hermione scrambled backward.

"I'm fine. Honestly, Bill," she said with another forced smile.

She could feel panic rising in her. She didn't want him to find out what happened. She wanted to know what she felt before she made any decisions, and the last thing she wanted right now was for Draco to be found out by the Ministry. If they found out he was hiding the fact that he was a magical creature, he could be punished for the lie. And if they found out he was the equivalent of a scientific anomaly, then he might be killed or imprisoned or taken for some sort of magical study.

There was just too much that could go wrong, and even though she didn't know what exactly was their plan, it just felt like there was a plan of some sort in place. Like it would be ruined if anyone found anything out, even if she didn't know what it was that was going to be ruined.

"I'll see you tonight at the Christmas party," he said, and she could hear the blatant suspicion in his voice. "I'm chaperoning. Will you be there?"

"Yes," Hermione replied. "I will."

"And will Draco Malfoy be there with you?"

Hermione avoided his eyes. "Not with me, no."

There was a silence passing between them, and Hermione became aware of the fact that it was a silence that was charged with unsaid things. She chanced a glance up into her friend and professor's eyes, and she saw it there.

He knew.

She didn't know what he knew, but he knew something.

"Hermione, I just want to let you know that in spite of everything you did during the war . . . There are some questions you can't answer through rigorous study," he said. "Sometimes . . . Things just are, and they can't be fixed."

"There's nothing to fix," Hermione said, still trying to smile. "There's no problems, or questions to answer."

He sighed. "Sometimes things - people - just are what they are, and even though they seem like problems . . . You don't have to be the solution. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Hermione stared at him for a second, and then she had to look away. He knew. He knew something about Draco. She was dangerously close to panicking, and she didn't need to hear Draco's voice in her head again, thinking she was in mortal peril. She shook her head furiously.

"There are no problems," she said in as firm of a voice as she could manage. "There are no problems and therefore, there is no need for any solutions."

As she moved to leave, Bill stepped in her way. She gasped and steadied herself, a hand in the hair at the side of her head.

"Bill, please," she said, looking up at him. He didn't understand. He needed to move, or else she was going to start freaking out.

"Hermione," he said firmly. "Sometime. People. Just. Are. There's nothing that you can do to fix them, and you don't have to be the one to put yourself in charge of the restoration efforts. People are what they are, and it's not your obligation nor your responsibility to ensure they have the lives they want. You make the decisions for your life. Do you comprehend what I'm trying to say? You . . ." He trailed off, cursing under his breath.

She closed her eyes. He knew Draco was a werewolf. He knew, and he was trying to tell her that she didn't need to be Draco's mate, that she didn't need to help him with anything. Bill was dancing around it, but she knew.

He was two days too late.

"You're right, Bill," Hermione said, brushing past him. "People are who they are. But that doesn't mean they deserve to be condemned to falling apart just because it's no one's obligation to hold them together. Sometimes, it's okay to do things for other people because you just want to."

She continued on, leaving him behind to absorb her words. She didn't know what he was going to do, if he truly suspected what she thought he did, but she did know that it didn't matter what he said. She was Draco's mate, and even if she kept as far away from him as possible while she sorted through her emotions, she was still going to be his mate at the end of the day. There was no reversing that.

"Hermione, wait!" he called.

She stopped and turned to look at him, brow furrowed. "What?"

"Please just . . ." He sighed and pushed a loose strand of his long hair behind his ear. "Be careful. Whatever you do - whatever you're doing with Draco Malfoy . . . Just promise me that you will be careful."

Too late. Two days too late.

Hermione gave him a nod, then turned and walked away.

She felt Draco reaching out through the bond, tentative and questioning, but she sent him the largest wave of anger she could muster. Anything to let him know that she was not okay, never going to be okay, and there was nothing he could do because it was all his fault.

Hermione kept her head down as she walked to the owlery, lost in her thoughts and trying to make sense of the things that had happened. She tried not to think about the Library, but it seemed stupid to even make a half-hearted attempt. There would be no forgetting it. It wasn't possible to forget trauma like that.

She felt like her brain had been tossed down a hill and left to tumble down amongst the dirt and rocks. It felt unusable. She had no idea how she had even made it through classes that day. She was definitely glad that tomorrow was Saturday, and officially the first day of Winter holidays, because she wasn't sure she could make it even one more day without snapping and spiraling out of control.

As she rounded the last turn before the hallway that led to the bottom of the tower, Hermione heard hushed voices coming from just ahead. She halted as fast as she could, not wanting to interrupt what sounded like a private, important moment between . . .

Harry and Daphne?

"You said that you wanted it to be casual," Harry was hissing. "You told me - and I quote - I don't give a flying Snitch if you get back together with her. I'll still be the best fuck you ever have. The only reason why I didn't go back with Ginny is because you made it feel like I was losing some sort of challenge if I did!"

"And I stand by that very accurate assessment," Daphne replied, sounding angrier than him. "The reason you didn't get back with Ginny is because you and her never had any real feelings for each other. But you and I? We were clearly anything but casual. We shagged for the entirety of August, Harry!"

Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"You never said you wanted to be serious, Daph!" Harry said, his voice rising sharply.

"It was implied!" she shrieked, her voice echoing. Then, she lowered it back to a snarling whisper. "It was implied that my feelings for you were stronger than something casual."

"You Slytherins," Harry spat out. "You talk in riddles, and you never just say what you want or mean. If you wanted to be together, you should have just said so!"

"And hear you rejecting me, the great Chosen One looking down his nose at me for being Slytherin trash?" Daphne's voice broke.

Hermione felt her cheeks flushing. She wasn't typically one to eavesdrop, especially not on Harry, but from the sound of it, they were right at the foot of the owlery tower entrance. She did feel pity for Daphne, knowing how reprehensible her father was. She wasn't the nicest to Hermione at the start of the year, but since Harry obviously saw something a little less cruel in her, perhaps that meant that Hermione could, too. After all, Hermione had been able to see a little something less bitter in Draco.

"Daphne, I would never think that of you," Harry said softly.

"Then what do you think of me?"

Hermione's blush deepened as the conversation fell silent for a moment, and she realized that Harry was likely spelling it out for her the best way a man knows how. She turned to go back the way she came, thinking it might be awhile before they wouldn't be bothered by any newcomers, but stopped when she heard Harry speaking again.

"That is what I think of you, Daphne Greengrass. And the reason why I didn't go back with Ginny is because I'm in love with you, and I'm the one who doesn't give a flying Snitch. So guess what we're going to do?"

Hermione heard Daphne let out a sob. "What are we going to do, Harry Potter?"

"We're going to walk back to that common room, right into the center of that Christmas party, and we're going to do it together. Everyone's going to know that we're going together, and by the end of the night, I will have snogged you under every single mistletoe that hovers over us. And you're not going to leave my side for the entire night."

They went quiet again, the silence punctuated by occasional whispers, and Hermione debated leaving the corridor again.

Hermione felt tears springing to her eyes, and she smiled bitterly. As happy as she was for Harry, she was sad. She was sad because if she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine that if the monster hadn't taken over Draco's body and ruined everything, she might be hearing words similar to those herself.

Because before everything fell apart, Hermione would have snogged Draco in every part of the castle if it meant that she could call him hers in front of everyone.

Hermione panted for breath as she drew back against the wall. Harry and Daphne's voice got quieter, their footsteps echoing loudly in the corridor as they walked a different direction. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut.

Harry and Daphne were together. Daphne Greengrass. Daphne, daughter of Gareth Greengrass, quite possibly the creepiest attendee of the Revel. The wizard who'd touched himself to the sight of Hermione being whipped. The wizard who deserved to be behind the bars of Azkaban for the horrid things he likely had done to Muggle-born girls. The wizard who currently - Hermione hoped - possessed a Muggle-born slave that quite possibly had been kidnapped away from her family.

And her best friend was going with his daughter.

Hermione waited until their footsteps had faded to head up to the owlery with her letter for Narcissa. She didn't know how much more shock she could handle. She wanted Harry to be happy, but how ignorant was Daphne to her father's hobbies and interests? How much did she know, and what sort of secrets was she not telling Harry?

It was all too much, everything. Greyback and the Revel and demons and the whipping and all of Draco's bloody apologies.

She just wanted the simplicity of a whispered confession in a dark corridor, the feeling of Draco's hand in her own, and a Christmas party scandal.

Hermione trudged up the stairs with her wand out in her left hand and the letter in her right. She felt so beyond depressed, that she thought she might have to sit down half of the way up. She almost didn't even want to send the letter. What was the point? What was the point, when she wasn't even Draco's mate by choice?

Yes, she'd told him she would do it to save his life, but it was essentially a marriage bond that wrapped around her magical core and his life force. She had no idea what would happen to her if she went outside of it, or tried to break it, but she did know that once bonded, a werewolf would die without its mate. A Veela was the same, and Draco was both. There was just so much they didn't know, and even if they had just had two extra weeks, maybe Hermione could have learned everything she possibly could so she could make an informed decision.

"I am looking for the owl which belongs to Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione stood in the center of the owl's roost, staring up into about four-score quietly blinking eyes. She scanned the birds, looking for one that might be the Malfoy family owl. She didn't have to wait long, it seemed, because one came floating down before her question was even completed, landing on her outstretched arm with grace that only Draco's owl could possess. She gazed at its onyx feathers and golden eyes openly, finding it strange to be holding his familiar like this. She couldn't help but wonder what Draco might think of Crookshanks and of Pakatugg, and then she felt another wave of sadness.

Simple things. Simple things that she felt she must not deserve to have, if she didn't already have them.

"Take this right to Narcissa Malfoy, please," she said, looking at the owl on her arm curiously. She reached down into her satchel to see if she had anything to give him for a treat, but he didn't seem interested in waiting.

The owl hooted and took off with a gentle downward swoop of his wings. Hermione watched him go, wondering what his name was, and then turned to go back inside. She started down the stairs slowly, wand still out for her protection, and wondered when things were going to go back to normal for her life.

She remembered starting the year with such good intentions. She'd wanted to pass her N.E.W.T.s, delve more in-depth into Potionmaking, and spend her free time studying to create a potion that could help her parents. She figured wizards would not have been an issue, that she was too studious to be a target on anyone's radar. She also figured she would have been spending her weekends at Hogsmeade, and that perhaps Ron and Harry would have convinced her to go to the nightclub with them. She remembered starting Eighth Year with a light heart and hopeful mind, and with the entire world ahead of her.

Now, the world felt very small. She felt very small.

And Hermione had grown up her entire life feeling anything but small.

She supposed all she could do was take equally small steps, the first of which being to sing in front of her peers. It was the perfect way to open herself up to a different sort of attention, to distract herself from everything that had been going on.

Hermione paused about halfway down from the top and tapped her chin thoughtfully. The hallway was empty, and she knew dinner still wasn't over yet. Daphne and Harry being in the corridor had to be a pre-planned occurrence. Perhaps Hermione could take this little bit of time to practice her song aca pella? She smiled to herself. Yes, that was a good idea.

Pacing back and forth on the stair she was on, the light from the perpetually-lit lanterns illuminating the area around her, Hermione lifted her wand. She chose not to cast muffliato, worrying that she wouldn't be able to hear the full effect of her voice is the acoustics were affected by the charm, and instead cast a ward that would notify if anyone was drawing within fifty feet of the stairs. Then, she wracked her brain, picked a Muggle song, and paced some more while she went over the instrumentals in her head.

Singing at the Revel was not the same thing as singing at home in her bedroom, or in the shower in her dorm. It was terrifying, and a lot of pressure, and not her best work. Singing at the common room Christmas party was so different that it wasn't even funny, and her audience was going to be people that she'd been in school with since she was eleven. People who saw her as the serious bookworm, not the powerhouse vocalist with the range of a battlefield. Everyone would be watching her, including Draco.

Hermione began to sing, closing her eyes and trying to imagine that nothing else existed but herself and this stairwell. Nothing, not the Revel, not Greyback, not Hogwarts, not Draco. Not even magic. Just her, her voice, and the step below her feet. She felt the music filling her up from within as though she had instruments swelling to a crescendo around her, and she let her voice flow out from between her lips as loud and as powerful as she could muster. She set aside all of her fears, all of her concerns. All of her pain.

She continued to pace, one hand holding her stomach to feel the contraction of her diaphragm as she belted out the words. She could feel all of her emotions welling up behind her closed eyelids, forming tears that clung to her eyelashes. Singing, for her, was like writing in a diary, each note transcribing another memory of her day, each verse another chapter in her life. Her voice echoed above her to the rafters, sounding better than she'd expected it to, and she could feel her heart swelling with pride at herself.

If she could sing like this tonight, then she had nothing to worry about where her performance was concerned.

She just wished she could take that same energy - that same confidence and pride - into her interactions with Draco.

Humming the notes of another song under her breath, Hermione nixed her proximity alert ward and resumed her trek down the stairs. She felt a lot better about the Christmas party at least, but she had no idea what she was going to do about the rest of her troubles. She knew she couldn't sing everything away, but it did help to know that she had something she could escape into, even if it was just for a few minutes.

As she rounded the last bend in the stairwell, ten or so steps from the landing, she stopped dead in her tracks and accidentally dropped her wand. It rolled down the steps.

Draco stood at the foot of the stairs. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, and his head was down, his fringe falling forward to shield his face slightly from her view. If he weren't a werewolf, she would have thought he didn't know she was standing there. He was clearly panting for breath, signifying that he'd run here, to the owlery, as though she were in danger. Her heart skipped a beat, stuttering to a complete stop.

"D-Draco?" she stammered.

Was it him? Or was it the demon? Would he look up at show her a face full of rage, fangs, and crimson-red eyes? She wanted to take a step backward, back up the steps, but she felt frozen to the spot with fear.

Slowly, Draco lifted his head to gaze up at her. She saw silver eyes, saw them full to the brim with unshed tears, and a sudden wave of his emotions crashed into her heart through the mate bond. She nearly choked on air from the onslaught, her eyes feeling glued to his as his storm raged around her magical core. He flashed his teeth for a moment, just barely, as if he were in pain, and then he spoke as though someone were wrenching the words from the bottom of his heart, where he'd kept them locked for centuries.

"I love you."

Hermione felt the ground dropping from beneath her feet. Her palm smacked against the wall beside her as she nearly swooned, propping herself up as she stared at Draco with a terrified expression on her pale face. She hadn't heard him correctly, she couldn't possibly have heard him correctly. Because it wasn't possible for anyone - for him to - for Draco Malfoy to be in love with . . .

"What?" she whispered.

He didn't avert his eyes, like she would have expected him to, but it was not Alpha. It was him - Draco.

"I love you," he said again, and he took a step up. He sounded like he was in agony. "I fucking love you, and every second that I breathe this air knowing that my body hurt you feels like I'm slicing my throat with shards of glass."

Hermione watched him ascending the stairs step by step, slow and careful, like he feared the steps would crumble if he went too fast. Her heart was racing, shattering into pieces, as he gave her the whispered confession she'd been pining after in the corridor.

"I've told you I was sorry so many times, and it's not enough. It's never going to be enough. But I'll keep saying it until the day I die," he went on, crying silently as his eyes pleaded with her. He went up another three steps. "I have never before said that I was sorry for anything, but I'm telling you right here and right now that I apologize to you for everything I did to you. For all the things I've said and done, for all the ways I've destroyed you and built you back up just so I could destroy you again. I'm sorry for what I - for what I did to you. I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you from myself."

He was two steps below her now, and he was at eye level with her.

"I'm sorry that you have to be loved by someone as loathsome, as foul, as - as disgusting as me," he spat out, his fists trembling at his sides. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and when he opened them again, they were blazing with self-contained rage. "I don't deserve you. I've never deserved you."

Hermione felt her emotions exploding before she could stop them, and she burst out into tears.

"Why's it always apologies with you, Draco? Why does everyone else get to be happy, and know that no one is going to hurt them, but me? Why does everybody I know get to live their lives without nightmares of the time the person they cared about most was forced to whip them on a bloody chaise, or wake up with tears on their cheeks because a monster took over that person's body and raped them? If I deserve something better than you, then why do I have you?"

She was sobbing uncontrollably now, wailing her words like a small, traumatized child, and she didn't care that anyone would be able to hear them. She was just angry. She was angry with herself for making decisions that led her to this place and for the first time all school year, she regretted speaking for Lucius Malfoy at his trial. She regretted a choice that she'd been fighting tooth and nail to defend, and it made her livid to know that she was being forced into repentance of something she'd never seen as a sin.

Draco jammed his hands backward through his hair. "Because I won't let you go. You deserve only good things, you deserve joy, and I only bring you torment because I won't let you go."

Hermione let herself sob for a few moments, turning her face away so she could collect her thoughts.

"You said you would never hurt me again," she whispered, wiping her tears away with the pads of her fingers. "The night of the Revel, you promised me that you would never let anyone touch me again. You said you would protect me, and then you broke your own promise because you were too selfish to overcome your self-hatred."

"Her -"

"No," she spat out, vision blurred as she pointed an ireful finger at his chest. "No. You put your self-hatred before my life. And now I'm . . ." Her throat ached and she sobbed, "Worthless."

He moved up one more step, looking down at her and shaking his head. "No, Hermione, no. You're not worthless. You're not."

"You said I was yours."

"You are mine." The words came out as a growl, and then he was on the step right below hers. His gaze scorched her face. "You're mine. I'm just afraid that loving you is what keeps getting you hurt."

Hermione desperately wanted to move back a few steps, up and away from him, but his scent was drifting up into her nostrils, filling her nose with the heady aroma of spearmint. Her magic keened for him, reaching for him even as he pulled his own away to keep them from brushing against one another. She wanted to wrap herself around him, around her mate, and kiss his tears away so that he wouldn't hurt so badly anymore.

But she also wanted to shove him away and watch him tumble down to the landing. She wanted him to know how badly she hurt inside, and she wanted him to understand that she would never again be the Hermione Granger that she was at the end of the war - the girl with hope and promise. She felt like she'd never again be anything more than his mate. His broken, sullied mate.

"I can't sleep anymore, because every time I close my eyes, he's there. He's there, and he's talking to me." He let more tears slip slowly down his cheeks. "Sometimes, it feels like a terrible dream, like I imagined it. Half the time, I can't remember if it really was me who -"

Hermione's anger skyrocketed and she slapped her hands against his chest to punctuate her enunciated, horrified words. "I can't forget that it was you! I'll never be able to forget that it was you! There won't be a day that goes by that I will be able to forget that it was your body that invaded mine! I begged you to stop, I -"

"I know!" he cried, grabbing her wrists and pulling her close. He quickly held tight to her elbows and shook her slightly, gaze intense. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think that I was there for every fucking second that he hurt you?"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said, fighting against him. "Nothing matters because it happened, and there's no taking it back!"

"It does matter!" he shouted back, pulling her close again. Hermione could feel her body trembling with fear, and it wasn't Draco's hands on her body. It certainly wasn't Alpha's.

It was the monster, and he was coming back for her. She just knew it.

"It does matter," Draco said, his tone beseeching her. "You matter."

"I don't matter," Hermione sobbed, ducking her head down and shaking it, her body trying to twist away. "Please. I don't matter."

"You matter to me."

The panic was going to tear her asunder. The demon was coming back. He was here. That's why he was here, cornering her on the stairwell. He was going to hurt her again, and she wasn't going to be able to fight back against him because she was stupid. She was stupid because she dropped her wand, and there was no way she'd be able to accio it when she was in such a panicked state.

Hermione was starting to hyperventilate.

Draco said passionately, "You matter to me, Hermione, and nothing will change that. I'm in so much pain every second of every fucking day, knowing that you feel this way about yourself, knowing that it's because of what I've done. I can feel it through the bond - I can feel your light dimming, and it aches. It -"

She snapped.

"Then stop loving me!"

She wrenched herself out of his grasp and stumbled up the stairs a couple of steps, chest heaving and tears cold on her face. He stared at her in open shock, his jaw visibly clenched. Hermione gasped for air, her anger causing her to feel overwhelmed and winded.

"If it's so hard for you to stop hurting me, and to stop letting me get hurt," she went on, "then stop loving me."

Hermione sucked in her breath, and she let it out in an emotionally raw sob. She clutched her hands against her heart, which hurt as though he were stomping on it himself.

"Stop loving me, just for now - just until I can look at you without seeing him. Please."

His eyes flashed and for a moment, she saw Malfoy. The Malfoy that had tormented her for years. The Malfoy who floated around the castle like a haunt during Sixth Year, sacrificing himself for his family's sake. The Malfoy who put himself in so much emotional turmoil that he lived in fear, breathed in fear, and acted out of it.

He came to stand on the same step as her, and she felt her back hitting the wall as he moved directly in front of her, facing her. He looked her directly in the eye, his face open and full of anguish, and he spoke.

"I can't."

Hermione's knees went weak as she lifted her chin and tried to look strong in spite of her inconsolable weeping. They studied each other's faces for a long while, Hermione wondering how she was supposed to get past this hurdle and cope. How was she supposed to admit she loved him in spite of everything that they'd been through?

How was she supposed to let the person who tore her apart pick up all of the pieces and put her back together with the same hands that broke her?

Draco took another step toward her, his body pressing hers firmly against the wall. He pressed his palms flat against the wall a bit above her head, caging her in-between his arms. The look in his eyes began to smolder and burn, the embers in his silver irises catching light and turning to flame.

"Let me kiss you."

"Stop loving me," she repeated, a low fire burning in her own eyes.

She wanted to push him away.

She wanted to let him kiss her.

Draco leaned his face closer to hers, tilting his head to the side. He breathed her breath as she gasped another sob.

"I can't," he said, raising his eyebrows and brushing lips against her only slightly. "Let me kiss you. Please."

Draco Malfoy never said please. He never said please, and he never said I'm sorry, and he certainly never told Hermione Granger the words I love you with tears in his eyes and grief on his heart.

It was too much.

"Please stop loving me," she wept, hardly able to see him through the haze of her tears.

His hands came away from the wall and cupped her face.

"Never."

He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her like it was the only thing he had left to do on this Earth. His tongue swiped along the seam of her mouth, silently begging her to accept his heart, and her lips fell open for him with a moan. She kissed him back, her hands wrapping around his wrists, their tongues pushing against one another's in an arduous battle that Hermione had no intention of winning.

Hermione pushed herself up on tip-toes to get closer, her own head turning to deepen the kiss he'd started. Her magical core was pulsing, tendrils of her magic lashing out like whips against his to tell him you hurt me, you hurt me, and his magic just absorbed every blow, reverberating with I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

It felt like she was on fire, and not with heat and lust. It was pain. Pure pain and torment as she indulged in something that felt like iniquity, something that told her the truth. That to be loved by Draco Malfoy was to be torn into thousands of pieces and sewn back together with threads of Fiendfyre, and to love him back was to burn to ash.

A bomb went off in Hermione's head. Another wave of panic swept her away and she yanked herself backward against the wall. Before she knew what had happened, she'd slapped him across the face.

"Please, I can't," she cried. "I can't!"

She saw the look in his eyes, saw his hand touching his sharp cheekbone, and then she saw his eyes darken. He was retreating into himself. He was pulling away, letting Alpha come forward.

"No!" Hermione grabbed onto the lapels of his blazer and pulled herself up onto her tip-toes again. She fixed him with a fierce glare. "Do not hide behind your wolf, Draco Malfoy. You have to face this. You have to face me."

Draco looked down at her, and it was the same look she'd seen on his face the day of the battle - when Voldemort had called him over. His eyes were filling with tears again and his chin was trembling.

"If you love me," Hermione said firmly, "then you have to look me in the eyes like this, and face what you did. No more fear. No more running."

They gazed into each other's eyes and for the first time since bonding with him, Hermione let her walls down. She completely opened her heart to him and let all of her emotions - every single one - flood into his body through the mate bond. Her magic ushered them along, letting them fill him to the brim until she felt his body beginning to tremble. He looked down at her in muted horror, a tear slipping down his cheek. Together, they bathed in Hermione's pain, and when he stumbled back against the wall, she let go of his jacket so she could watch the look in his eyes melt from horror to misery.

"Do you feel that?" Hermione whispered, her eyes narrowing as her magic overwhelmed him into dead silence. "Do you feel what you did to me? Until you can bear it - until you can face what you did - stop loving me. Because I don't want the monster. I want the man."

Draco just stood there and stared, the tears that fell from his eyes seeming like tears of shock as opposed to tears of despair. Hermione held his gaze, even though inside she was breaking down. And then, slowly, she saw something change in his eyes. She didn't know what emotion she was seeing - what exactly it meant - but it sent a chill down her spine. She almost felt guilty.

How was he supposed to separate himself from an entity that they had no clue how to defeat?

"Good show. Are we witnessing the break-up of the century, or what?"

Draco and Hermione both jumped and turned to look down the stairs. The voice had come from just outside the open doorway, but Hermione couldn't see anyone. She frowned and sent a quick look to Draco, whose silver eyes were narrowed.

A low growl rumbled out from his chest and he moved down one step, then over to the right, positioning himself directly in front of Hermione.

The voice came again. It was female.

"Well, well, if it isn't Draco's little Muggleborn slag. Come to send a message? Last time I was here, I sent a message, too."

Pansy Parkinson sauntered out of the shadows, arms crossed and a smirk playing about her painted-red lips. She stopped inches away from Hermione, leaned forward until she could smell the tangy scent of blood on her breath, and arched one of her perfectly-sculpted eyebrows.

"Did you get it?"

---

I am marking this as complete while it is on indefinite hiatus. The Dramione plotline is relatively resolved at this point, so all that's left is the forgiveness and the Greyback plotline. I may return to this story later in the year, but I have many other Dramione works right now, and this story is old. Like I said in Chapter 1: it was my first ever Dramione WIP.

---

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