Draco was brooding, bruise-eyed and huffing as much as he ever did their sixth year. At first Hermione had put it up to being under Voldemort's thumb, only he hadn't been as much a wanker since her stay at Malfoy Manor. At times he was friendly, even kind.

Hermione suppressed her usual humming whimsy that overcame while she worked categorizing and shelving and carding, sweeping it out of sight as her eyes kept flicking to the boy with an aura of darkness coating him sticky as tar. There was something Antonin had said a while back that niggled at her and the cogs started wheeling into place as she fought the tug to talk to Draco. Antonin had asked after Narcissa and the elder Malfoy had reacted as though slighted.

The moment had been overshadowed by her nerves when faced with her future ally, so she'd forgotten to ask.

There was always something.

Narcissa had been kind to her while Hermione was in her home. What happened to the doting mother? She had a chance to ease the current of her curiosity now, but it would be cruel to ask the boy who was clearly wrestling demons whether his mother had been killed. And she wasn't sure she could handle the stony weight of another death over the cracking shell of her heart too recently broken.

Still, the Slytherin was so despondent it tore at her soul. Hermione wanted to do something. And she was British enough the words popped out almost on their own.

"Would you care for tea?"

The blond head snapped up, eyes startling pale in their deepening sockets. "Sorry?"

"Er, Winky!"

The house elf popped into being and Malfoy's gaze transferred to her. She had been particularly decrepit after the battle, at least when Hermione had called her the first time. Winky was the only house elf she knew at Hogwarts now. But her uniform was consistently clean these days and the scent of Butterbeer wasn't overwhelming.

She bowed, lanky hair falling forward around her slim shoulders. "What can Winky do for Miss?"

"We would like to take tea, Winky. Cups for Mister Malfoy and I, please. I'll take chamomile. And Malfoy will have…" Hermione trailed off to look pointedly at him, Winky following suit.

"Orange pekoe, if you please." The neat words rolled off his tongue, smooth and at odds with his haggard state. The elf bowed again and popped away. "Tea, Granger?" His pale brows rose with the mocking in his voice.

Hermione brushed her skirt and sat in her usual chair near the entrance, the one she occupied when she took refreshment with Antonin. "There is never an occasion that does not call for tea," she said evenly as she crossed her ankles.

"And what is this occasion exactly?" That arched brow of his, while pale as his mother's, was so distinctly his father that it raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Did she have moments like that, when she so perfectly channeled one parent that it was eerie?

A pang tightened her hollow chest; she'd never have anyone to tell her.

"I could use a cuppa myself." His eyes narrowed a fraction, but his lips remained shut.

Triangle sandwiches and biscuits accompanied tea, a pleasant addition considering Hermione rarely remembered dinner unless whoever her keeper was brought it up. She'd get back home and suddenly find herself too light, like a feather balanced on its quill, ready to tip at the slightest breath.

Librarian's work was hungrier than she'd imagined; it was easy, especially for someone like her, to lose oneself in the quiet weight of the stacks. Hermione would pace up and down the shelves, memorizing the positions of every book she slid into place, creating a map of the bindings in her mind. It was like bailing her mind free of the ocean it had become. And her feet were sore with all the walking nearly as much as they'd been on the run.

A touch of sugar and cream swirled along with her spoon, deepening the honey tea to ivory. Malfoy's was as pale as hers when she glanced his way.

They sipped in silence for a moment, both of their gazes darting to and way from one another until Hermione at last broke the tension. "You haven't been sleeping well."

There was that wry expression again. "You reckon? You look like you've been sleeping alright."

"I have, I suppose. It's better than being on the run." Her brows twitched in echo of the internal wince. "In some ways."

Draco hummed. "He really does take care of you, doesn't he?"

Pink was flushing through her chest, cheeks, ears, as she thought on that. She bathed every morning in fragrant water, dried with clean, fluffy towels. Every day something pretty was laid out for her to wear. Breakfast, lunch, tea, dinner everyday. Topsy has learned all of Hermione's favorites and would provide them in the weekly rotation. And whether in her own bed or Antonin's, she slept in comfort every night.

And I pay with my companionship in and out of bed. It came to her then with sudden clarity how others must view her; Hermione Granger, muggleborn sidekick of Harry Potter, was selling herself in bits and pieces for a little peace. Her throat tightened and eyes grew hot.

"Granger?" Her ears rang, drowning her name to underwater muffling. "Hermione." Fingers eased over her own and she looked up with wide, red-rimmed eyes. "It's alright." She shook her head. "Yes, it is. That wasn't a criticism. You're doing what you have to survive. And no one is even getting hurt by it."

"I am," wheezed. " I am. He hurts me nearly everyday, Draco. He cuts me up and whips me and slaps me and- and that's not even the worst part." The hand beneath his tightened on her napkin. "It helps. The pain helps me forget. Last time I asked for it." At the parting of his lips she added, "No, I really asked. I wanted him to hurt me so I wouldn't have to think of the fact that Mrs. Weasley was dead. What kind of monster am I?"

"You're not a monster." She hazarded a glance at his own eyes, startling blue amid tired veins. "Pain can be cathartic. You've gone through so much. I- honestly, Granger, your life has been shit. If you find a little calm in the storm, who could blame you."

Hermione wiped away errant tears. "He's turning me into what he wants. Next thing I'll be eight months pregnant and asking him to make me into mincemeat, locked away in his chambers like his own mother was."

The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. "Nothing he dies to you, nothing you do to survive will change that you're Hermione Granger."

She worried at her lip, tasting copper from her own teeth, and wondered at this little pep-talk. He was certainly more his mother's beneath the surface than he let on. Kinder.

A cleared throat had their hands parting with enough force to shake the china. "If you don't mind, Draco, I would like a moment with Miss Granger."

"Of course." The young man stood and smoothed a hand over the front of his robes, nodding to her and walking toward the desk to give her privacy with the headmaster.

"I have something for you, Miss Granger," he began as he peered down from his considerable height, dark eyes contemplative pools. "But first I must have you word that you will not use it until the appointed time." She opened her mouth but it hung dead when he drew a slim length of vine wood from his sleeve. Wonder bloomed in her chest alongside disbelief. "Mr. Ollivander assured me this belonged to you."

She reached a trembling hand, but Snape kept it aloft. "My wand? I thought it was lost."

"Yes, well, it was found amid the rubble. As I was saying, there are conditions. You must swear to use it only when the time comes. It is absolutely imperative. You must use it to keep Dolohov away from the fray. Kill him, stun him; the first is preferable, but the second will do." His eyes narrowed to glimmering slits. "Do you understand?"

Swallowing the cotton film in her mouth, she said, "Why?"

"The remaining forces will be attacking that day. Dolohov is a formidable foe and he would not hesitate to use you against our forces." He quirked a brow. "Does that satisfy you?"

"A battle? Will I be joining in after?"

Snape rolled his jaw. "An ally will take you where you're needed. Now, swear that you will not act before the appointed time or I'll snap your wand instead of giving it to you."

"I swear." His eyes darkened and Hermione tried again, hardly needing to consciously put intent behind her words as eager as she was. "I swear on my magic I will not use my wand until the appointed time."

His thin upper lip twinged, nostrils flaring, then he proffered the wand in her direction. The magic buried in the seedling at her core burst first in a shower of golden sparks as her fingertips touched the familiar length of vine. It was nearly alive in her hand, friendly and warm and ready to cast. Buoyant joy bubbled from her mouth, oaken eyes shining like summertime as the missing sense switched on.

"I advise hiding it before anyone sees you've manifested it somehow." Chagrin colored her cheeks, but could not dampen her effervescence. "I also advise, however you might be adverse to murder, killing Dolohov. Because I promise you this, Miss Granger: if he lives you will never be safe from him. Nothing, not even Azkaban will keep him from trying to hunt you down."

Foreboding settled like ice in her stomach as she nodded. "I know."

He studied her, numbers and equations scrolling behind his eyes as they darted to her hardly-visible feet to her barely restrained curls, then acknowledged her admission with a curt nod. "I expect we'll be seeing one another soon." Another nod and her swirled about in a swishing of black.

Antonin swept in moments later, his dark curls mussed from the duelling lesson, and planted a kiss on her cheek. His own were flushed, eyes darting to her body beneath her modest dress. How long would it take before he was dragging her to Floo straight into his bedroom. She wondered.

"Have you reached a good end for the day, my love?" A pink tongue darted hungrily over his lips.

His pupils dilated as she bit her lip. "I suppose."

"Good."

Velvet lips trailed her throat, but Hermione was studying the shadows over Antonin's shoulder. Kill him, Snape had said. Kill him or she would never be free.

He only escaped before because of the Dark Lord. Thoughts floated along the darkness, stuttering at his nibbling teeth. But he's not exactly worth saving, and I may only get one chance to take him down .

She groaned, hips rolling unwillingly against his as Antonin sucked at a nipple. Heat coiled from chest to core and his chuckle on her skin only added to the fire. "My eager little kitten. Would you like me to fuck you now?"

His length nudged at her teasingly and Hermione turned her cheek to maintain the illusion of control over herself.

"I know what you need, my love." Sandpaper stubble nuzzled along her cheek like a great, rough cat. "Don't I?" The head dipped into her slickness and then whirled teasingly at her clit. " Don't I ?" Lancing pain laced her skull as he fisted her hair, neck arching back til her muscles could be traced with his tongue.

"Yes," she hissed.

His teeth scraped the corded muscles of her throat and she whined breathlessly. "'Yes,' what, kitten?"

"You know what I need."

A circle of his hips stole what little breath she could draw as she was. "Is this what you need?" Antonin chuckled at her attempt to nod against his grip. "Tell me."

"I need you." The words puffed from her more air than voice. She knew what he wanted as his cruel ministrations continued. "I need you to- to give me-" Any way she went about it Hermione knew the words would fumble on her tongue. "Please."

"Keep going. Beg for me."

Hermione scrunched her eyes shut, fighting against her pulsing core. "Please fuck me."

His thrust into her, walls stretching to accommodate him. Within seconds he had buried his whole length and she was writhing, all thought of her impending task wiped from her lust-frothing mind.

A/N

I am sooooo close to finish I can taste it. It will be about 100k words total.