July 1994

Knowledge is power. It's a phrase that goes without saying as Hermione peeled her forehead from the window, clinging to a rather ordinary looking tome.

But it's more than that.

Knowledge is vindication. Validation. A cool glass of lemonade on a hot summer day.

Her fingers tensed around a tattered, forest green cover with an illegible inscription. Pulse quickening as her eyes fell once again to the central passage.

Prior to the segregation of the Muggle and Magical realms, Witches and Wizards were forced to hide their magic in order to escape persecution. This resulted in the development of a dark, parasitic force commonly known as an Obscurus. Many believed that Obscura resulted not only from the physical strain of containing magic in great volume, but also from the emotional distress experienced by those forced into hiding.

Thus is the plight of the Obscurial, whose life expectancy is generally no more than 10 years of age. As a consequence, there are few first hand accounts of Obscura. Some notable Obscurials include Ariana Dumbledore, Credence Barebone and Scylla Slytherin who are often cited when discussing the dangers of the dark phenomenon —

Hermione shifted against the sill, her eyes dilating and readjusting to the sight of her muggle bedroom. Magic stirred in her abdomen like a foreign presence.

Home should be a simple comfort, but she felt no more than a visitor as her attention was drawn back to the page.

Due to the volatile nature of the Obscurus, those afflicted were perceived as dangerous and further ostracized from Wizarding society. Slytherin dedicated her short life to the study, control and mastery of the malady.

Her work centered around the acceptance and reintegration of Obscura through a process known as Vulnerastasis, which led to heritable changes in how the body perceived the displaced magic —

A phantom ache passed through her as she instinctively caressed her stomach; she would not be overcome like those before her.

Years of suffering had led to this moment. A life of powerlessness and a near constant hollow in her chest. A deep, organic hole that lashes inwards. A parasite bleeding her dry.

Moonlight poured through the windowpane as her eyes fixed on the horizon. The sky above Hampstead was speckled with stars. Flecked by God's glittering tears.

A smile spread across her features as she realized it would soon weep with the glory of the Dark Mark. But for now she admired the simplicity, thinking that beyond ideas of light and darkness, or good and evil or magic and muggle, there was only this— Stars and satellites cast against a backdrop of the great unknown.

October 1996

Everything she knew was brittle and broken. It's the surface of the Black Lake during Spring thaw, sodden and running out from underneath her. A thin sheet of ice between her bare feet and freezing water; between a clean escape and certain death.

And she's usually such a good liar.

"So… you followed him to Hogsmeade?" Ron asked for the fourth time since they'd arrived at dinner. She found his skepticism unnerving; it was unlike Weasley to think twice about anything, and she was tired of repeating herself.

"Yes." She breathed, almost a sigh.

He hummed in thought, his shallow mind working overtime, "You followed Malfoy to Hogsmeade. And then?"

Hermione's eyes went wide with irritation. Her breath almost lodged in her throat as she inhaled through flared nostrils, "I told you already!" She finally snapped, because for fucks sake, the last thing she wanted to talk about right now was Malfoy.

"I followed him to The Hog's Head and he—"

"—And you didn't talk to him?"

Merlin, help me.

Her body went rigid as she hissed through her teeth, "I'm tired of telling you Ron! No! He was meeting his mum!"

"And no one saw you? Any of you?"

She bit back a fit and focused her attention on Harry, who had remained eerily silent. In truth, it didn't matter if Ron believed her, so long as Saint Potter was satisfied.

"Well... it'd be hard to miss the Malfoys but I wouldn't count on that lot to tell you much about it." She hesitated, "And I went to see Rosmerta for a while. I guess you could ask her if you don't believe me."

Harry's voice was soft and sympathetic, "Hermione…" He placed a hand on her shoulder, "Of course we believe you … but Malfoy… He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Yes.

"No." She let out a sheepish laugh, "Of course not— Now, can we please move on? I doubt if either of you have started on your Divination assignments and I have a twenty-four inch essay to write for Ancient Runes!"

Ron whined, speaking through a helping of treacle tart, "That's not due for weeks 'Mione!"

In her experience, any mention of actual work seemed to shut them up.

The boys returned to their boorish conversation and her eyes flitted to the Slytherin table, immediately catching silver eyes and a scowl that could curdle blood, but her attention was diverted before she could decipher his expression.

"Miss Granger!" Professor Slughorn bellowed, sidling towards her and blocking her view, "The Slug Club is meeting Saturday next, surely I told you about it?"

She pressed her lips together and shook her head roughly. Consumed by Draco's piercing gaze barreling through her most witless professor.

"Ah, well I'm hosting a dinner for my brightest students and I'd love to have you in attendance. I'll have you know, some of my favorite students were muggle-borns. It's most impressive!"

Fuck off, blood traitor.

"Yes. Sure. Of course." The reply was brief and toneless. Slughorn's words had struck a nerve, and further, he'd cost her precious time.

As she made to leave, she noticed Draco's seat had emptied. She wanted to run. To turn and hurdle towards the dungeons. Or perhaps the common room, because she wanted to cast a silencing charm and scream into her crimson sheets until her throat was raw.

"Feel free to bring a guest. It's a celebration after all!" He called after her as her legs carried her out on their own accord, destination still undecided. And then, with a sharp tug, everything went dark.

She tried to scream through the hand seizing her mouth and silencing her, pulling her into an empty closet off of the main corridor. A tall figure, towering over her and hurling her against the far wall.

Draco cast a silencing charm and spat, "YOU FUCKED US, GRANGER! ROYALLY FUCKED US! " His eyes flickered wildly, completely incensed.

It took her a moment to register his voice and match his tone, "Me!?" She panted, "I haven't done anything!"

"Exactly!" He seethed, pressing his palm to his forehead and sucking in a deep breath, "I received an owl this morning... The Dark Lord is furious." The words fell from his lips and hung in the air, "He wants to see you." They're shrill and metal.

His fists buried inside his robes, and from the inside pocket, he withdrew the Malfoy signet, swathed in a deep green pocket square. Her cortisol swelled at the sight of the portkey and it's almost funny that a moment ago, Harry was her greatest concern.

"He won't hurt me." The words were fraught with unearned confidence, "I've never wronged him before... He needs me ."

Draco's lip twitched faintly, a barely there response to her complete and total arrogance. He shook his head and let out a haughty laugh, "You're such a fucking Gryffindor. How can you be so naive?"

"You know what Malfoy—" She hissed, pushing back on his chest. "I've been doing this a while— Don't you have any faith in me?! I've proven my worth! I opened the Chamber of Secrets! I freed Wormtail from that traitorous ginger! I put Harry's name into the Goblet of Fire! I resurrected the Dark Lord! ME! "

There was a beat of silence as he studied her, seeming to mull over a number of snide remarks and settling closer to resignation. And perhaps it occurred to him that her resolve was simply too strong. That she would have to learn the hard way. There's pity in his eyes as he dips lower to rest his forehead on hers.

"This isn't about having faith, Granger. This is the Dark Lord we're talking about. He doesn't fucking care about you. You're a pawn— And he will sacrifice you. He won't think twice. Do you understand?"

Their eyes fell shut and senses compensated. His breath closing the infinitesimal distance. The soft vibrations of his voice caressed her as he rasped final words of caution.

"I need you to understand."

And then his pale fingers slid along her arms. They trailed her collarbone. The cut of her jaw. The signet an inch from her skin.

"I'll be back before you know it."

It was all she could manage as the ring ghosted across her cheek and pitched her sharply from the castle.

Surely Voldemort wouldn't kill her , if only to avoid spilling their blood. It's a weak reassurance as her feet find solid ground.

The wind whipped violently through the village of Hogsmeade as Hermione steeled herself outside the Shrieking Shack.

You deserve it, She reminded herself, You brought this on yourself.

Torturous images flashed behind her eyelids. Her nerves on fire; the feeling of her flesh being peeled from bone. Skin and tissue carved out and away. Veins flayed open. Bleeding out on the floor. The Cruciatus.

The door creaked open and into the darkness. Her careful steps are deafening against the singular sound of Nagini, hissing in the distance. The taste of acid coated her throat as she ascended the staircase and pushed into the dimly lit room.

"Miss Granger." Voldemort hissed as she knelt before him. Warmth from the fire pouring over her as she started to sweat. "I trust you know why you're here."

"Yes, My Lord… I never meant to risk our cover. I am so humbled to have been chosen for such an—"

"Silence! You were not chosen. Young Malfoy was chosen." Her chin tucked tightly into her chest— Craned and bracing for her punishment; resisting only fueled his cruelty.

"I do not wish to harm you, Miss Granger… I think of you as, dare I say, a sister. But I am afraid you need reminding of your… status."

A shiver rocked through her as a long fingernail guided her chin upwards and their eyes met. Voldemort seethed through slitted sockets.

"Legilimens. "

Her body went stiff as stone; a scream tore through her— an ear-splitting howl of torment and suffering that never quite escaped her lips. But she kept her promise. She didn't fight. Struggling to make space for him to do his worst as if that will ease the agony.

And then everything blurred at the edges, blind spotted and black.

His voice boomed behind her eyes, " You seem quite taken with him... " And she was sure blood was pouring from her ears; the inside of her mind being skinned alive as her own voice arrived at the forefront.

...stop looking at me like that, She laughed, something carefree and featherlight.

...I can't, Granger. I— Draco breathed, abruptly crashing his lips on hers before the memory slipped out from underneath her. She clawed her way towards it, desperate and frenzied as the Dark Lord violated her mind and memories flooded her.

… Fuck, you taste like…

… Not what I expected…

… Pretty on your knees…

… Don't get to love you…

… Perfect. You're just…

Years passed in the span of seconds. Each sweet moment souring behind her eyes. Laid to waste. And suddenly, the cruciatus seemed merciful. Her limbs gathered at her chest, panting furiously and struggling to breathe.

Hermione turned into herself as Voldemort withdrew from her mind and towered over her, Nagini slithering by the fire and spitting.

"Such a pity..." He tutted.

Her skin was ashen and pressed into the floorboards. Tears cascading and pooling in complete silence as the hem of his robes dragged towards the door and disappeared beyond the threshold.

Like it or not, morning comes, and she's not quite sure how she arrived back in Gryffindor Tower, still dressed from the night before. Lances of sunlight pouring through her curtains and lapping at her lifeless features. A wall of pressure built behind her eyes, keen to collapse. A headache that feels more like heartbreak.

Ginny and Parvati left for breakfast hours ago, but Hermione lagged behind, glued to her bed in a catatonic stupor.

And perhaps what bothered her most was that Tom— the Dark Lord — had treated her as immaterial. She had once been crucial. Instrumental in his return and now…

She's worthless. Expendable.

And as hours ache by, it's that thought fueling her to her feet. Virulent and pestilential. The taste of iron startled her awake; she didn't realize she'd been chewing her lip until her tongue was red with blood. Her inertia slowly disbanded and replaced by unmitigated anger.

Hermione reached for her journal. Her determination renewed; raw and wild. She gripped her quill like a vise and scribbled furiously, barely legible.

Can you meet me? Sixth floor ASAP.

I need you.

She didn't wait for his reply. Hermione snatched up her wand from beneath her pillow and started purposefully towards the sixth floor lavatory.

It's not long before Draco arrives and immediately attends to her. Almost running to her, dipping his head lower to search for damage, and it's clear by his relieved expression that he'd expected worse. He examined her gaunt features; her red-rimmed eyes. Freckled skin dotted with blood. His thumbs ghosting across her cheekbones, shaking slightly.

"What did he do to you?" Draco asked, rigid and rooted in place.

The reality of him was staggering. Disorienting. Her mind and memories of him muddled by the Dark Lord's punishment, "I'm having trouble remembering th—"

"Fuck, Granger— How long did he—" He cut her off, drawing panicked conclusions.

"Oh— No, Not the Cruciatus. I wish he'd used the Cruciatus." She corrected, head lolling back against a mirror, "It was legilimency… It's my memories... Of you— Of us. I just want— I'd like to practice Occlumency— I want to be better than him."

Her words were plagued by an unnatural hesitance. Insecure and uncertain; masquerading as impassivity.

Draco stepped further into her, cupping her face in his palms, "You are better than him." A wry laugh escaped him, "You're the best."

His fingers trailed upwards and laced themselves in her hair, settling on the nape of her neck. Brushing the sensitive space behind her ears. She trembled as he looked on longingly, cold silver eyes piercing her amber ones, "Are we doing this now, then?" His eyes shifted briefly to the door of the lavatory and then back to hers, keeping his hands tangled in her curls. Tipping her head up towards him as she gave a curt nod of encouragement.

And his eyes are unchanged as he dives into her mind. Boring into her. Pushing through battered thoughts, not exactly gentle, but not entirely forced. He allowed her to steer him towards the memories he'd earned; the ones they made together.

There were memories too shameful; too sensitive. Deep recesses of consciousness that she couldn't let him see. Moments so flawed and full of weakness that they betrayed her rational sensibilities.

Like the time she'd fallen from the swings and cried, and her father had healed her the muggle way. Or when she'd first seen a moving picture and been in awe of the magical realm she should have known existed.

Or the first week of Fifth Year, when she'd seen Draco laughing with Pansy Parkinson. Something light and teasing. An elegant Pureblood hand on his shoulder.

The anger she'd felt knowing she could never be that for him.

She occluded the memories, inevitably trapping him in her miserable labyrinth. Wandering her unfeeling corridors. And in the strangest way, his presence there warmed her; a whisper of hope amongst near constant suffering.

Her boundaries faltered; thoughts drifting to a specific moment in time. The moment that transformed them. Before dark prophecies and daunting tasks. A walk through the Manor gardens as foolish children, in love with the idea of love.

...stop looking at me like that.

...I can't, Granger. I —

They recalled it together; swimming in each other's ocean. She could hear the way her heart beat that day, pounding in her chest as he kissed her for the first time. Wearing a coy smile. Fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. Blissfully ignorant.

His hands on her waist. The feeling of her reaching towards him, keening against him. He's tender and gentle. Kind and giving. His tongue sweeping across her lips and dancing close to hers as she parted and blossomed for him.

Their arrangement was no longer an obligation.

It's oxygen.

It's the temperature.

Draco withdrew from her mind and simply stared at her. Eyes locked in passionate appraisal.

A groan escaped him and without warning, their lips collided. Bodies melded against cold tile. He fed himself to her; filled her. His knee wedged between her legs as she grabbed a fistful of his robes.

Hermione tugged at his button down, freeing it from his trousers. His arms snaked behind her thighs as he lifted her from the ground and her legs wrapped around his waist. Digging his nails across her skin. Dragging her bottom lip between his teeth. He's hard against her, pressing on her entrance through her knickers in a torturous and teasing position.

And perhaps the moment is wrong, but she's gasping into the crook of his neck, "Draco… I want you. All of you."

They're not children anymore. They're death eaters with the weight of the world on their shoulders. And Hermione thought that for a moment, she could let go. She could have this.

Draco stilled. She felt his cock twitch against her, prodding her between her thighs. A low growl escaped him as he wet his lips further, "Are you sure?"

The nerves between her legs ached with need. A rush of blood. Moisture pooling at her entrance. She pulled him back towards her, rasping the words out, "Yes— fuck yes—"

Draco set her down on a basin and gripped her outer thighs. Her fingers find his belt, desperate for him. Desperate to know what he's like inside her. To be wrapped around him, warm and wet as he thrusts up into her core.

The next sound is the metal from his belt clattering to the floor, followed by the creak of the bathroom door opening and swinging shut.

"Alright Malfoy, I know you're in here!" Harry's voice echoed across the bathroom.

Hermione inhaled deeply and darted out of sight, stumbling backwards into a stall as Draco adjusted his throbbing erection. His eyes rolled back in his skull at his own touch.

Through lidded eyes he bellowed, "Come to have a look then, Potter?" His lips twisted into a sinister smirk, "I can't say I blame you, really."

Hermione stifled a laugh from the stall, edging to watch Draco cross the tile towards Harry.

"I don't know what you've done to her Malfoy, but I'm going to find out! If it's the last thing I do!""

"The last thing you do?" He asked in mock dismay, "Don't get my hopes up, Potter."

"—If you touch her! Whatever you're doing… I'll figure it out!"

It was quiet for a moment too long and she's not sure who fired first, but the bathroom was inundated with lime green and gold light; water rising from the shattered basin and pooling on the floor.

Their footsteps circle her as she hovers above the U-bend, struggling to keep out of sight. Water kicked up from every angle as incantations echoed across the room.

Draco's breath grew rough and labored. His ire rising and culminating in the spell he almost cast. It's on the tip of his tongue.

"Cruci—"

"Sectumsempra!"

But he's interrupted by an unfamiliar spell. A sinister curse that vibrated throughout the lavatory; undeniably dark and ricocheting off the walls.

And then Draco's body crashed to the floor. Limp and barely breathing as the water ran red with his blood.