Chapter IV: Hell is Empty and All the Devils are Here
(William Shakespeare – The Tempest)
As soon as the digits on Hermione's phone flicker over into 00:00, there's a muted popping sound and two demon boys appear in her bed.
"Hello," she says calmly from the chair at her desk.
Draco swivels on the bed to face her, mock pouting. "Aw, Hermione," he says. "You shouldn't have dressed up for us. Now I feel so… underdressed."
Underdressed is certainly one way of putting it. The devil's son is shirtless, leaving on display an expanse of alabaster-pale chest that's corded with lean, sleek muscles. His every movement is languid yet somehow tense with restrained violence; in fact, he's rather like a very big cat. Hermione is disconcerted to see that he's wearing a pair of black leather breeches which hug his thighs like a second skin, along with high leather boots. What odd clothing.
"What happened to wearing something sexy?" Theodore complains mildly. Unlike Draco, he's fully dressed, but his raiment isn't any more normal than his companion's: he's paired a top hat with a striped waistcoat and ripped jeans.
"I don't own anything sexy," Hermione explains.
"A shame," Draco murmurs. His eyes travel slowly over her body. She can feel the searing heat of his gaze through her thick polka-dotted nightshirt and loose trousers; her clothing doesn't seem to be any sort of barrier at all when it comes to him, because it's as though he can see straight through to the skin underneath.
To distract herself from that thought, she hurriedly asks a question. It's her first mistake.
"Is fashion in Hell always so… eclectic?" Hermione says.
Draco's eyes light up. "Is that the first question for tonight?"
She balks. "No! Don't answer that then. I was just curious."
He lets out a whip-sharp curl of laughter. "You're going to have to be more careful, Hermione. Don't ever give a demon an opening. Haven't you heard the saying 'curiosity killed the cat'?"
"Yes, and I've also heard that satisfaction brought it back," she returns tartly. From her desk, she extracts a Moleskine notebook and flips to the latest page. "Okay, so. I've made a numbered list of all the questions I want answered."
"I'm all ears," Draco says lazily. He sprawls back in her bed, arms crossed behind his head. She tries not to look too closely at the smooth hairlessness of his chest (marred only by a thin, golden, unbearably tempting line which arrows under his waistband). Instead she focuses on Theodore, who's moved to sit sedately on the edge of her bed.
"Question one. Why does the devil have a surname that's French, of all things?"
Although she's looking at Theodore, it's Draco who responds.
"That's just the way it is," he says. "Wonderful surname, isn't it? Malfoy. Bad faith. The House of Malfoy has been ruling Hell for an eternity and a half, and we'll continue ruling it even after the end of death itself. You'll find that the Sacred Twenty-Eight – that is, the twenty-eight pureblood demon families of Hell – all proclaim their roots proudly. My mother, for instance, is of the House of Black, and her father Cygnus was a High Lord of Hell."
"Black? Really? What an unoriginal name for a demon," Hermione says drily, but they both know her snark is only a cover. She's forgotten her earlier aversion to looking at him; now she's devouring him with her stare. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks flushed with the rush of excitement she always gets when new knowledge opens itself up to her, like a present unwrapping itself. She's even leaning forward in her chair with anticipation. With her bushy dark brown hair, unremarkable skin, and brown eyes, she is not a beautiful girl, or even a passably pretty girl. Yet right now her face is suffused with so much pleasure that it almost overcomes her plainness.
Draco has noticed.
"So you mentioned your mother and grandfather," she says eagerly. "Here's my second question: tell me more about your family!"
"That's technically not a question," Theodore says. They both ignore him. In the next moment, he hunches over with a wince that Hermione doesn't notice, but Theodore gets the hint.
"Fine, fine, sorry," he mutters in a tone too low for human ears to catch. "I'll just shut up then and let you get on with it, shall I?"
"You already know my father's name. My mother is Narcissa Black," Draco is telling Hermione, whose expression of dawning wonder is similar to that of someone tasting chocolate for the first time. His eyes are fixed unblinkingly to her face. "The Houses of Black and Malfoy are the two greatest and most powerful dynasties in Hell. Obviously, I'm a pure-blooded demon. So is Theo here – he's from the House of Nott. We're of the full blood, but it's possible for half-bloods to exist. Half-bloods," he says with scorn, "are the product of unions between demons and humans, and they're really nothing more than glorified humans; they can do magic if they try very hard, but they have only a fraction of our powers. They're quite common. In fact, there's even one living not too far from you."
"I wish I were a half-blood," Hermione says enviously. "Imagine being able to do magic…"
She's unconscious of the wistful tinge softening her voice. Theodore shakes his head.
"Honestly, Hermione, you've already come as close as any Mudblood ever could," he says, not unkindly. "You've made two demon deals. One's with the devil, whom no Mudblood has managed to summon for fifty years, and one's with his son. That's truly impressive."
"I suppose so," she says unenthusiastically. "But I'd still take being even half a demon over being fully human. Third question: who's the half-blood you said lives near me?"
She is being engulfed by a sneaking suspicion. In her mind, she sees the image of a bespectacled boy with eyes like unreality and a remarkable family motto. She's not surprised when Theodore lets out a bark of laughter.
"It's Potter, Harry Potter," he says, with a cruel smile aimed in Draco's direction. "Draco absolutely can't stand him."
"He's just such a hypocrite," Draco snarls, jack-knifing up in Hermione's bed. She can feel the force of his rage all the way over from her desk; it makes the blood dance in her veins and spices the air with danger. "The Potters were damn near as pure as anyone in Hell, and then his father James Potter turned into a blood traitor and ran off with his Mudblood whore… now Potter likes to prance around the Mudblood world, pretending he isn't a bloody half-blood, like the treacherous little do-gooder he is." He rakes his hand viciously through his hair, silver eyes glowing.
Wow. Hermione is glad she's not Harry Potter. She thinks back to his tattoo, and lets out a tiny snort of laughter. That Sartre quotation takes on extra irony if you've been to actual Hell.
"I've heard of a Harry Potter who hangs around the Church of Hogwarts on St George's Avenue," she says with carefully studied unconcern. "That's run by Albus Dumbledore, isn't it? Where do Dumbledore and Hogwarts come into this whole thing?"
"That's two questions," Draco says, viciously pleased.
Hermione is immediately indignant. "No! One of those was a rhetorical question! I'm not having that!"
"I'm afraid you haven't a choice in the matter, my pet," he says mockingly. "I did warn you to be careful…"
"Ugh. Fine. Just answer then!" She finishes with a little catlike hiss of frustration.
"That was a surprisingly hot sound you just made," he comments, his eyebrows raising. "Can you do it again? It makes my dick hard."
She simmers in embarrassed irritation, doing her best to ignore the very prominent evidence of his statement. He laughs, delighted, before taking pity on her.
"So, answers four and five. The Church of Hogwarts was founded by a blood traitor named Dumbledore," he explains. "Blood traitor – that means a pureblood who's turned his back on his people and is putting the benefit of Mudbloods above the benefit of demons. His so-called church isn't a church at all. It's a secret organisation of demon hunters, dedicated to stamping out people like me. They call themselves the Order of the Phoenix. Their entire purpose is hunting down and killing demons." He sees her open her mouth. "No, I am not going to tell you how they manage to kill demons," he says, rolling his eyes. "Do I look like an idiot to you?"
"Yes," she says snidely.
"Ha ha," he deadpans. Her expression of barely contained eagerness has not escaped him. "You'd better not be getting any ideas, Hermione," he adds warningly. "Like Theo said, because of the deals you've made, you're the closest thing a Mudblood can get to a pureblood and they'll consider you an enemy just like they do demons. If the Order ever discovers you belong to me, you'll be dead before you can blink those pretty little eyes at them."
"I'm not getting any ideas!" she defends herself. Then she remembers which statement she ought to be objecting to first. "And I don't belong to you!"
He only smirks, settling himself more comfortably on her mattress. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much," he drawls. The remark is directed at Theodore, which gives Hermione a visible jolt; she'd forgotten he was even in the room. He's slid off her bed and is sitting cross-legged on her floor beside it, spinning a silver ring around one finger.
Hermione cuts in before Theodore can respond. "I'm really tired now," she says. It's a lie: the exhilaration of new knowledge is still burning in her blood. But she's remembered that this knowledge comes at a price.
"You still have two questions left," Theodore points out silkily from the floor.
"I'll take them tomorrow," she says quickly. She takes a deep breath and faces Draco, who is regarding her with lazy amusement. "How… how would you like your five kisses? I can give them to you now, or…" she trails off hesitantly.
"Don't worry about that now, my pet," he says. "I shall be collecting them later." He pauses ominously. "There will be interest."
"No there won't," she says instantly. "We agreed, a kiss per question. Nothing more and nothing less."
"Alas, as clever as she is beautiful," Draco sighs, shaking his head at Theodore. "What a misfortune for me!"
Theodore is laughing, but Hermione crimsons. She knows she is clever but she has never been called beautiful; in fact, she isn't being called beautiful now, is she? Not by a demon whose every word is touched with mockery. She glares furiously to cover her confusion.
"I said, I'm tired," she growls. "Go away now, alright?"
For a moment, it looks as though Draco will not move, and her breath catches with a combination of ire and anticipation. But finally he releases an exaggerated sigh and rolls out of her bed.
"One day," he says, "you'll be begging me to bring you to bed, not leave it. But today is not that day. Sweet dreams, Hermione." He grabs onto Theodore, tugging him up. The two of them turn on their heels and teleport out.
With their departure, it feels as though all the air has rushed back into the room. Hermione takes a huge gulp of precious oxygen and slowly moseys over to her bed. Her head is spinning with all the new information her brain has just absorbed. It's also spinning with something else: an inkling of the same dark tendril of insatiable curiosity which first urged her to pick up Secrets of the Darkest Arts and changed the course of her life.
But she quickly shelves that thought. There'll be time enough for that tomorrow.
She slips under the covers. Her bed smells of smoke and ashes, like roses, lust and lies. Hermione allows herself one deep inhale of Draco Malfoy's scent before she resolutely pushes it away and forces herself to go to sleep.
AN: Here's your second update of tonight! Enjoy. Dedicated to .cheng for being lovely.
I've been updating one story or another daily for almost a week now, and I have to say, I'm not sure how much longer I can do it... I love writing, and sharing it with you all, but I don't really get many reviews per chapter (compared to the huge number of people I can see reading). Since I never want to be one of those people who insists on a minimum number of reviews before updating, I do wonder if my chapters would benefit from being a bit more spaced out. If you're reading this, and you're someone who's favourited/followed but not reviewed, please consider dropping me a sentence or two! I really hope I don't sound mercenary about this. Thank you for understanding!
