A/N: Hi again! Another update, and another series of thanks. Thank you to A Very Interested Reader, who was nice enough to kindly review yet again. I looked around for a scene where Lucius Malfoy lost his job as school governor, and I haven't found anything yet. If anyone does, please tell me. If it is true, let's just say the Ministry is so corrupted now he became reinstated, k? lol. Thank you to my twin betas, Lucy and Amy, and to Lbj5411 (pen name ashes of roses).  Ur story sounds sooo good!!! Can't wait to read it. Meanwhile, the rest of you should read this next chapter (I quite like it, but it can be perfected, as with all writing.) And don't forget to review!!! Those who don't will be plagued by loads of junk email chain letters.

Chapter Twenty Three: The Taste of Blood

Draco was walking through the forest in a kind of daze, not unlike the horrific state of dumb obedience he felt on that fateful day when he murdered both beauty and innocence. His head was still buzzing, partly from the instructions about his initiation and partly from the physical aching he was feeling; Voldemort had of course thrown the torturous Cruciatus Curse on him a couple of times, but it was far less than what Draco was always used to. To him pain was not more than a mere background noise, which can be ignored if one becomes accustomed to it. One thing he would always remember as being taught by his father was that pain, which breaks those who are already weak, only makes the strong even stronger. Yet Draco was never quite sure if he had truly been made stronger, or if all those silent years of agony and torture had broken something inside him—something indescribable, yet still incomprehensibly vital in some form. He wondered if he'd ever find something that would somehow mend him; yet he knew that ever since the moment Selene's blood touched his lips, he would be cursed. How awfully ironic that his curse would stem from his first love.

He reviewed the night's events in his mind, the scenes flashing like a movie on rewind.  Draco had seen something he had been dreading to see for most of his adolescence-- Voldemort himself, his face uncovered with a cloak. He was unsurprisingly snake-like, with white skin that glowed like a  pallid form of some sick moonlight. He had fierce, fiery, red eyes, whose slits were like a cat's, and his nose (if it could be called that) was no more than a pair of snakelike slits. He had been imagining potential terrible sights for years, so it didn't really shock him. Yet what unnerved him was the fact that this wasn't some terrible monster conjured from the fires of hell that one would see in a mythological fairy tale. Draco knew that at one point in the past, he had actually been human; and the whole potential of evil in human beings was what terrified him: for evil, unleashed, is in its most lethal form when carried out by human beings. He mused that God might use natural forces to do his work, but the devil only uses humans. Did he believe in God and the devil? He wasn't so sure anymore. After what he said he'd do in front of those congregation of Death-Eaters, he wasn't sure what to believe anymore, because he never believed in his wildest dreams that he would be turning into the monster he would be if he followed this path.

After he remembered what he saw, he then remembered what he heard. Voldemort told him that to be initiated, all Death-Eaters must give up what is most precious to them. Barty Crouch had given up all ties with his father, Peter Pettigrew gave up his best friends in the entire world, and his father—his father gave up his own son. Not in a literal sense, but Lucius Malfoy had given up the ability to have any feelings at all for his son. This explained a lot, but even considering the fact that his father considered it a fair bargain made Draco hate him even more. What made him even more sick to the stomach was that Voldemort probably wanted this particular thing from Lucius because he had big plans for his son—plans that probably involved him being hurt in some way or another, and therefore requiring complete indifference from his father.

            Strangely enough, he wasn't worried about his own sacrifice—but only because his father had done it for him. He had wondered for years why on Earth his father would want him cursed. But after tonight, he knew: what Draco valued most was his independence, his free will, and that fateful night 7 years ago it had been given up—a most bloody and cruel sacrifice. His life was cursed, and therefore he had no will, because whatever his will wanted, whatever it most passionately desired, it was doomed to never have: perhaps to taste, in fleeting instances of emotion and happiness, (to agonize him even more), but never to fully have. This was his curse, and that was why he had given up, a long time ago, ever wanting anything. Money could buy him virtually anything, but he never wanted anything, because he knew whatever he enjoyed would be cursed in some way. And in the rare instances when he did, he paid dearly. He loved Quidditch, but he knew he'd never be as good as Harry Potter. He wanted to get top marks in school, but he knew he'd never beat Hermione. Hermione—the Merlin-forsaken girl was only too quick to remind him. He remembered what she had said to him in their second year when he had become Seeker: "At least no one on our team had to buy themselves in; they got in on pure talent." And he had reacted in the only way how, to insult her where it hurt most and call her "Mudblood." At that moment, he was glad that when he saw the hurt in her eyes: he wanted to hurt her, just as she hurt him, and reminded him of things he had always tried to forget. He had lost independence, being a slave to his fate. He thought acridly that even his free will had been taken away from him against his will.

            His thoughts, which were whirling and angering him to the point where he was getting a massive headache, were cut sharply when he noticed a sprawled figure laying on the grass. He took out his wand and lit the tip. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat—speak of the devil….

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            While Dumbledore looked desolately solemn, Mrs. Weasley's face was wracked with fear and worry.

            "What do you mean she's gone?" she gasped. Ron and Harry had burst into Dumbledore's office, to find Arthur and Molly Weasley there with him. After struggling against the iron-tight hug of Ron's mother, Harry and Ron had managed to breathe out what they had just seen.

            "And you say the last person she was with was Lucius Malfoy?" Arthur Weasley asked. Harry and Ron nodded. Speechless, Mrs. Weasley could only silently open and close her mouth like an astonished fish.

            "The poor dear," she managed to croak out.

            "Indeed, Miss Granger has acted with an indiscretion that I believed she wasn't capable of. Yet how I am sorely reminded that these are after all, still children, and how sometimes our expectations are impossibly high." He turned to Harry. "May I see that map, please?"   

            Harry took out the map, now thoroughly crumpled in frustration, and handed it to Dumbledore. Mrs. Weasley went and despite being a good foot shorter than Ron, managed to envelope him in a motherly hug. She was still not over the fact that she had almost lost her youngest son that day.

            "Harry, how did you get that kind of map? I've never really heard of anything like it," Arthur Weasley asked.

            Harry bit his lip. His own father, along with Sirius, Lupin, and even Wormtail had made that map together, in the times of their carefree, mischievous, youth and friendship. Fred and George Weasley had stolen it from Filch's office and had given it to Harry as a gift.

            "It is of no consequence where he got it from, as long as it has been proven quite useful," Dumbledore remarked, as he often did to save Harry.

            Mrs. Weasley finally let go of Ron, who was now thoroughly red in the ears with embarrassment. "If you'll excuse me for saying, Headmaster, but I do believe the school has become too dangerous for our children."

            Dumbledore was not offended. "You are not the only one who believes this. Look at all the mail I've received. Parents asking to have their children removed from the school. And this new incident will definitely not help." He motioned to a rather large pile of letters in a corner of his office. Every few minutes an owl would swoop in and drop yet another one on the pile.

"What do you mean? You're not going to shut down the school, are you? Where will I go?" Harry asked. The Dursleys home was the last place he'd want to be in the middle of all this.

"If a student is seriously hurt, I'm afraid I have no choice, Harry. And do not worry. I will arrange a safe place for you, as I always have." Dumbledore's words were painful to hear. Safe? Harry did not want to be in a safe place. He wanted to help, to do something.

" What are the chances that we'll find Hermione…safe?" She barely asked the last part of her question. Ron had been worryingly silent the entire time.

            Dumbledore looked older and wearier than ever. "At this point, Molly, we can only hope. We can only hope."

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            What Draco saw would be one of many images that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He saw Hermione, lying unconscious, the grass around her face darkened with blood. A violent bruise was beginning to spread across her face, which had strands of her big curls strewn across it. Her nose and lip were bleeding. Her face and hands were frighteningly pale. Her whole body seemed like a weak, aching bruise.

            Then his mind flashed back to a scene which he hadn't paid much attention to at first. The person he had been watching more than anyone that night was his father, and he had overheard him saying something to an overgrown Death Eater who resembled troll slightly, probably Marcus Flint's father. He had said chuckling, "No, I'm afraid I can't make it to your dinner party tonight. I have some….unfinished business to attend to." He was grinning that horrible grim of his.

            Draco noted that his father had arrived late for the meeting with the Death-Eaters. Unfinished business—how many times had he heard his father say that, and disappear to the underground dungeons of their Manor, followed by a series of wrenching screams and then an awful, nauseating silence. Draco had pretended not to hear it for many years, until he had learned how to magically soundproof his room.

            So he knew that Hermione was in very, very deep trouble. How stupid these Gryffindors are, and yet so lucky, he thought. He had been told to leave early, and it was lucky, very lucky that he found her before his father did. He could have just ignored her and kept on walking, could he? No, he couldn't. He bent over, and began picking her up in his arms. She felt just as icy as she looked. Her eyelids fluttered when he touched her, and she began making noises as if she would wake up soon. When he accidentally squeezed a part on her waist, she let out a sharp yell, which startled him so much he nearly dropped her. But she wasn't quite fully conscious.

            As he got back up, her head fell back, extending her long, white neck. She was wearing a skirt, and Draco could feel the skin of her thighs on his fingers. He could not help noticing how sad it was, how his father could bring himself to hurt such an innocent and beautiful girl. He did a double take. Beautiful? The liquor must be still addling my brains, he thought.

            When he reached the trunk of the tree leading into the passageway, he stopped. Putting her gently down, he opened the door, picked her up again, and managed to climb inside, closing the lid of the trunk behind him. 

            After what seemed like forever, he finally reached his room. His arms were aching—he had been carrying her for a while, and he didn't want to use a spell to make her float, he thought it would be too risky and didn't want her head banging against the walls. He opened the door with an alohomora, and set her on his bed, wiping the sweat off his brow. She began squirming and Draco knelt closer to hear what she might say.

            She began mumbling in delusion, "Ron, where did you go? Why did you stop holding me? It hurts so much, Ron, why does it hurt? I'm sorry for what I said, just make it go away….Ron…" She slightly raised her hands and touched his chest, pulling him closer, nuzzling her head into his shoulder. Draco internally smiled when he imagined the look on her face if she would realize who she really was snuggling at the moment.  Nevertheless, he broke free slightly and muttered, "Ennervate."

            She immediately opened her eyes and froze in horror when she saw she had her arms around his neck. She thought he'd be angry or hurl an insult to get her filthy hands off him, but he was merely grinning.

            "What—Where am I? What happened?" She said. She shot up from the bed and immediately winced in pain. 

            "First of all, you're in my room. Secondly, I was about to ask you what happened."

            She gulped, pushing the initial shock of why Draco would care about all this in the first place. "Well I was in the forest, and I remember your father, grinning at me, and….and…."

            "And?"

            "And…..nothing else. I don't remember anything else. Except that right now I was just having a strange dream."

            He raised and eyebrow and smirked, amused "About Ron?"

            "How did you-"

            "Well while I brought you here you were mumbling about incoherently like an idiot. It was quite funny, actually."

            "I feel awful. Am I hurt?"

He stared at her bruised face; there was crusted blood on her nose and swollen lips. He crossed his arms and said casually, "Well, I would personally register the huge bruises on your face as being hurt, yes. Dear old Dad must have been quite angry at something (Draco thought it was probably him). It's not in his usual style to be so…messy."

Hermione glared. "That's disgusting."

But then Draco's casual tone changed with what he said next. "It's actually lucky that you don't remember what happened to you. You're probably better off not having those memories." At least he wished he never had memories like that. He lowered his eyelids and added quietly, "I know he's a bastard, my father."

            Hermione tried not to gape in shock at what she had just heard. She wished she had a tape recorder or something. Then another thought occurred to her, making her more surprised.

"Did you…did you… save me?"

Suddenly his face lit into a smirk; it was amazing how quickly he masked what he had just said. He answered, "Don't tell me you were expecting some chivalric rescue? You have Potter for that. No, I just happened to come across you while you were…indisposed. I brought you back here."

"But you still saved me from, I don't want to think about what."

"Twice," he reminded.

"But…why?"

Why? What could he say, when he himself didn't know why he was doing all this?

"I think that liquor over there has deprived me of all sense of reasoning."

Hermione pursed her lips in frustration, which was painful to do. She wanted to leave, to get away from the way he was looking at her, seemingly less threatening that she had ever seen him before. It all made her unexplainably comfortable. " I'd better go to the hospital wing."

"And how are you going to explain to Madame Pomfrey why you look like you've been tortured and beaten during the ungodly hours of the night?"

"I don't know. She doesn't ask too many questions. Besides, I think Dumbledore and everyone should know the truth. I don't care how much trouble I'll get in." She tried getting up, but strangely, he didn't do anything to stop her. He just stared at her with the remnants of his previous smirk on his face. Hermione got up, testing her shaky legs. But as soon as she applied any pressure to them, white hot pain flashed through her body, and she straddled back onto the bed, groaning through her teeth.

Draco's smile grew wider. "I knew you wouldn't be able to walk in your condition. The only way you'll get there is if I carry you. And I absolutely will not."

The last thing Hermione wanted to do was ask for his help again, but she had no choice. She looked pleadingly at him.

"No, you're not going anywhere." He firmly repeated.

"Why in the hell not?"

He hesitated, but answered. "Because I know my father. He'll be looking for you. He doesn't like losing victims."

The blood in her veins seemed to freeze. She gulped. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Don't worry," he said, as he matter-of-factly got off the bed and started rummaging through his trunk. Hermione stared at him incredulously as he came back with a few vales and containers with various potions in them. He uncorked a small one containing some blue liquid. "Here, this should ease the pain a bit."

She hesitatingly stretched out her fingers and took the vile, drinking its contents. Immediately a comforting wave passed through her, stopping the overall ache she was feeling. He continued to pour some potion onto a very expensive handkerchief and dabbed it gently onto the bruise on her face. Then he took her fingers and put them on the cloth. "Press it here, it'll stop the swelling." He got up and started rummaging some more. Hermione was staring at him as if he had grown an extra head. She thought that maybe she was in some bizarre dream.

"Looks like you've done this before," she said, holding the potioned cloth to her face, almost feeling the bruise near her eye shrink.

"Not to anyone else besides me," he replied a little tightly. Draco remembered that the house-elves in the Manor were never allowed to heal his bruises. It would be part of his punishment to endure them, or at least to force him to learn how to deal with them himself.

He remembered how she had cried in pain when he picked her up. It still tore at him, but he hid it, along with everything else. "I think you're hurt somewhere near your middle."

Hermione squirmed. "No I'm not."

Draco sighed and pressed his fingers against her ribs. "OW!" she cried out. He rolled his eyes and smiled.

"C'mon Granger, now's not the time to be shy. Just raise your shirt a little."

Hermione reluctantly shrugged off her robes and raised her shirt, but the instant she saw it, she closed her eyes and looked away.

"Jesus," Draco muttered. Above her waist was a brilliantly purple, bluish bruise which had spread to across half her body. "He must have kicked you or something, I don't know." He began pouring more of some potion on the bruise. He was touching her so lightly, as if he were afraid she'd break if he pressed  too hard. He was shaking his head. "And to think I saw him right probably right after he did this, talking and socializing like he was at a dinner party."

Hermione opened her eyes wide. "You saw him? What did he look like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Was he injured? Tell me I at least put up a fight." She grabbed his shirt and looked at him, her eyes intense and alive with a rage he had never seen before in her. "Tell me I hurt him."

Draco's mind traveled back again. "He must have healed anything obvious. But now that I think of it, he was limping slightly. I remember making a mental note about asking him that."

Hermione drew back, slightly placated but still angry. Then she realized. "What if…what if your father comes looking for me here?"

"I have an Invisibility cloak. I'll hide you. And if he discovered you anyway, I'll tell him some rubbish about how Voldemort needs you, 'cause you're Potter's friend."

At this Hermione pushed him violently away, as if his touch was poisonous. "You mean you actually….speak with him?".

"No, I don't. But Father doesn't know that," he said indignantly. But it was always impossible to tell from those eyes, so crystal clear and yet so unreadable, whether or not he was lying.

Her voice was quavering in fury "You're probably preparing to become one of them, aren't you? How could you possibly—after all the horrific things you know firsthand they do-"

"Listen, I'm not-"

"I'm getting out of here. I don't ever want to even see you again. And don't think I'm not telling Dumbledore."

Rage began bubbling inside Draco like a vat of searing oil. He had just saved her life, taken her into his room, healed her wounds, and even slightly opened up to her, saying things he had never said out loud to anyone else before. And she was throwing it back in his face.
            "I should have just left you there," he sneered, "at least now I wouldn't have your filthy common blood staining my satin sheets."

"You know what? I'm sick of all your pureblood bullshit. My blood looks exactly the same, feels exactly the same, tastes exactly the same as yours."

But he sat there, just as icy as she had seen him all those years. "It's foul in a way that can't be seen, and can't be taken away. No matter what you do, you'll just be common trash you're entire life."

Hermione felt her hear beating so hard she  was afraid it would explode. She wanted to do something drastic, something that would shock him.

"Don't believe me? Well let me prove it to you." She had been biting her lip so hard that the cut on it opened afresh—ruby red blood was trickling down her lips. She grabbed him by his robes and violently pulled his face towards hers and kissed him. He had gone frigid in absolute shock and she felt his face searing. She put her lips in his mouth, making sure he tasted her blood. Suddenly he pushed her back so hard her back slammed against the bed frame. She tried not to show the pain.

And then she saw him looking at her. For a split second, it was not rage or hate. It was shock and hurt and--and vulnerability. For the first time she had seen him unguarded and susceptible. And it intrigued her.

But a second later he spat bitterly on the ground and wiped his mouth. His usual pale face was magnificently red. He was trembling, shaking, as if some foundations in him had been utterly ravaged. He grabbed her shoulders, and she stiffened them in defiance. "After all I did…How dare you-"

But they were interrupted by the slam of the door opening. Harry and Ron burst in, heaving and out of breath. Harry was clutching a stitch in his side from running. Ron was staring at them, registering Hermione's not-yet-fully-healed, and Draco grabbing her as if he wanted to kill her. His eyes narrowed and the fury in his face gave it an almost feral quality.

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"Mr. Malfoy? May I help you?" came Madame Pomfrey's kind voice.

He turned. "Er, no. I just came to see the famous Miss Riddle for myself."

"Does the headmaster know you're here? He never informed me you'd be visiting," she said reluctantly.

"Yes, yes, of course he does. I just didn't want to bother anyone. How is she coming along?"

"Oh, she'll be fine by morning, after I administer a few potions. She's miraculous, that one." She said with a slight smile and turned to get some potion from the shelves. At that moment, with a slight movement of his arm, he dipped the blood red contents of a tiny vile into one of the pain-relieving potions on the desk near her bed. The potion looked unchanged.

"Miraculous indeed," he muttered.

Madame Pomfrey turned around. "I beg your pardon, did you say something Mr. Mafloy?"

He smiled the crooked, unsettling smile of his. "I was just wondering what you are doing up so late, Madame. Expecting any other patients?"

She looked evasive. "I am merely following instructions. You must speak with the Headmaster."

"I will," he said as he nodded his head and left. As he walked out the door, underneath his robes, he was fingering a single, sleek feather, colored brilliantly blue and shining under the moonlight.

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A/N: I hope u guys liked this chapter, and thanks for allowing me a little indulgence in writing a chapter that is completely Draco/Hermione.  They're my favorite couple and I love their dynamics. Unrestrained passion versus icy control. Wild and dark versus calm and pale. Slytherin versus Griffindor. I am planning to take scenes from this story and making a whole new one just about them. Anyways, I promise that Eve will wake up in the next chapter and shed some light. Also in the next installment: We discover something about Ron and see what does when he sees Hermione and Draco. Lupin shows up (yay!!!) and Harry and Ron plan on visiting Doom's Hill. Oh yeah, and not to mention a life-altering accident. * smiles sneakily *

Do want to read it now? DO you? Then review!!!!