tw: violence

Harry's information from Dumbledore the following morning brought the weight of her promise down upon her. A Dark magic secret that Dumbledore himself could not extract about Voldemort…and it was far too early to ask her new soulmate about it.

Hermione remembered she had actually wanted to talk with Dumbledore about turning Malfoy before the Christmas break. She doubted the headmaster would have suggested signing a blood contract, shooting an overpowered Calming Charm directly into each other's temples, and then dozing in and out of reality like a couple of common stoners, but Hermione was still certain her idea would work. Maybe it was better not to ask an 150 year old wizard about the subtleties of converting an anxious teenage boy anyway.

She was brought back to reality by Harry's offensive consideration of Ron's dumbass hot take on how to get a secret that the most powerful wizard of all time could not find, and stalked off to the library to start the research that she knew nobody else would fucking bother to do. It's only the end of the world, why would anyone else want to go to the library and try to learn how to avoid it?

Harry's shitty stunt and terrible approach to Slughorn in Potions class later that day pushed her over the edge, and by midnight Hermione was drinking heavily and burning curses into the fake grass of her and Malfoy's new hideout. Her cowardly promise-maker approached warily, and she charmed the notes she had brought with her to form a paper bird that sailed over to him.

"There, that's the theory for your spellwork," she said, drawing an elaborate potions pattern into the greenery and setting it on fire. "Do it yourself. I'll keep watch."

Malfoy stared at her, looking annoyed and unimpressed. "What are you mad about," he said, more accusatory than questioning.

"Doesn't fucking matter," she said shortly. His eyes rolled dramatically up into his skull.

"Is it something stupid," Malfoy said, like he was reluctantly going to listen to her problems. Hermione laughed and spat at the dying fire pattern in the grass.

"Fuck you. Let's say, it's not any more stupid than getting upset because it's harder to kill people than talk racist shit about them."

"You know," Malfoy said, falsely bright with eyes wide in feigned surprise, "I just can't figure out why Weasel didn't want to fuck you instead of that Lavender girl? Becau-"

Drunk and enraged, Hermione cut him off with a winding hex. Malfoy fell to his knees with the breath knocked out of him, and she threw aside her wand and glass to run over to him, pulling him up by his hair and slapping him across the face.

That was where her luck ran out, and he grabbed her offending hand, twisting her arm behind her.

"No-" she shrieked, but not unreasonably Malfoy ignored her, pushing her to the ground with his knee pressed into her spine. Hermione reached her other hand around to scratch at him but he held her elbow in a lock above her head.

She could hear him laugh above her, and then his breath tickled her ear as he leant down to rasp what words he could while getting his breath back.

"You're fucking vile," Malfoy said quietly, his words still lilting with laughter. Hermione was surprised that his comment hurt, but then anger clouded everything else from her mind.

She twisted through the spinal pain to roll onto her back underneath him, getting her left hand free in the process and dragging her nails down his face. Skin and blood caught under her fingers, and Malfoy immediately let go of her right hand to strike her across the face in response.

Hermione spat to the side, but couldn't tell if he'd caused her mouth to bleed. She felt Malfoy's hand catch her jaw at its tilted angle, pressing her face to the side. Her mind blanked with unknown fear until she felt his teeth sink into the base of her exposed throat.

Hermione screamed and pushed against him, managing to shove him off. She tried to get up and get to her wand, but Malfoy beat her to the draw, and he threw her against the trunk of the nearest tree with a hex.

There's definitely blood now, she thought, her brain unhelpfully occupied with the taste of metal pooling in her mouth as her adversary walked towards her. Hermione tried to push herself up but Malfoy hit her with another spell and a sting whipped across her face, dropping her to the ground again.

If this ends in a drunken homicide, it was all for nothing, Hermione realised - but the terrifying thought of such a critical failure quickly died. Malfoy ducked down to her stinging and bruised face, pulled her towards him by her braids and kissed her.

She shrieked in response but the sound died in his mouth. Blood spilled down her chin, and as Malfoy drew away he wiped at it with his thumb.

Hermione didn't move, frozen in stunned silence. Malfoy threw back his head and laughed, like he did a million years or two weeks ago by the wine crates at Slughorn's party.

"Amazing," he said, spitting someone's blood out of his mouth - who knew whose blood it was at this point. "I get why you do it now. I feel totally alive."

He pointed his wand between her eyes and the stinging hex healed within seconds. "I'm gonna leave that mark though," Malfoy said, pointing at the right side of her face, and Hermione reached up automatically to touch it. "Give you something to show off in the lions den. I'm sure war wounds play well with your lot."

He picked up her magical paper bird filled with strong relaxant and sleeping theory, tucked it inside his blazer pocket, and strolled out of the Room like he hadn't a care in the world. Hermione didn't move for several minutes before following him out.

She brushed Ginny and Harry's questions off – Harry even looked like he believed that she hit herself on the restricted section ladder trying to find information about horcruxes, which was particularly stupid. The jet black owls returned in a few nights with expensive gifts and pleading requests to return.