Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter. He belongs to J.K. Rowling, whom I heartily thank for having created him. I just happen to have been knocked in the head by my muse one evening, and took it upon myself to write this bit of fiction based on the characters she created.

Author's Note: I've never written fanfiction before, so you'll have to bear with me. It's rated R for language and possible violence in later chapters, and because at this point I really don't know where exactly the story is going to go. At the moment, I'm letting inspiration guide my hand, though I suspect it's going to take some help. This piece was begun before Book 6 came out, and I've decided not to let that volume influence my take on events as I have them written here. Also, I'd like to thank, in advance, all my online friends who I'm going to pester into reading this, as well as those people I'll more than likely turn to for help when my muse deserts me. And, of course, my husband, who has always been my biggest fan as well as my most honest critic. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'm going to try, very hard, not to disappoint.

Chapter 4

"I cannot believe you're going through with this!"

For the first time, I was glad that Harry was non-corporeal. Judging by the expression on his face, he was mad enough to throw something at me, although the insane part of me that had agreed to analyze Malfoy's blood sample also found Harry's anger mildly amusing. "What is it that bothers you more, Harry?" I asked, turning around to face the ghost with a hand on my hip. "Is it my going to a bar in the middle of the night, or the fact that I'm doing it because Malfoy asked me to?"

"You heard what he said, that this thing has killed people! Muggles, just like you're supposed to be! If he really is an Auror, he should know better than to put you in this kind of danger!"

I glared at him, and reached through him for my purse. "I can take care of myself, Harry. Now, why don't you run along and vanish into thin air like a good little ghost so you don't scare any Muggles?" It was cruel of me, I knew, but after four years of his whining I was beginning to get tired of my ghostly baby-sitter. Having him hanging about as a ghost had helped me overcome my grief at his death rather quickly, and I was starting to wonder if he was going to haunt me for the rest of my life. This was what seven years of repressed feelings had done to us. Lucky us.

As I left my flat, I saw him hanging in the air, still looking as furious as a ghost could look, and I closed the door without another thought. I'd heard of the bar where Malfoy wanted to meet me, and my everyday attire was hardly suitable for such a place, so I'd had to ask the girl across the hall for something to wear. Elizabeth, her name was, and she was the closest thing I had to a friend. I didn't feel terribly comfortable borrowing clothes from her, but she'd seemed happy enough to help, and I had to admit she'd done better at picking out an outfit for me than I would have.

The bar was in the college district, so not all that far from my flat, which was a good thing, because the shoes I was wearing were killing my feet. I never wore heels, but I figured if Malfoy could learn to blend in with Muggles, the last thing he needed was me showing up in my lab coat and blowing his cover. So, Elizabeth had loaned me a pair of black jeans that fit a bit snugly, and a flowing silk blouse that was crimson-colored, as well as the low-cut boots with spiked heels, and as I set out down the street I felt nothing at all like myself.

I'd also borrowed a short leather jacket from her, although it wasn't the slightest bit warm in the night air. What Harry was so worried about, I couldn't begin to guess, unless he knew something I didn't and he was just keeping it from me. Harry was the only one who knew I'd been trying to learn wandless magic in our seventh year, and I wondered if he still remembered it. Of all the witches and wizards I'd ever met, Dumbledore was the only one I'd ever seen cast a spell without a wand.

I'd asked McGonagall about it once, and she'd told me that it could take centuries for a wizard to learn even a simple spell like Leviosa without a wand, but it was possible. Even Voldemort had been helpless without his wand, even though with it he'd been one of the most powerful wizards of our time. Still, there were always things to be discovered about the wizarding world, and I'd decided at the beginning of our last year at school that by the end of the year I would know how to cast at least one spell without using my wand.

Harry was the only one who knew I'd succeeded in my goal, but not even he knew how far I'd stretched myself. I'd wanted to keep it a secret, perhaps because some part of me already knew that Harry was going to take the Gryffindor way out, and after he died there was no one I trusted enough to tell, especially with my decision to return to Muggle life. It was as if I had a secret weapon, and I felt a lot less helpless as I entered the bar, my head high as I searched for the table Malfoy had said he would be seated at.

With his head bowed, his silver-blond hair was easy enough to spot, and I made my way over to him, ignoring the interested stares I was attracting from around the room. "Is this seat taken?" I asked, tapping on the table with a forefinger to get his attention.

Malfoy's gaze snapped up at once, and again I was reminded of a dangerous, caged animal. It was unsettling to have him look at me, and I decided to stare at the table instead of his face. "No," he replied at last, his voice containing hints of the danger I saw in his eyes. "Please, have a seat."

I dropped into the chair gratefully, still not looking at him, settling my purse in my lap, and I left it up to him to decide whether or not we were attracting any undue attention. "What should I call you?" I asked, surprising myself by not sounding as nervous as I suddenly felt.

"Drake," was his reply. I could feel him looking at me again, apparently satisfied that no one unusual was paying us any mind. "Do you have what I asked for?"

I nodded, unzipping my purse and retrieving several folded-up documents. "There were definitely some anomalies in the sample you gave me, but I don't have the equipment to determine whether your suspicions are correct," I murmured, leaning forward to pass him the papers. "Those are the results, however, so maybe the data will tell you more than it did me."

He was silent for a moment, and I glanced up to see him studying the papers with an intense frown. Abruptly, he folded them up and shoved them into his shirt pocket, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. "Come on. We have to get out of here."

For precisely three seconds, I wondered if I was insane enough to argue with him. One look up into his eyes convinced me I wasn't, and I allowed him to pull me to my feet. "What's wrong?" I asked, craning my neck to look behind me as he led me toward the door.

"Don't look back," he hissed at me, his arm going around my waist. I started to protest, but he leaned close to whisper in my ear, "It's here, and it's seen us. If you want to stay alive, I suggest you follow my lead and don't argue with me."

We were crossing the threshold now, leaving the bar behind, and I felt a surge of panic as I realized we were exposed, in the open street, which was suddenly deserted. "How --?" I began to ask, but I didn't get past the first word before Malfoy cut me off.

"I don't think it's recognized me," he said in a breathless whisper. I looked up at his face, and there was no sign of fear at all. His eyes glittered, and I realized that this dangerous way of life actually appealed to him. We rounded a corner, found ourselves on another deserted street, and my stomach flipped over. Everything felt wrong, but I didn't know how to pass this information along without being silenced again.

All at once, before I knew what was happening, we'd stopped under a lamppost, and the expression on Malfoy's face was terrifying, because it exactly mirrored the expression on Harry's when he'd faced Voldemort. He leaned toward me, and I brought up a hand, pushing against his chest. "What are you doing?" I squeaked.

"Don't look," he whispered, ignoring my attempt to push him away and bringing his face so close to mine our noses were almost touching. "Close your eyes, Hermione, and count to one hundred, slowly."

I shut my eyes and began to count, slowly, feeling goose bumps rise on my arms. I felt his lips brush across mine, and very nearly opened my eyes then, but a heartbeat later it was over, and he had moved away from me, leaving me alone in the light. The very thought of Malfoy kissing me, even the brush of lips as he'd just done, was revolting, and it took all the willpower I had not to turn and flee blindly into the night, but there was an almost tangible presence that kept me rooted to the spot.

I heard voices, dimly, as if I'd been surrounded by an invisible wall and sounds were bouncing off it instead of reaching me. Twenty-one. Twenty-two. A flash of light in the darkness on the other side of my eyelids. Thirty-nine. Forty. A faint cry, like a scream smothered by a pillow. Sixty-seven. The acrid smell of sulfur. Eighty-two. A howl.

I'd reached ninety-five before I heard Malfoy speak. "All right, Granger. It's over."

Opening my eyes, I took in Malfoy's tattered appearance, but there was no sign of the creature, and I realized it must have escaped again. I was about to ask when I noticed that there was blood seeping between his fingers where he pressed them against the right side of his neck. "You're wounded," I said, taking a step toward him.

There was murder in his eyes, and his expression stopped me cold. "I'll live," he spat out through gritted teeth.

"Don't be stupid, Malfoy. You're barely standing on your feet, and there's no way you'll be able to Apparate in this condition." I'd seen enough injuries in my days at Hogwarts to know a serious one when I saw it. I stepped toward him again, glaring at him, remembering how humiliated I'd felt in the seconds after he'd kissed me.

"Spare me your concern, Granger. I should think you'd be happy to see me join your boyfriend." This was the Malfoy I'd known in my school days, the only thing missing was his calling me 'Mudblood', and I expected that would be next.

His scorn pierced through my self-control, and I stalked up to him and slapped him across the face, hard. "You stuck-up, arrogant git!" I hissed at him. "I go out of my way to do you a favor, against my better judgment, nearly get myself killed in the process, and this is the thanks I get? Well, to hell with you, Malfoy! If you ever so much as think of darkening my doorway again, I swear to God you're going to wish you'd never met me!"