A/N: I'm sorry this is so late – I was really sick last weekend, and then I got the vaccine, so my arm hurt and I couldn't type. In all honesty, I wasn't expecting to get this up until this coming weekend, but I caught myself by surprise. Thank y'all for bearing with me.

Betawork done by AlmondMilkTeaDoubleBoba, LeilahMoon, and lost_poetx.

xoxo, carm


Coming back to school felt like coming home, but better.

Hermione adamantly refused to acknowledge why it was that she was so bloody excited to be back. Instead, she crossed her ankles to keep from bouncing in her seat and tried her best to pay attention to her book and tune out Harry and Ron's chatter.

Besides, she wouldn't be seeing him until later anyway. They avoided each other in public as far as they could. Both wanted to avoid scrutiny.

It didn't do anything for the tension that coated the air for her, though. Its thick tendrils snaked their way around her, laced themselves into her actions, tainted her thoughts. It was inescapable.

Reaching up to roll her necklace between her fingers – a nervous habit she'd adopted recently – she did her best to push all thoughts away and focus solely on her book.

The ride to the castle dragged incessantly, and, by the time she'd put her robes on for the feast, she was nearly bouncing in her seat. Harry and Ron both eyed her strangely. "Alright, Hermione?" Ron asked.

"Fine," she insisted. "Just excited to be back. And I'm a bit hungry too, so I'm excited to eat."

Neither of those things were lies, but it definitely wasn't the whole truth, either.

By the time they were all seated in the Great Hall, she was scanning the room, searching. She caught a familiar flash of platinum hair from across the room, and she found his eyes.

He was already staring at her.

It was good to know that it wasn't just her. It was also interesting to recall what Ginny had said over break. She was definitely going to try to take more notice of the things he did – especially when it involved her – from now on.

Her heart stuttered in her chest and her lips quirked as she tore her eyes away from him and tried to throw herself into the surrounding conversations. She could still feel his eyes on her, and a part of her loved it.

As she left dinner to head to bed – later than usual: she'd gotten caught up in an interesting conversation with Parvati and Seamus – she hummed to herself.

A hand reached out to grab her as she headed for the stairs, yanking her into the nearest classroom. She would have been startled if she didn't know better – he liked to pull stunts like this.

Before she knew it, his lips were on hers. On instinct, her hands threaded into his hair and she sighed against his lips. They stuttered down her neck, and her head tilted back to grant him better access.

"How was your break?" she asked breathlessly.

"Useless," he muttered, hot against her skin. "Here is undeniably better."

Hermione gasped as his teeth grazed her pulse point. "I'm inclined to agree." Her fingers curled into his broad shoulders and she couldn't do anything but feel as he reduced her to a puddle with just a few kisses.

He hummed against her skin, bringing his lips back up to kiss her. "Are you going to sleep well?" he asked.

That threw her. "What?"

"You heard me," he said. "Answer my question."

"I– guess so? I don't know what you mean," she admitted her confusion.

Grabbing her hips and lifting her onto the desk, her legs came to wrap around his waist. "I'm more than happy to make you tired, Granger. All you have to do is ask," he murmured.

"Oh," she said. Now she understood. "I'm sure I'll sleep fine, but it doesn't hurt to get some sleep aid every now and again." Her lips curled up into a smile.

He gently pushed her back so she was lying flat on the desk and detangled her legs from around him. Dropping kisses up her right leg, he worked his way up until he was where he wanted to be.

Planting an open mouth kiss right on her heat, her back arched at the contact. "Missed this," he said against her. "Thought about how you taste for weeks, Granger. Couldn't get it out of my head."

She gasped as he kept teasing her. Her hips bucked up into him. He tsked at her. "Patience is a virtue," he teased.

"Well in case you forgot, I'm not feeling very virtuous these days," she snarked.

Chuckling against her, the vibration shot through her veins. "Fuck," he whispered, ghosting his lips over the fabric.

"Please," she keened, "please."

"Only because you asked so nicely," he said. His fingers hooked underneath the fabric, moved it to the side, and she watched with hooded eyes and anticipation as his mouth descended.

On contact, her head dropped back. She couldn't help it. The way his tongue felt as it danced around her clit, teasing, taunting, was simply sinful. Pushing her hips into him, her fingers laced through his hair, trying to keep him where she wanted him. He happily obliged, paying attention to what movements made her jolt and which made her moan.

Draco Malfoy was far too talented with his mouth. Within minutes he had her teetering on the edge and begging for release.

Of course, he gave it to her – once she'd asked nicely for his permission. She knew the rules by now.

She was a panting, quivering mess on the desk, and she stared up at him as he buttoned his shirt. This was different. She could see the bulge in his trousers, so why was he sending her away?

"I'm sure the tactless twosome will be wondering where you are," he said, kissing the corner of her mouth. "You should go."

"But–" she protested, reaching for him, wanting to make him feel good.

"But nothing. Go, Granger." His tone left no room for questioning, and so she sighed, admittedly too tired to argue, and left.

She did linger outside of the door for a moment, savoring the sound of his heated groan. Giggling to herself, she knew she'd get him back sometime soon.


Alone in the library, Hermione was lost in her own world. It was the way she liked it. No one could bother her here, not when she was buried inside her own head.

This time, she was reading for pleasure. It was later, closer to curfew than she was normally comfortable dancing towards, but she was simply so enraptured that she couldn't help it.

Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck prickled.

Her head shot up, eyes darting around the candle-lit room, searching, yet finding nothing. The feeling stuck, so she refused to relax.

Eyes dropping back to her book, she let her gaze pass over the words without reading them, waiting for the prickle again, hoping to determine where it was coming from.

There.

Head snapping back up, she scanned the area surrounding her. Still seeing nothing. This time she chose to quickly gather her things and head back to her tower. As she rounded the corner of a bookshelf, she almost ran right into a tall figure.

As her eyes adjusted, the chill left the back of her neck and shot down her entire body. Now, she understood why. "Montague," she deadpanned, taking a precautionary step back – not only to appease herself but to prevent her necklace from activating.

Over the holiday, she'd learned that the magic Draco had imbued into the necklace turned out to be more irritating than anything else. It was only something she was supposed to notice, react to, and she seethed when she noticed it.

When she'd hugged Charlie Weasley after he'd gotten in from Romania, the chain around her neck had suddenly tightened – not enough to choke her, but enough to be uncomfortable and make her release her hold in order to try to slip her fingers underneath it. Her theory had been immediate, knowing him, and she'd tested it with Ron later to the same affect.

She'd been furious. Ginny had cackled, eyes bright with a revelation she refused to share.

"Granger," he replied, bringing her back to her unfortunate situation. "Didn't expect to see you here so late." His eyes were raking over her, drinking her in. They stopped when they came back up to rest upon the stone nestled between her collarbone. He looked at it further, and his eyes changed. It was like he knew.

Hermione hated it. Shifting her books to cover more of her chest and tucking her necklace into her shirt, she replied, "Studying. Not that it's any of your business."

She couldn't help the bite that was laced into her words. He had been acting oddly towards her for months, and she wasn't the least bit interested in finding out why. Her body's automatic negative reaction was reason enough to get away from him.

Over the years, she'd learned that trusting her gut was the best way to go. It hadn't steered her wrong yet, and it always had her best interests as the main goal.

"Feisty. The Sorting Hat did right by you when it placed you into Gryffindor," he said. It sounded like he was going for casual and friendly, but there was something menacing hiding underneath. She could smell it. It helped that he was awful at trying to hide his disdain.

His tone echoed in her head, bouncing around between her ears. She was trying to place what about it set her teeth on edge, but also why it felt... almost familiar in a way. Maybe that was the wrong sentiment. Nevertheless, her brain went into overdrive trying to figure it out.

Hermione's eyes flashed. "I suppose it did. Goodnight." Sidestepping him and moving towards the door, she made for a quick exit.

Montague, however, had other plans.

"Granger," he tried for smooth, but her surname sounded wrong coming from him like that. A shiver of disgust ran across her skin. Hermione froze, not turning. "You're going to need to learn to lie better than that." His voice lilted at the end as if he were trying to... flirt? Tease? None of those things seemed like something that he would ever try to do.

She didn't like that one bit. Not to mention – she knew that Malfoy would hate it should he ever find out. Ever since that night in the corridor, he'd reserved a special dislike for his fellow Slytherin. Hermione was convinced it was just territorial.

Her heart thudded erratically in her chest. As she fled towards the comfort and safety of her dormitory, she placed what about it had felt so eerily familiar to her, and she didn't like it one bit.

His tone was oddly reminiscent of the way Draco had spoken to her just a few short months ago.


It happened by accident.

She was never supposed to see it, never even supposed to know that it existed.

Not only because Potter speculated – and the less Potter knew, the better – but because he didn't want her to know. She would know what it meant, what it signified, what it had in store for him.

Usually when they shagged, it was with a majority of their clothes on – a skirt flipped up, a few buttons unbuttoned, his trousers unzipped. And he always threw a glamour on just in case his sleeve pushed up.

But this time, he was sloppy. There was no other excuse for it.

It was a few days after they'd returned from break, and he was more than happy to have her on her back again – it had been far too long. Too happy, it seemed, because he'd let himself slip, get distracted because of her. And that was something he could absolutely not afford.

This time, his shirt was hanging loosely off his shoulders as he thrust into her, slipping down his back with his erratic movements. He was staring down into her eyes as his hips snapped, her hands reaching up to claw at him.

He was overwhelmed with her. It was why he didn't catch it in time.

It slipped off his back, pooling at his two wrists.

It happened in slow motion. Draco realized his fatal error at the same time her eyes slid away from his to the ink staining his left arm. Her eyes widened, flitting back up to his in horror, her breath left her in a gasp, and she struggled to get away from him.

He let her, because how could he not? Unable to help the sinking feeling that was enveloping his conscience and twisted through his ribs and stabbed into his heart, he immediately backed away and pulled his shirt up.

The damage was already done.

By the time he looked at Granger again, her face had gone from shocked and upset to resolved. He knew her well enough by now that he knew exactly what was going to come out of her mouth, and he hated it.

"Why?" The break in her voice revealed the emotions she was so desperately trying to hide. Her face was still a frozen mask, trying – and failing – not let on what was going on inside her head.

Draco averted his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He caught a flicker of his constellations as he tried to Occlude.

"It's none of your concern," his tone was scathing as he bit the words out. "Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, Granger."

"So you're telling me Harry was right?" her voice shot up a few octaves. "I spent all this time defending you, saying 'no, Draco would never,' and here you were the whole time. I can't believe he was right." She ran a hand through her hair, ignoring the way it caught on her curls and ripping right through.

He winced. "I–," he started, sighing. "Yes. He was right." He lowered his guard for a split second before he realized his mistake. Immediately jumping back to the defense. "But Potter," he spat the name, "has no idea what it's like. He has no parents, no one to protect." He turned away, tightening the knot on his tie for something to do with his fingers.

"Hey," her voice grew soft and he felt her approach behind him, fingertips reaching up to brush his shoulder. "Is that why?"

Stepping away from her, he shrugged out from under her touch. Away from her, he had to get–

"Yes," he hissed. The word fell from his lips unbidden, without his consent. He had to fight the torrent of them that tried to dig their way out of his chest, wanting desperately for her to understand why.

"It's okay," she started, but he cut her off.

"It's not!" he shouted, whirling back to face her with wild eyes. "It's not. This," he snarled, yanking his sleeve back up, letting her see it in all its sick, twisted glory. "Is anything but okay, you stupid bitch." He watched as she flinched away from both the ink and the insult. Good.

"This is the easy way out," he said, starting to laugh, almost maniacally. "This is what cowards do. What people who want you dead do." Draco started to stalk towards her, towering over her slightly cowering figure.

This is what he wanted. He signed up for this, willingly asked for this while waiting for this very moment. He wanted to drive the nail into the coffin, make her see reason.

"How does it feel? Hm?" he asked, getting closer still. "To be fucking someone who wears this? Who wants you dead?"

He watched the emotions flicker across her face as she came to terms with what this meant. One he couldn't place – determination, maybe – took root in her eyes and leached into the rest of her.

"Draco Malfoy," she seethed, "how dare you."

There. There she was. He was wondering where she'd been hiding.

"First of all," she started, and he could tell that she was just winding up. "How dare you do this and then refuse to ask for help." Before he knew what she was doing, she reached for his arm, shoved his sleeve back up, and bared it to him.

"How dare you assume that you have to do everything by yourself," she said, still fiery. "And how dare you hide this from me."

All of a sudden, it felt like he was being scolded by his mother. Confusion seeped into him. Why wasn't she angry? He had to make her angry, had to make her see what it may mean for him.

"What is wrong with you?" he yelled, towering back over her. His hands curled into claws and they latched onto her shoulders so he could physically shake her. "Why are you acting like this is normal? I'm not fucking Potter, I'm sure as hell not Weasley, so I don't know why you're trying to act like this is some kind of–" realization dawned on him. "Ah, I see," he dropped his hands. "I'm your next charity case."

Her brow furrowed and she started to shake her head. "No, that's not–"

"You couldn't save the house-elves, so you're moving on to the next lost cause you could find." His lips twisted into a wry smile, but his eyes were cold. Dead. A stark contrast to the black mirth coloring his face.

"But do you know what, Granger?" he asked. "You can't fucking save me." The words were quiet, but he watched in morbid satisfaction as they hit their mark.

"I–" she started, but he didn't want her to get a word in edgewise.

"No." His hand flew to cover her mouth. "Stop it. Stop trying so bloody hard to see what isn't there!"

Her eyes met his, and she almost looked sad. He delivered the final blow. "There is nothing you can do for me. There is nothing anyone can do for me."

Granger batted his hand away, and the words exploded out of her. "Would you shut the fuck up?" she screeched. "And let me fucking speak? Gods, you're so fucking annoying."

Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"I'm fucking livid with you for doing this, obviously. But I'm almost more disappointed that you felt that you had no choice in it–" she cut him off as he opened his mouth to object, "–I'm not finished."

"I'm not going to say anything to anyone. I'm going to leave it up to you, even though I already know what decision you're going to make," she rolled her eyes. "I'm going to let you make it on your own. You're a big boy, Malfoy, this one's on you." She looked at him, shaking her head.

"I don't want to see you for a few days. I... need time to process this," her hand motioned down to the mark. "And you need time to realize how fucked up this is." She made to walk away.

Draco hesitated, and then called, "Granger." She turned, eyes cautious, yet curious. "I know you don't trust me, but... you shouldn't trust Montague either."

"I don't." Her response was instantaneous, and he knew he looked relieved. As much as Draco knew he wasn't a good person, he had a sinking feeling that Montague was worse.

Granger walked away from him, and he stared after her until his eyes glazed over.


As twisted as it was, he was... relieved.

There was something about her knowing that took a weight off his shoulders that shouldn't have been lifted, but he felt too light to care.

Draco knew he'd fucked up by letting her see it. He knew it was entirely possible that he was fucked and he'd just signed his death note. As it stood, he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

He stared down into the half-full glass of Firewhisky that he'd been nursing while he thought about his impending doom.

On one hand, she could turn around and spill everything to her precious Order. He could get arrested, his parents could get killed – something that would be his doing. But she could possibly get them help, if he asked. She had the pull to get him out, and he knew it.

On the other hand, she might not say anything. He would go about life as normal, continuing to seduce Granger, and then turn around and sign her death note.

Fuck. He was so, so fucked.

Summoning his journal from his room, he caught it and absently thumbed at the pages, flipping through it. Opening it up to a new page, he ran the tip of his quill over his lips.

What seems to be troubling you, Draco? the journal prompted.

So many things, none that he could write down in case it ever fell into the wrong hands. Specifically... I had a falling out with someone. But they needed to know what was going on.

Noncommittal, vague, but good enough.

I see. And how does that make you feel?

At least whoever this was read between the lines and knew not to ask about what the fight was about. Stressed. That was the best way to encapsulate it. Guilt was another one – for what he'd said to her, for how he'd acted, for the poor decisions he'd made – but he wasn't ready to admit that to a stranger.

And what form of stress relief works best for you?

That pulled an automatic snort from him. Fucking the stress out of him usually worked best, but that wasn't an option with he and Granger on the outs. Meditation he settled on, which wasn't a lie either.

Good, it responded. Why don't you try to meditate and channel some of your thoughts into positive actions? If not for others, at least for yourself.

It wasn't half bad advice, he supposed. And he needed to make sure to continue to practice Occlumency, so he would do that later.

I said some things I shouldn't have. The words were on the paper before he realized it.

Do you feel the need to apologize for them? appeared in front of him.

Technically, yes, but instead he wrote, Maybe, but they were necessary. I needed to get my point across.

Do you feel like you could have done it in a more constructive way? Without saying things you regret?

Fuck, they were good. No. It needed to be this way. It has to be this way.

Frustrated and unwilling to continue the conversation, he wanted to fester in his own pit of angst. Shutting it harshly and shoving it away from him, he turned his thoughts back to himself.

Checking that no one was around, he rolled up his sleeve and eyed the mark that was staining his left arm. He was supposed to be proud to bear it. He was a Malfoy, he was made for this. So why did he feel his stomach knot up and his breath catch a little every time he looked at it? When did his conscience finally start to question? He hadn't even noticed the change – it had been so gradual and slow that he didn't realize it was there until he'd thought to look for it.

But the bare horror that had been etched upon her face as she caught sight of it was enough to make his stomach turn.

He didn't know when things had changed for him – he was adamant that it had nothing to do with Granger – but he was starting to question things. And that was not a good sign.

Or was it?