Trigger warning for this chapter: disturbing imagery, mild gore.


A gala at Malfoy Manor. How glamorous.

She would need to dress the part. She wanted to look sophisticated, impressive. Smoothing a hand through her curls, she held them one way, then the other. How much of her neck should she leave exposed? How much for a certain someone to touch or taste?

Her dress certainly left enough skin on display, at least her bare arms and shoulders and what she thought of as a tasteful amount of decolletage.

Hermione couldn't remember where she'd found this dress; she'd probably bought it for some Ministry shindig and never gotten around to wearing it. The bodice fit her like a glove, moulded to her body as if she'd got it custom-fit just yesterday. She'd be sure to turn heads tonight, even if she only cared about capturing one particular man's attention.

The skirts of her black silk ballgown rustled as she stepped out of the Floo and into an empty library.

"Hello?" she called, surprised Malfoy wasn't there to greet her.

"Malfoy?" she tried again. Her voice echoed off the hard surfaces and amplified itself around the cavernous, high-ceilinged room. Where was he? Perhaps he needed to play host for a bit, and welcome guests to his massive home before the party began?

The party he'd apparently arranged in almost a few days. What reason had he given for this ball again? She couldn't recall. He'd merely insisted on her accompanying him then asked her for the date.

As she moved through the library past her usual table, she stopped, alarmed. The book and her pile of notes were missing. Perhaps Malfoy had just stowed them somewhere safe in case any curious guests came wandering through?

But his home was still too quiet.

Reasoning that Malfoy had simply forgotten to update the Floo connection she pulled open the heavy oak doors. There was only one way to walk, one open corridor to her left. Torches burst to life, lighting a path that seemed almost unending. The light reflected off the walls and she realized it was a hallway of mirrors.

Her reflection flanked her as she moved steadily down the corridor. Hermione stopped to inspect her hair. Her mirrored self grinned back as she pushed a few tendrils behind her ears. She felt a buzzing in and around her. As if the power that had been swelling for a while now glowed outward, giving her a bright-eyed and almost haloed effect. Pure magic oozing out of her pores, she'd never looked so healthy, her skin so fresh. What had once caused her excruciating pain she now owned. The magic core she once thought untameable was now a force that would bend to her will. For creation, for destruction. Either way, she decided now. No more gruesome physical transformations without her consent, no more creeping creatures at the end of her bed.

A movement behind her caught her attention. The reflection at her back pounded at their glass prison, seeming desperate to break free. Hermione tore her eyes away and moved along.

The next pair of opposing mirrors featured Hermione leisurely brushing out her curls. Hermione reached up, but her reflection did not copy her. It merely kept up the brushing, seeming content and unaware of Hermione watching.

Its counterpart just opposite held a pair of brutish looking shears. It cut choppily at her hair, cleaving large chunks away at a time, looking miserable.

And still Hermione could not see where the hall ended. She knew she shouldn't look in these mirrors, shouldn't give these visions any more attention, but curiosity kept winning out.

She watched a Hermione applying lipstick opposite a Hermione carving a scalpel into the flesh of her cheeks. This gruesome portrait stuck her finger in one of the gashes and licked the blood off.

Hermione picked up her skirts and tried to run the rest of the way, but so many of them called her attention, wanted her to look, to see, to know.

On one side, she saw herself drinking wine. The liquid swirling around her mouth, leaving a burgundy residue on her parted lips. Across from this, she could see how she looked chewing glass.

She saw how she looked applying mascara, opposite how she'd look digging pliers into her eye socket.

She could watch how she looked while sipping tea. Or, turn to her left and see how she looked chugging acid, letting it spill down her chest to burn away every bit of her flesh.

Focusing straight ahead, Hermione thought she could make out a tall, lean, black-bedecked form. She thought to cry out for help, but then thought better of it. She blinked and she was alone again. No matter, Hermione could banish these contrarian reflections and hallucinations on her own.

But as she raised her palms outward, one more pair of opposite mirrors caught her eye. On her right, she watched Malfoy touching her. His long fingers trailed along her neck and throat, reverently stroking her skin. He cupped her face, traced her jaw line. Finally, he dipped his mouth to hers for slow and luxurious kisses. He was taking the utmost care with her. She'd never seen him this way before. Love in his eyes. His hands undid the fastenings at the front of her bodice, kissing her hungrily all the while. He coaxed the heavy gown off her and ran his hands all over her skin. Nothing hurried about it, as if he had all the time in the world to worship her. She never wanted to look away.

But she knew there would be a perversion of this beautiful scene just across the way. It itched at her brain, tempted her to take a peek.

To her left, she was also standing in front of Malfoy. But she was touching him in this scenario. She ran her hands up his broad chest and he recoiled, as if burned. Something burst out of her reflection's fingertips and caused him to twitch and jerk. He fell to the floor and Hermione stood over him. Her magic was choking him. He gasped for air and looked up at her with fear in his eyes. His body eventually stilled.

Hermione stood frozen in front of this gruesome pantomime. She knew it was some kind of horrific hallucination but it didn't stop her from putting her hands against the mirror in alarm. Then, just as suddenly as she felt the urge to help, she jumped back.

She would never do that to Malfoy. And besides, even if something like this were to occur, she knew exactly what to do now. She had this power within her now, she could revive him, she could restore him, just as she had the rotting food in her kitchen. It would have to be tested, of course, this ability to revive dead things.

Summoning her magic, she raised her palms again and unleashed a burst. All it took was a small flex of her ability and every mirror shattered, frames crashing to the ground.

She needed to find the real Malfoy. She needed to show him what she could do with that book. If only this blasted hallway would end. Frustrated, Hermione put her hands up against the side of her face like blinders and half-ran the rest of the length of the hall, her shoes making a muffled patter on the rich carpet.

The hall turned a corner and she followed willingly. No more mirrors to be found, just a normal antechamber leading to a pair of handsome doors. Beyond them, Hermione could finally hear the sounds of life, a gala in full swing.

As if sliding a sword back into a sheath, she calmed herself, stowing away the power. It pulsed in protest. She pulled the doors open and entered a bright, crowded ballroom.

When her eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness, Hermione scanned the room for her elusive host. She found him leaning against a pillar, gaze focused on her late entrance. He wore all black per usual; formal dress robes this time with a cape. He looked every bit the mysterious prince holding court in his remote castle.

He didn't bother greeting or even acknowledging any of the other many people he passed as he approached her, much like his single-mindedness when he met her each morning in the Atrium.

"Granger. You clean up well."

"Thank you, so do you."

"You look beautiful."

The first comment he'd meant to say. This second remark seemed to have slipped out. He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked.

"What do you have?"

"Whatever you want, name it."

"Champagne please."

He plucked two glasses off a passing tray she hadn't noticed before.

She held up her glass. "What should we toast to?"

Malfoy thought it over for a moment, eyes raking up and down her form. "New discoveries."

Hermione clinked her glass against his and took a sip. It was oddly flavourless. She let her eyes wander around the ballroom. It was so vast she couldn't even make out the other side. Though that could have been the fault of all the people who'd gathered, milling about, dancing in and out of her vision.

"I see you admiring the dance floor," Malfoy remarked.

"Seems like a popular spot."

Countless couples glided and twirled, the dresses of the women swishing, the robes of the men swirling, a ballet of expensive fabrics. Hermione didn't recognise a single soul amongst the many guests, and indeed, their faces all blurred as they moved near and around her. Everyone seemed to be dressed in black like her and Malfoy, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief at having accidentally dressed correctly to some unspoken code.

"Would you care to dance?" he asked and offered a hand. Hermione nodded eagerly and allowed herself to be swept into his arms. Malfoy pulled her into position and the rest of the room faded away, becoming a haze of chandelier lighting, warm browns from the wood-paneled walls, blood-red drapery, endless light, endless people. His hand was warm in hers, despite the coolness of his gaze. He caught the tempo and led her in a simple waltz, and all the while he stared at her expectantly.

He led them deftly, steering through the sea of couples. Had he figured out what was so different about her tonight yet? How confident she was in her abilities and how she could master them? Let's show him, let's teach him.

The buzzing sounded louder in her veins, in her ears. Her magic didn't appreciate being suppressed. It wanted her to find Secrets of the Darkest Arts. Malfoy's hand on her waist flexed slightly and she felt her cheeks warm. Like her magic, he seemed to be waiting for her to do or say something.

But she was comfortable and happy in his arms. Hermione sank into the moment, pushing other concerns away. Nothing more than a woman waltzing with a handsome man at a gala. Just Malfoy and the music leading her around the room. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three.

Hermione smiled lazily up at him then took in the odd adornments and strange embellishments on the faces of all the other guests.

"I didn't realize this was a masquerade," she said.

"Pardon?"

"We seem to be the only guests not wearing masks."

He didn't look around at the other people. Instead, Malfoy regarded her thoughtfully then dipped his mouth close to her ear, "Host's privilege and all that. Besides," he straightened up and raised a hand to her cheek, "it would be a crime to obscure your face."

Something else entered her ears besides his sweet compliment. The rushing whispers of faint voices. Free us, one, two three, free us. One, two, three, let us out, one, two, three, we're here.

She expected him to play more of the gracious host this evening. To greet and glad-hand with what appeared to be hundreds in attendance. But Malfoy seemed to only have eyes for her.

"Who did you invite tonight? There's so many people here," Hermione remarked and tilted her head this way and that to peek at others as they danced.

"Oh just the usual gala crowd, you know," Malfoy said with a careless air. "Any time an event is held here people just show up in droves."

"Are you sure you don't have to speak with any of them? I'd hate to monopolise you all evening."

"Well, that's my plan. Do remember Granger, that I organised this entire gathering in your honour."

"Do you mean to say that these people came to meet me? Should I be making the rounds?"

"No, Granger. You're right where you ought to be."

His grip tightened.

It was a haunting, lulling waltz that seemed to go on endlessly. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. Floating along on the beat, Malfoy controlling their movements. Hermione's confidence grew.

"You keep saying that I can have anything I want," she stated.

"What do you want?"

"You."

"I'm right here."

He twirled her and as she spun back, breathless and reckless words tumbled from her mouth.

"I'd like to see your bedroom."

He smiled down at her, but she thought it looked sad.

"Perhaps after the party."

Disappointed, Hermione looked away from him, to the others moving around them. There was something funny about the masks they wore.

The music picked up in tempo. Onetwothree onetwothree onetwothree onetwothree.

"Wait, but… I thought I saw…"

She tried to orient her vision but Malfoy spun them faster. Onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothree.

The collective blurring of the room, the crowd, drove Hermione to sudden dizziness. Missing a step, she almost stumbled into Malfoy's chest.

"Stop. Please."

He slowed them and held her steady. "Are you all right?"

"I just need some air. Is there some sort of balcony?"

He nodded and took her hand, leading her up a grand staircase she hadn't noticed before. From this vantage point at the top, she could survey the entire ballroom. Malfoy looked side to side, then tugged her towards a pair of glass doors that led outside. Despite torches illuminating the balcony, she could hardly make anything of the grounds below as she dropped his hand and looked over the edge.

"It's quite remote, isn't it?" Hermione gestured towards the darkness. No lights of other homes or villages to be seen.

"Hmm, yes. Difficult to find."

"Awfully lonely."

"Yes."

There it was again. A one word answer, yet so much more lingering on his tongue. Hermione's magic pricked at her veins, demanded attention. She felt something gathering around her fingertips. She could compel him to tell her. He would have to tell her anything she wanted.

Hermione noticed him keeping a careful distance from her now. Every action on his part this evening had felt anticipatory, as if awaiting her instruction. A countermove at the ready for any move she made.

"I used to be afraid, I think, around you," Hermione mused as she stepped closer to him.

"Used to?"

"Mmm. But I think you were right the other day. When you said I was the most powerful thing here."

Malfoy cocked his head to the side, inviting her to elaborate.

"All along I thought the pain I felt, the changes to my body, I thought I was sick or—or disturbed. But I'm not," Hermione insisted. "I have this—this power within me. My magic needs an outlet that I need to indulge."

Yes, yes, use it, use it.

Something just behind Malfoy caught her eye. Back through the glass doors, Hermione could see an open book on a stand. A pile of notes beside it. Hermione moved swiftly back inside, eager to see both again.

"Did you move these here for me?" she asked Malfoy.

He shook his head. "No. I think you were meant to find them here."

Hermione ran her hand reverently along the pages. Her magic pulsed, sparking to life, seeming eager to find its purpose tonight. She was more than pleased to see the pages heeded her hands now. She could turn pages at will, see all the spells and enchantments now. Everything was here, literally at her fingertips.

She turned to Malfoy in excitement.

"With this… I could teach you. I could show you how. We could use it… together."

"I think this is a journey you're meant to take alone." Malfoy smiled and raised a hand to cradle the side of her face. "You're very excited. I love seeing you this way."

Her face felt flushed, but not from champagne or dancing. Malfoy dropped his touch as she frantically read the text, greedily trying to imbibe all the instructions, all the direction she would need to hone her command of her magical core.

"Not too Dark for you?" Malfoy inquired.

Hermione considered her answer, considered a response more in line with her usual morals. But she found her conscience eerily silent within her. Her usual warning signs, her usual shame-driven deterrents snuffed out by something louder.

How challenging, how exciting. Finally a magical task that she could conquer. Not just a bright witch, clever because she liked to read and cared about hard work. No, with this type of magic, she could be considered strong too. Why shouldn't she be the one to use this "forbidden" magic? Who would stop her anyway?

"It doesn't matter," breathed Hermione. "I want to use it. I want to know what I can do."

Her magic was singing within her. Warm and lively, it danced in her veins, joyous at the thought of Hermione's willingness to experiment, to innovate.

But how to test her abilities?

Her eyes fell to the waltzing crowd below. Twirling and turning, ignorant to her plans for them. Malfoy followed her hungry stare.

Then the music stopped playing. The dancing ceased too.

"Look at them all," he whispered, his voice tinged with awe. "They're just waiting."

"For what?"

"For you."

She knew he'd say that. She'd wanted him to say that.

"They'll do anything you want. Everyone here is yours to control," he said.

"Does that include you?"

"Granger, you do not need spellwork to control me."

A strange comment, but Hermione had more important matters at the moment. The crowd, for one. They hadn't been wearing masks at all. As it had the other night when she'd become acutely aware that Harry, Ginny, and Luna weren't quite themselves, so now she could see the people below clearly.

"But they're… they're all…" She gestured at Malfoy. "How did you bring them here?"

"I didn't invite anyone tonight," he replied. "They've been waiting here all along."

Faces with waxy, sunken features stared up at her. Faces missing skin. Or key parts like eyeballs and noses. Skinless lips, with bones protruding out of cheeks. Bony, decaying hands reached up in supplication and need. Groaning and moaning had replaced the sounds of an orchestra. Decomposing bodies begging to be made whole again.

She should be horrified and disgusted. She should jump back from the railing in fear, hide her face in Malfoy's chest. But all Hermione saw when she looked down upon this sea of corpse-like beings was an opportunity. Had they really all gathered here tonight in anticipation of her coming into her inner power?

You want to. You know you want to.

Here was the upper hand she'd craved for so long. No more meek Hermione, whimpering in pain and confusion on her bathroom floor, no more cowering in fear from ghastly images in her mirrors, and no more creepy imitation friends to frighten her. Hermione could vanquish all.

"Don't you see Malfoy? It's like you've been telling me all along. I am the one in control here," Hermione said, and felt the magic surge.

She wouldn't even need Secrets of the Darkest Art s, with all its dramatic wording about costs to the soul for dabbling in this act. Everything she required already resided within. It had only taken Malfoy's confidence in her will and ability to push her in the right direction.

Some of the crowd had begun crawling up the stairs towards her, partial bodies dragging themselves in earnest, scraping bone against polished marble. Some of them tottered on decrepit legs, falling into writhing, pathetic masses atop one another.

Hermione raised her palms, ready to inflict benevolence with her magic, and all without her wand or even an incantation.

"Before you do that… come here." Malfoy suddenly pulled her to him and slanted his mouth over hers.

He'd never kissed her like this before. There was desperation to it, not rooted in lust. It felt like a last kiss, the final farewell of two lovers, unsure if they'd survive a coming obstacle.

"Go on," he urged and stepped back, breathing heavily.

A pleasant warmth, just shy of a burn, gathered steam from low in her gut. An inversion of the extreme pain she'd been made to feel for days now. Hermione let it seep along until she could feel it in every part of her. She drowned out the groaning dead-like things, thinking of her magical core and only her magical core. She'd never let it build to such a crescendo before, and with each power surge she only grew more and more gleeful. Rapt with awe, she envisioned how the repaired bodies would look. How she would be greeted with vibrant, whole humans, restored to life by her hand.

When she felt sweat beading at her hairline, limbs trembling with the effort of keeping her core stable as it expanded, she knew the time had come. Hermione did not have to drag or push the magic so much as she simply had to pop a cork from a bottle.

An explosion of light burst out from her, Hermione almost staggering as if she'd received a blow. Magic ripped out of her with an intense ferocity she almost felt empty in the aftermath. An unstoppered vessel. Her wide eyes tried to adjust to the new brightness in the room, to see if it had worked.

She had felt everything; unstoppable at the pinnacle of her power. Surely, the results would be impressive.

But Hermione saw clearly once again. She was standing above a completely empty ballroom. Stumbling back in alarm from the railing, she looked at Malfoy with wide, frightened eyes. "What have I done? What did I do?"

He took hold of her upper arms. "Granger look at me, it's going to be fine. You did it, it's over."

"I don't understand, I—"

Blackness clouded over her vision. Unconsciousness and its impending darkness. Before her body went slack and fell to the floor, she thought she heard Malfoy shouting something.


A/N: Thanks for reading! Two chapters to go :)