The meeting with Granger was rather quiet after their talk. The Ministry worker had come in shortly after that, and then it was completely procedural. He went over why they were doing this, expressed his sympathies, what was expected of them during their marriage (one child, minimum), and then the final signatures that bound Draco and his future wife.

There hadn't been any discussion of a wedding. Quite frankly, Draco was completely onboard with postponing it for as long as their betrothal contract allowed. The longer it took, the longer they could hold off on the inevitable.

Draco exited the fireplace at Malfoy Manor and headed straight for his suite. He was going right for his study and to the liquor cabinet he kept there as he needed something, anything to numb himself from today.

"How did it go?"

Draco aimed his wand without thinking, ready to shoot off a spell when he realized that it was his father in the room. The semi-partial darkness of the study had obscured him sitting in the corner with the very thing Draco had wanted to drink already poured.

The younger blond said nothing and stowed his wand away. He walked over to his father, took his glass, and downed it before sitting down and messaging his left temple.

"The Ministry paired me with Hermione Granger."

Lucius' shock was palpable and he sputtered, "The mudblood?"

"Really, Father," Draco addressed him, a scowl on his face. "Is that any way to address your future daughter-in-law?"

Lucius refrained from snorting and sipped his drink. "The Ministry has a not-so-interesting sense of humor."

"It was a lottery draw. It's not their fault that my luck is hideous."

"A lottery draw," his father repeated with a huff. "With a match like that I hardly believe it. Perhaps I can persuade someone there for another drawing? That way-"

"No," Draco interrupted with a shake of his head. "We'll leave it as is. Besides, Granger and I have already come to a set of agreements."

"You have?"

"Yes, and they're about the curse."

"How could you tell her?" Lucius hissed angrily. "Our curse is meant to be kept secret. Only the affected are allowed to know!"

"And she is affected," Draco countered. He took a moment to summon the open bottle near his father and let it fill his glass. "The contract is binding. She deserved to know what she was walking into, and so I told her."

Lucius grumbled and urged his son with his head to fill his glass as well. When it was to the top and the glass in his hand, he asked tentatively, "Her reaction?"

"She thought I was joking."

"And then?"

"Long story short: she's not killing anyone, and we'll hold out and fight the curse for as long as we can."

"You can't do that," Lucius berated. "You'll go mad if you do. What's one life, Draco? Your sanity is at stake!"

"And your sanity is gone, although not in the way you fear mine will be," Draco argued. "And it's not just 'one life' as you put it. It's multiple lives. An endless killing spree that the curse makes us feel is okay to do. A license to be a psychopath. Honestly, Father, you're the one who's mad as well as every Malfoy before you." Draco slammed his glass down on the table between them and rushed off.

Lucius' eyes trailed after him, but his thoughts were far away. He thought of the curse and how it had affected his life. How that, yes, he had had his reservations, but the moment Narcissa had made her kill, cementing their union, it had felt...fine. Better than that actually. He had felt euphoric. A Malfoy was either going to go insane from not committing murder, from feeling guilty of that murder, or, as Draco had said it, from accepting what was and reveling in it.

Lucius preferred to be a psychopath.

It had been four days since signing her betrothal agreement with Draco, and Hermione was exhausted. Harry and Ron tried to help, but there was only so much sympathy and outrage one could take, especially when the situation was unavoidable. Hermione could just imagine what they would be like if she had told them about the curse, but that horrifying aspect she kept to herself. Keeping that detail locked away was the main reason why she was so rundown. She hadn't been able to eat or sleep for her mind kept mulling over the fact that she was destined to go crazy. She wondered how long it would take. A year? Five? What would the symptoms of her insanity be? Would she even notice them?

Hermione groaned and yanked on her hair. It hurt like hell and served no purpose but to aggravate her scalp. She frowned bitterly and massaged the sore spots before determining that she wouldn't be getting any more work done tonight. If she went home now, maybe she could get a decent rest and then get up early for work to catch up. It was a hope at least.

Hermione gathered her things and left the Ministry. She usually took the longer route to the apparition spot when the weather was nice. It woke her up in the mornings and was almost a cleansing from the long work day in the evenings.

But not today.

The sun was gone early, and it was cloudy. It bathed the path to the apparition spot in unusual darkness, and the cold breeze wasn't helping. Hermione held her bag tighter and walked a little faster. Although all Dementors had been rounded up after the war, at this moment she wouldn't be surprised if she saw one. Anxiety and dread were coming from somewhere, but she just couldn't pinpoint it.

Hermione had her wand in her sleeve, ready for use if need be. Her eyes darted wildly as she walked for another five minutes before breathing a sigh of relief when she made it to the apparition spot in a well-hidden alley.

She was about to disapparate when she heard a twig snap. Hermione turned with her wand raised, but it was out of her hand faster than she could comprehend. The next action happened just as fast, and she found herself careening into the wall just behind her. Her head hit against the bricks, and it disturbed her vision and the image of her attacker. All she saw was a black figure coming towards her, and moments later she felt a pair of hands on her neck. Hermione gasped for air as she did everything she could to free herself: prying at and digging her nails into her attacker's hands, bringing her forearm against his, kicking at his legs… Either she was falling weak to this ambush or he was simply too strong. Is this how she was going to die? By getting strangled?

Hermione had far too much pride to leave the world like that, and so she thought hard despite losing sense of where she was. Although she had learned nonverbal magic, she had very little practice with wandless magic and was cursing herself for having not invested in it. Well, it was time now to try. Her vision had clouded over, but she reached out her hand and touched, what she hoped, was her attacker's chest. She ran down a list of spells and charms, trying each one in a desperate attempt, until she heard a scream.

The hands on her neck slipped away, and Hermione was dropped to the ground. She fell onto the cold concrete, coughing and gasping until her lungs received air. It took several blinks to get her eyesight in order, which led to her finding her wand. It had rolled at least a foot away, and Hermione crawled towards it until the handle was in her grasp. She had been prepared to defend herself and weakly aimed her wand to her right, but found the alley empty. At least she thought it was empty. She heard a groan emanating from the ground and it wasn't until Hermione fully sat up that she realized what had happened to her attacker.

Hermione didn't remember saying the spell, but obviously, she had. She gulped and crawled over rocks and mud to the man who was bleeding profusely from his chest. Diffindo. She had used the one charm that would do the most damage. Messy damage, if she were to be honest. The sudden realization that a man was dying made Hermione's voice catch in her throat, and she hastily brought her wand to his wrist. The spell she used made his vitals appear in a puff of smoke, and they didn't look good. Hermione hastily rose to her feet and cast a Patronus to call Harry and whomever Aurors he would bring with him. She hoped that any muggles who saw the ball of light flying through the sky would think nothing of it. In the meantime, she had conjured a towel, got down on her knees, and pressed it against the man's chest.

Hermione had to admit that the cry of pain he had uttered was a delight to her ears. He had attacked her, but why? Clearly, it wasn't a mugging. It had been a deliberate attempt to end her life and that did not sit well with her. Even then, she had to try to save him if she was to explain to the Aurors that it was self-defense. And so, she kept her ears open for the sound of them, and her eyes averted from the scene below her. She knew that her actions were futile, for she felt her hands grow wet as they lay on top of the blood-soaked towel.

Some seconds later, Hermione knew that he was dead. It wasn't because her hands were drenched. It wasn't because Harry and the Aurors had come and pulled Hermione away. It wasn't even because she saw them perform their own health check and her attacker's vitals were flat. She couldn't explain her feeling, because she knew that no one would understand. No one except Draco.

"I want to go home. Can I?" Hermione asked Harry.

Harry turned to his supervisor who was shaking his head at the scene. Coroners were here now to take the body away. It was as they were moving the body that the damage Hermione had done could be seen more clearly. A deep gash, perhaps the length of Hermione's middle finger to her palm, was in the middle of his chest. Harry doubted that even if they had gotten there earlier, the man would've lived.

"Mr. Wrigley," Harry addressed with the clearing of his throat. Once he had his supervisor's attention, Harry gestured with his head to Hermione. "Can she go?"

"What? Oh, yes," Mr. Wrigley nodded. "We already have her statement as well as her memory of the incident stored. Miss Granger," he added to her, "if we need anything else from you, we'll send an owl."

Hermione nodded. She prepared her wand so that she could disapparate, but was stopped when Harry put a hand on her shoulder.

"Forgetting something?" he asked as he raised her handbag to her line of sight. Hermione gently smiled as she took it from him and slipped it over her shoulder. "Hermione, I still think you should go to St. Mungo's. Your neck-"

"-will heal," she finished. "It's just bruised. I just want to go home, sleep, and forget that this happened."

"I guess that means you're not up for visitors," Harry chuckled. Hermione gave a short-lived laugh and shook her head.

"Not tonight. I might even stay home from work tomorrow. I guess I'll see."

"Alright. Let me know if you need anything. I'm just a Floo away."

Hermione thanked him and gave him a hug before finally disapparating. She landed in the middle of her living room and immediately threw her wand and purse onto the couch. When she faced the armchair, the feeling that had overtaken her the moment her attacker had died manifested tenfold.

"What took you so long?" Draco asked as he rose from the armchair. He walked over to Hermione and his eyes settled on her neck. She instinctively turned it to one side so that he could properly view the damage that had been done.

"I was questioned by Aurors," she replied. "It was self-defense."

"A death is a death so long as it was you to do it." Draco let his fingers trace the outline of Hermione's bruises, and she didn't even try to control her shudder.

"We're not married yet. Why do I feel this way?" Hermione said as Draco explored the discoloration of her neck with his hands. It was delicate probing with an emittance of warmth. "The moment he died, I didn't care. All I wanted was to see you."

"You're betrothed to me," Draco answered. He was holding her wrists now, and he observed how bloody her hands were. "That makes you mine."

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would cringe at being called such a possessive term. She was a person, not a thing. However, just like recently having killed a man, she didn't mind. For the death, there was no remorse, no guilt, and no repulsiveness at literally having blood on her hands. In terms of Draco, she wanted to be his. The curse was more than he had originally described and she felt it. Hermione had known that Draco was at her house. It had been an instinct she had known in her heart. She wanted nothing but to make him happy, and he wanted the same for her.

Hermione knew then and there that what Draco had said was true. Their happiness was at the expense of other people. A terrible curse indeed.

Author's note: First off, thank you for the great response for the first two chapters! Looks like Hermione got to kill someone after all. How... convenient. :)

-WP