Author's Note:

A few notes at the beginning:

a) This story is going to have two narrative strands—one for Draco and his search, and one for Hermione; however, they will be unevenly distributed, with the main focus on Draco's POV... Just as a warning: This chapter is rather graphic in its depiction of violence, read at your own peril!

b) In this chapter, an empusa is a Fire Creature, basically some sort of human torch. I chose this Creature as a little hommage to the inspiration reeby10's story brought me... :-) (In Greek mythology—according to Wikipedia— an empusa is a demigoddess who seduces and feasts on men, and the fire aspect is only added in a TV series)

c) I left Hermione's own Creature form vague on purpose, it will be cleared up in her next POV chapter...

Enjoy, and please do leave a comment if you liked it! :)

While her friends desperately tried to find her, Hermione was faced with a situation she never thought she would have to go through—not even in her work as one of the few female Aurors, responsible for cases involving Creatures. No, she would never have expected to end up in a fight pit with one of those empusas, having to fight for her life, required to kill in order to survive. Kill or get killed, they had said when they led her up to the fight pit. How they knew about her she couldn't fathom, because she had forced everyone whom she told about her condition to take an Oath of Secrecy—they couldn't talk about it, even if their life depended on it. And she had never ever changed her form in those last eight or something years without shutters down and several Concealment Spells cast on her place, so no one could have seen her like this by chance. Yet, here she was, trying to defend herself against an empusa in a pit with only one exit, and through which only one of them would leave the fight pit alive. They were cheered on by what seemed to be a rather exclusive audience looking down on them—some probably even bet a large amount of money on either her or her opponent's death.

However, defending yourself against a fire creature wasn't easy if you didn't have your wand—several of her feathers had already been singed or burned from trying to get away. She didn't want to get burned alive, but she didn't want to kill him—her?—either, she had seen enough dead bodies during both the Battle at Hogwarts and her work to last her a lifetime.

"Fight, you little dumb thing," the empusa taunted her when she tried to get away once more. "Killing you would be more fun if you fought back…"

"I do not want to kill–"

"That's what you're here for, you know? Kill or get killed." The empusa tried to hit her with a row of strong blows, but Hermione was fast enough to either block or avoid them completely.

"I survived a War," Hermione retorted, and finally started to hit back, her sharp talons leaving marks on the empusa's skin. "I don't want any more death." Gods, the smells in this pit of death were overwhelming—a putrid mix of blood, sweat, excrement, and dying. And on top of that, the smell of burned feathers and singed flesh. Hermione wished she had still her wand with her, but it had been taken when she had been captured; and she could cast only a handful of spells without her wand, neither the Stunning Spell nor the Impedimenta were yet amongst them.

"Fight, you bloody bird!" the empusa cried out when he pushed her into the wall, his arm blocking her throat.

That was when something in Hermione clicked, and she willingly let the creature in her take over control. "You're not going to kill me!" she gurgled, and grabbed her opponent's head. With her talons, she started to gouge his eyes, until he was screaming in pain, and then pushed even further, wanting to see blood. Hearing his pained screams let the adrenaline rush through her system, until she had only one thought left in her mind—the creature was now in complete control, and it was violent, blood-thirsty.

The empusa finally let go off her, still screaming in pain while covering his eyes. His flames were burning lower, close to extinguishing.

Hermione watched him for the better part of a second, his screaming a very satisfying sound. Screeching and ignoring the whistling and cheering from the audience above—she hit him in the groin next, causing him to groan and cower in pain. And before he even had the chance to recover from that attack, she hit him in the neck so that he broke down on the ground. She was leaning over him within moments, wrapping her talons around his lower neck, stabbing them into his shoulders. "No one calls me stupid!" she screeched, tightening her pressure on his neck.

"You are if you think you won already!" The empusa gurgled and engulfed himself with renewed flames, trying to push her off again. It was clear that he couldn't see her any longer, his eyes having turned into a bloody mess, but he wasn't about to give up just yet.

Hermione tried to ignore the pain from his newly inflamed skin, and put even more pressure on his neck, driving her talons further and further into his shoulders as well.

But then, the empusa—in what looked like a last attempt of freeing himself of her tight grip—turned himself into a living flame, too hot to touch, or to even stand close. He screamed once more when Hermione pulled out her talons in order to let go of him, and he managed to get up; he still couldn't see her, but it seemed as if he was still able to sense her position through other means—smell mostly, because she reeked of burned feathers and deeply singed flesh. So, with a loud angry growl, he went after her, chasing her around in the pit.

Hermione was glad he couldn't throw fire balls after her, or she would probably have been burned alive by now—like a roasted duck. There was no corner she could have hidden in, but there was also no corner she could be blocked in by her opponent; she managed to thwart him off several times, each time receiving further burns.

But then, the empusa caught her wrist and shoved her into the wall once more. "Burn, little bird, burn!" he taunted her, engulfing them both with flames.

"No!" she retorted, gasping for the oxygen the flames hadn't yet consumed; it was getting harder to breathe by the second, and she could feel how her skin and feathers started to blister and wither away. The pain was excruciating! The creature in her roared, desperate to get away from the flames, and tried to free itself, but the empusa had her completely pinned to the wall. But then—with the sheer strength of despair—she managed to finally push him off her. "Impedimenta!" she screeched in addition it; to her surprise, he was thrown into the opposite wall, as the spell had worked for the first time after being cast wandless. However, there wasn't time to think about it any longer, so she went straight after him after taking a deep breath to fill her lungs with air. In her renewed attacks, she tried to hit him wherever she could, trying to leave as many deep wounds as she was able to. She especially went for his head and neck, the parts that were protected by the smallest flames, and hence giving her the most access. The creature in her wanted revenge for almost being burned alive; the adrenaline in her system let her ignore the pain caused by the burns and injuries all over her body that otherwise would have driven her insane.

The empusa put up a tough fight, hitting back where it hurt, aiming for her sides and belly, despite the disadvantage of having lost his sight. But he eventually caved to the amount of injuries he sustained during the fight—he was bleeding from many deep cuts and stabbing wounds, even severely from a couple of them. Defeated, he sank to the floor, much to the chagrin of the audience, which commented his breaking down with loud whistling and jeering.

Smirking maliciously, Hermione bent over him. "Kill or get killed, right?" she said, her voice turning more and more into a screech. But when she saw how tiny and scared he looked, now that his flames were completely extinguished, she rather felt pity for him. She struggled with her creature to take back control over her actions, not wanting to turn into a thoughtless monster. "I'm sorry, you know?" she whispered, with her normal voice, not the creature's characteristic screeching tone.

The empusa nodded, his empty eyes staring at her. "We-We all have no choice," he choked, gasping for air, starting to cough up small amounts of blood. "Just do it fast... please," he stammered, pointing to his neck.

Hermione nodded, absent-mindedly licking her parched lips. The shouts from the audience were deafening, and they all demanded his death. She looked up for a moment, but all she could see was light, and the slightest hint of railings, but no faces. And then she looked one last time at him, smiling sadly, before closing her eyes. She didn't want to see what she was about to do to him—driving her talons into his neck, so that he would bleed out and die within moments, just as he asked her to.

. .

The last fight was still going on when Hermione woke up in her cell. It took her a moment to realise where she was, and why she felt a mind-numbing pain throughout her body, but then the realisation hit her—she had just been in a fight, and had to kill someone, something she never wanted to experience. The last thing she remembered was closing her eyes, and the sound of the empusa gasping one last time when she drove her talons into his neck as if it were butter; she clenched her hands at that thought. She must have passed out moments later, because she didn't remember leaving the pit on her own. Gods, the scared look of the empusa moments before she was forced to kill him would follow her around forever. No, she won't ever forget that look. Never.

She took a deep breath, and swallowed hard, trying to choke down the tears that threatened to well up. But it was useless, they still streamed down her cheeks. How the hell could she take a life like this, just driving her talons into someone's throat? She, who always tried to save everyone if she could? How did she turn into such a monster? She sniffed, clearly determined not to give in completely to that feeling of grief that was slowly suffocating her. Her brain understood that she had to do it to survive, but this thought wasn't comforting her heart at all. No, it felt too much like a failure.

"You know, crying won't help," the person in the neighbouring cell said, a cynical tone in his voice. "You will eventually get used to it."

"Never," Hermione retorted defiantly; she tried to sit up, and then groaned loudly, as the pain from the sustained burns was overwhelming. "Who are you, anyway?" she said through gritted teeth when she finally managed it.

"Just another captive," the voice answered laconically; it had a low, rather rich timbre, and most probably belonged to a male.

Hermione looked down her body. She had burns everywhere, from mild superficial ones to more severe all over her hands and arms; and she still stank of burned flesh, as he hadn't yet had the chance to clean herself as well as she could in these circumstances. The smell was going to stick anyway.

"The way you groaned, you might want to use the Healing Potion they put on your table somewhere..."

Sighing, Hermione took a look around in her cell, and indeed, there was a pot on the small table in her cell. She groaned again when she got up on her feet, and realised that her soles seemed have been burned as well—not as severely as her hands, but enough to make walking painful.

"They care well for their more prestigious captives, you'll see," the voice continued. "Better food, better medical care—if you want to call it that—and separate cells with some privacy."

Hermione hissed when she put the first dab of the Healing potion on her arms, as it stung in the first moment before starting to soothe her skin, immediately decreasing the pain. "Prestigious?" she asked, sitting down to treat her feet before continuing with the rest of her body.

"Yes. The rarer or more famous a creature or a person is they capture, the more prestigious they are, and the more money will be bet."

"I don't think I'm that rare or famous–"

"Just be glad they consider you famous, or you wouldn't get that pot of Healing Potion."

Hermione continued to slather the potion on every burned spot on her body she could reach; she definitely felt better now, and could feel how the potion started to work its magic. However, it only helped her body to heal, not her soul. It felt torn, broken—was that what it is like after you've killed someone? Was that why Dumbledore had tried to persuade Draco that night on the Astronomy Tower as he had told her one day, because his soul shouldn't be torn like that, should stay innocent?

Draco. She had broken up with him eight years ago, and missed him now more than ever, missed the safety of his arms, the sound of his voice when he tried to calm her. But what would he say if he knew about her now? What would he say if he knew that she had killed someone? She heaved a sigh. It didn't matter anymore what he might think about her; after all, she had broken up with him, and he most probably had found someone else by now. He deserved someone whole, not tainted and broken like her. Gods, she damned the day of that horrific incident that made her like this, and destroyed her happiness! Now she was here in this hole because of all this! Overwhelmed by all this thoughts and emotions, she curled up on her mattress, sobbing quietly, but with abandon.

"You really are a softie," the voice commented from the neighbouring cell.

"Why would you care?" she shot back, angered that she was mocked like this.

"Softies usually don't survive as long as the others in here..."

"Sorry if my breakdown seems inconvenient for you." She hated how her neighbour just sounded like Draco in the first years of their relationship, always a sarcastic remark on his lips. And Draco had been the only one she had ever let get away with it. "It was my first kill. And I survived a Battle." She sniffed demonstratively.

"Hogwarts. You're one of them." His voice turned cynical, mocking her once more.

"Leave me alone."

"Then stop crying."

Hermione only growled in response, she wasn't in the mood for arguing. And she was even less in the mood to think about the things she missed and could no longer have. However, her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the doors to the fight pit being opened. The last fight of the evening was over, and cheering could be heard through the doors, when the opponents were carried out. In the first moment, she couldn't discern who survived, as they both didn't react to anything, but then the body of the loser was carried past her cell - dripping with blood and gore, the skin torn off and hanging slackly from the muscles, and dead eyes staring into emptiness. She saw that it had been one of the animagi that could transform into a probably impressive animal. And now he was dead, the other probably only barely alive. Maybe dying was the better option than trying to survive in this hell?

TBC