Notes: I appreciate all of you. Stay safe and well. And now for some Christmas in June...

~*~ Seventeen ~*~

The sun hung low in the sky, nearly kissing the dull horizon, as Hermione peered over the turrets of the Astronomy Tower. A cold wind whipped her thick hair across her face despite the scarf knotted tightly about her neck, the icy tendrils of winter stinging her chilled skin. It was Christmas. It was Christmas and she couldn't muster even the slightest hint of merriment to mark the occasion.

The past week had been a hell in its own right with only Tom and Malfoy for company in the drafty castle. She and Malfoy hadn't spoken beyond the necessary since he'd stormed out of the library and she hadn't had the courage to question Tom about his intention to marry her. Some childish part of her hoped that if she didn't mention it, he'd forget about the vow entirely and she'd be spared the trouble of dealing with it and its vast implications. Of course, Hermione wasn't some naïve girl anymore and she knew her reckoning would come. But not today.

She watched the two cloaked figures circle the lake below, two midnight heads bowed in quiet conversation. Tom had been true to his word and she'd seen Malfoy disappear into the latest meeting of Tom's followers before the term had adjourned. Now they spent most waking hours together, talking in hushed tones that cut off whenever she entered the room. If not for Malfoy's vehement outburst she would have worried he was falling into the web Tom had laid. But no, whatever Tom might be constructing, Malfoy was keenly aware of what he was doing, his mind an impenetrable vault to all.

The figures paused at the far edge of the lake and a moment later spells began to fly between them. A practice duel, and not their first. While Tom had never asked Hermione for a repeat of their DADA demonstration, he'd had Malfoy squaring off against him the first chance they got. Hermione watched idly as the spells clashed and sparked across the snow, gaining intensity as the fight continued. Soon there were more dark incantations than normal dueling spells, the content entirely found in the Restricted Section. Neither man wavered under the increased potency of the attacks. Then there was the distinctive crack of the Cruciatus Curse hitting the slighter figure, grazing his shoulder and dropping him to his knees. Hermione nearly collapsed herself, only an arm around the parapet keeping her upright. The sound of chilling laughter, disembodied and razor sharp, floated up to the tower before the kneeling figure waved his wand, violent and merciless. In an instant the other figure was spayed before him, ebony curls a dark halo on the pristine snow.

Hermione wasn't sure which curse Malfoy had used to level Tom in such a dramatic fashion, but she couldn't help the sigh of relief when both clasped hands, pulling each other upright again. It wasn't the first time Tom had used the Cruciatus on Malfoy, but it was the first that Malfoy had so effectively shrugged off its effects. Sighing, she turned away from them, letting her back slide down the rough stone until she was sitting on the frozen ground.

She knew Malfoy was right; Tom was as dangerous as he'd ever been. He used the torture curse without hesitation or remorse. He used those around him just as Voldemort would do. And yet, he was still not the monster of her nightmares, the man without a soul or face. No, he was still the boy whose eyes turned liquid as he hovered over her, whose skin called to hers with an infinite siren song. He was still human. Broken perhaps, but not beyond repair. So she held onto the hope that grew when they tumbled into the throes of pleasure, held on with every broken fragment of her soul because that was all she had left, a desperate hope that a monster could become a man.

The wind was sharper when awareness dawned on her again, the sun half eaten by the snowy hills. Her skin was chilled despite the layers she wore, her breath a frozen pant of fog. She wasn't surprised she didn't remember choosing to stay atop the tower. Despite the hours of bliss she found in Tom's embrace, time still had a habit of slipping away just as her dreams were still drenched in blood and terror. The night spent sobbing into Aurelia's soft embrace had done nothing to quell the darkness tarnishing her soul. It had given her a momentary respite, a chance to grieve Harry properly, but no fundamental shift in the misery beneath her skin. The continued loss of time wasn't something she could be used to, but she was. Perhaps the old Hermione would have dug and dug into her psyche until she could find a cause and then a solution. But she didn't have the energy to search or the will to face what lay within.

Her joints were stiff as she pulled herself unsteadily up, her feet numb and unprepared for the full force of her weight. She bobbled, swaying dangerously far over the parapets before finally steadying. Her toes began to tingle, then sting as she limped down the spiral stair, pausing to check her unsteady gait as necessary. At the bottom, she held a hand against the rough wall as she slowly made her way back to the Slytherin common room. She didn't pause there, the room deserted anyway, instead climbing to the prefects' bathroom. Her limbs were still mostly frozen and a long soak in the tub there seemed like just the thing to chase away the chill and protect her from either Malfoy or Tom.

She tumbled through the open door before realizing she hadn't needed the password. A frantic glance around the room had her focus shifting to Malfoy, covered only by a towel and staring at her with wide, tumultuous eyes. She drank in every drop of his damp skin before she could think better of it. His muscles were less severe than Tom's, but no less defined, his skin a pale alabaster that seemed delicate despite the strength within. One of his legs was propped up on a ledge, highlighting his sculpted calf and muscled thigh. But that wasn't what stole Hermione's breath away, leaving her unmoored and scrambling for comprehension. No, that would be the angry, inky veins stretching over his thigh like a network of grizzly spider webs. His leg was off the ledge in an instant, safely covered by the towel, but the image was burned into her lids, impossible to ignore. She stumbled back, crashing into one of the sinks near the door.

"That's…" But words wouldn't come for her, only a dawning comprehension that threatened to further fracture her already battered soul.

He frowned at her, all sharp angles and flashing eyes. "A bloody curse. Yes, I'm perfectly aware, Granger."

The angry tendrils flashed across her vision. "Not just any curse."

"No," he agreed, bitter and yet utterly calm.

She slowly closed the gap between them, moving carefully as if the slightest twitch might startle him. Malfoy watched her come, didn't move from his spot beside the great bath. Finally, she was close enough to touch him, but she didn't. It didn't matter that his skin was as smooth as porcelain or that his muscles stretched the panes of his chest and abdomen in all the right ways. It didn't matter that he was breathtakingly handsome with those dark brows and midnight fringe tracing his collar bone. None of that mattered one lick in comparison to the evil tattooed beneath his pale skin. She'd seen a curse like it only once before. The victim had been driven mad within weeks, taking her own life before the Order could find a way to mitigate the pain.

Her mouth was dry. Malfoy hadn't been kidding about walking off the Astronomy Tower the other night in the library. To live with such… suffering. It was nearly incomprehensible. "When?"

"Two years ago."

"How?"

He peered down at her, lips twisting in a ghost of a sneer. "How do you expect? The bloody snake couldn't get his puppet to dance exactly as he'd like."

She'd known it had to have been Voldemort, but the confirmation felt like a bevy of bricks poured over her head. "Why?"

"None of your bloody business." Now the sneer was in full bloom, twisting his handsome features into a darker, more sinister countenance. "We're not friends, remember? Not even friendly. You don't want my help and I'm certainly not going to accept your pity. Now get out."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I'm sorry I've misjudged you so much." She was sorry. Sorry in ways that made her ache, in ways that told her she'd been ignorant, living in a bubble of her own misery for far too long. It was clear Hermione was far from having the monopoly on suffering.

"Get out," he repeated. "And don't you dare breathe a word of this to your sadistic boyfriend."

The jab hit like a dagger through the heart, all hot burn and sudden truth. This Riddle may not have done more than throw a Cruciatus Curse Malfoy's way, but he was still the source of Malfoy's suffering, of the pain she knew did not fade, no matter what remedy the healers concocted. She backed out the door, tripping over the doorjamb in her blind haste. Malfoy's eyes were hurricanes of cold rage as they tracked her retreat, burned into her memory just as surely as the labyrinth of darkness etched upon his thigh.

She collapsed on her bed some minutes later, strength sapped and soul flayed open once more. Merry Bloody Christmas indeed.