Hermione swallowed nervously as she climbed the spiral staircase to Dippet's office. It didn't have the warm feeling it had when Dumbledore occupied it; instead, the aura around it was foreboding.

She had debated coming up here on her own accord—as Head Girl, she had the password. But she couldn't help but suspect that Tom was being untruthful toward her regarding Draco being implicated in Dorea's predicament, and she didn't want anything she said to ignite that suspicion.

Hermione had conveyed the conversation to Draco briefly; she had originally planned on telling him what Tom knew but his anxiety level spiked just from the knowledge that he might be under investigation and she couldn't add to it. Besides, she thought bitterly, we've had no time to be alone.

Ever since Draco had essentially sent her out of the Room of Requirement, they hadn't slept next to each other. It had been three days but it felt like a lifetime. Last night, she had tried to enter the Room only to be denied, and had cried silently against the stone with the knowledge that Draco must have told the Room not to allow her entry. It hurt.

But despite her misgivings, just a couple days after Tom had warned her, she received a summons at breakfast to meet with Dippet. There was no reason listed, but Hermione knew immediately it was about Draco.

"Ms. Prewett, so nice to see you," Dippet greeted her.

Hermione put on her best fake smile as she sat down across from the cold headmaster. "Hello, Headmaster. How are you?"

"Quite well, quite well. I apologize in advance, but I need to ask you some personal questions."

Hermione kept her smile and nodded, her stomach churning inside with the knowledge that she was about to tell a professor that she had slept in the same room as another student. The side of her that was eager to please was fiercely rejecting the notion.

"I understand you have been seeing Abraxas Malfoy… romantically."

Merlin, Dippet already can't meet my eye. "Yes, sir."

"And how long has that been happening?" Dippet appeared to ask his desk this question as that was where his gaze was directed.

"Well, we went on a date several months ago, but did not start seriously dating until this semester." She felt awkward mentioning the awful date with the now deceased Abraxas, but anything that could add legitimacy to their relationship was a plus in this instance.

"And"—there was a long pause—"I must ask where you've been sleeping."

Hermione struggled to maintain her composure. "For the last couple weeks, I've been sleeping in the Room of Requirement."

"Yes, a remarkable room to be sure," Dippet said more to himself. "Has anyone else—that is to say, have you been there alone?"

"No, sir."

Dippet paused, waiting for her to continue, but she bit her lip nervously instead, unable to hold back the waves of anxiety any longer.

"Who else was there?"

She almost said Draco, but caught herself. "Abraxas, sir."

"You understand that this is quite serious, Ms. Prewett."

Hermione hung her head. "Yes, sir."

"I will report the matter to your head of house. That will be all for now."

After Hermione spent twenty minutes squirming in her second chair of the day, she was able to let out a sigh of relief. The main punishment appeared to be Professor Merrythought giving her a stern talking-to. Other than that, she had detention helping the same professor grade papers, which she suspected Professor Merrythought knew wasn't much of a punishment for her.

Hermione went off to Arithmancy after the meeting and slid into her normal seat next to Draco.

Draco had a plastered-on bored look on his face and she could understood why; the moment she took her assigned seat, a chorus of whispers broke out in their relatively small class. Although the students in that class were less prone to gossip than most, the subject must have been too juicy. Somehow, everyone knew about what she—and presumably Draco—had revealed to Professor Dippet.

She made eye contact with Tom, who had an unreadable expression on his face. Hermione turned away, not sure what she was expecting. He was clearly blocking her out, and it was probably for the best.

Hermione kept coming back to his words from earlier that week: No one can keep you away from me.

She felt simultaneously sick and filled with anticipation when she thought about it, though she couldn't put her finger on why.

Putting the haunting sentence out of her mind once more, she turned to Draco and asked if they could talk after class, sensing that he would not want to do so now.

He nodded curtly.

Hermione grew nervous as the two of them approached the Room of Requirement, worried that somehow it was blocked off after news of their tryst got out.

It wasn't.

The Room wasn't what she was used to, though; she let Draco call the Room and it was a drab, gray thing that seemed to match the proverbial storm cloud over his head.

"What happened? Did you tell them we were together that night?"

Another curt nod.

"And? Were you sent to Slughorn for punishment?"

"No. I think that Dippet recognized that Slughorn would let it slide. He actually winked at me when I saw him in the hall, you know." Draco shook his head. "Dippet punished me himself. Detention every day for two months, excluding Quidditch practices, luckily."

"Who is the detention with?"

Draco shook his head again, more forcefully this time. "Some sort of joke, I guess. It's with Dumbledore."

"Well that shouldn't be too bad."

"We're not exactly on the best terms. He has questions that I've refused to answer. And now I'm to spend hours on end with him? I'm not looking forward to it."

Hermione tried to pat his awkwardly on the shoulder and he jerked away involuntarily.

"Draco…"

"I can't deal with this, Hermione, right now, I'm sorry. Give me some time to sort things out? You know I love you, it's just…"

"Just?" She asked, her voice cracking slightly as she suppressed her tears, her eyes burning.

"Time?"

He leaned her forehead against hers and she nodded against him, no longer able to hold the tears back.

"Draco Malfoy." The boy stopped dead in his tracks, and Tom could not only sense the fear as it rushed into every bone of his body, but he could feel it just as surely as the cold stone underneath his shoes. He had been concerned Hermione would ruin this moment—this overwhelming rush of triumph—by warning Draco that he knew. Strange that she didn't. Coupled with her presence in her own chambers for sleep, Tom hoped that perhaps there was trouble in paradise.

Either way, he had a mission to complete now that the Ministry was under his nose. The boy was clearly pathetic—he probably could have had Lestrange do the job even if his follower might be squeamish.

But this was personal.

"I don't believe I know whom you are referring to, my lord." The sentence was strung together several seconds too late to sound anything approaching natural, but Tom had to hand it to the slightly shaky wizard in front of him; he was able to keep his voice smooth.

"Apologies," Tom replied in a scathing tone that conveyed anything but an apology. "I know you like to go by your grandfather's name."

Draco didn't turn, opting to go for his wand instead. It was so close to his fingertips that he was almost touching it, but Tom was faster. Tom would always be faster.

The wand flew into his hand. It looked exactly like Abraxas's, but once Tom held it in his hand it was obvious that it was not the same wand; he had disarmed Abraxas more than enough times to know the feeling of that wand. It must have been a complicated glamour.

"What do you want, Voldemort?" Draco choked on his name, but spat it out regardless, the distaste evident on his tongue.

"Oh, Draco. Were you not taught to respect your elders?" Tom levitated Draco about two inches off the ground, using substantial force to shove him into an empty classroom. Fittingly, it was the same one that he had cornered Dorea in.

"What—what is this?" The fear was palpable now, and the wizard had somehow become even more white as he crumpled up onto a heap on the floor. He didn't bother sitting up or adjusting himself, just laying there, gazing in horror at the state of the room.

Tom had spent the last few days—while Draco's name was being cleared and the Ministry remained on campus to investigate—doing his own investigation into the magic on Dorea's diary. He had known it was blood magic. He had known he would need blood.

But a few days ago, Tom had no idea how much he needed. It was exactly the amount the human body could contain. And he had no intention of killing Draco, as irritating as the wizard had turned out to be.

The best option Tom could find to acquire this amount was blood replenishing magic. Blood replenishing potions were not an option. They were much too slow, and at that rate, it would take nearly a week to get the requisite amount of blood without killing Draco. That path was too high risk as he would either have to keep Draco for a week, causing another scandal, or continue to corner him, which added more opportunities for error.

So Tom had settled on some more complicated, slightly grayer magic instead: blood replenishing runes. The replenishment would be significantly more painful, but that seemed for the best.

The runes had to be written in blood. The most straightforward path would have been to use Draco's blood to make the runes, and then begin the ritual. However, as someone with a flair for the dramatic, Tom had opted to pre-write the runes using Lestrange's blood.

The look on Draco's face right now was worth the added hassle.

"My lord, I—"

"I didn't realize it took drawing runes to be addressed by my proper title," Tom cut him off offhandedly.

Draco's eyes moved quickly, back and forth between Tom and the runes before attempting to make a run for it. He didn't get far enough to disturb the intricate shapes on the ground; Tom threw him back, keeping him against the wall temporarily with a sticking charm.

"Is this about Hermione?" Draco asked quietly.

Indirectly. "I did not bring you here to chat. My reasons for this ritual are of no concern to you."

Draco looked as though he were having an internal struggle.

Tom was having one of his own. Did he really want to go down this road again? Would questioning Draco do anything to help his currently frosty relationship with Hermione?

"My lord, she—" Draco hesitated, and Tom didn't want to press, didn't want to give him any power, even if it meant nothing. Draco would provide the needed blood for the blood magic.

Instead, Tom tested the waters: "Dreams about me? I know." Tom looked Draco dead in the eye while he said it, trying to assess if Draco had any other information. It seems he did. "And?"

"And nothing, my lord. You're correct."

Tom scoffed, flinging Draco to the middle of the runes with his wand and performing a Slicing Hex in rapid succession.

"Are you planning to kill me?"

Tom only sighed. It was going to be a long night.

Hermione felt hands gently shoved her and jerked up. She had almost fallen asleep—again.

"I'm sorry, Lyra, what were you saying?" She looked down as she spoke the words and inwardly cursed. The end of her curls had gotten into her pumpkin juice. This was one of the myriad reasons she had been avoiding breakfast in the Great Hall lately. The other was that her appetite was disturbed.

Lyra just sighed. "It's nothing."

The behavior was uncharacteristic and ignited the latent guilt Hermione felt for being a terrible friend to the witch adjacent to her.

"Please, Lyra. I'm sorry. My insomnia lately has been horrible."

"Why don't you get some Dreamless Sleep?" Todd piped up from across the table. It was almost odd that all three of them were sharing a meal again—Lyra and Todd had a cold relationship ever since the holidays, although no one would say exactly why, and Hermione was distant from nearly everyone but Draco. Or rather, she corrected herself miserably, distant from everyone.

"I've reached my allotment, I'm afraid."

Todd's eyebrows knitted together. "I didn't know there was a limit."

"I think I may have been the first to reach it," Hermione said half under her breath, although both of her friends heard her.

"But, sincerely, Lyra, please repeat what you said. I'm fully awake this time." She tried to force a smile, but felt her cheeks slightly twitch instead.

Perhaps Lyra appreciated the effort, because she reluctantly responded. First, though, she ran her hand under her hair and down her neck. It was an odd gesture that seemed unconscious. Hermione looked down at her hand not under her curtain of hair and noticed that Lyra had been biting her nails, something else she hadn't done mere weeks ago. What had she missed?

"I had asked if you would go the village with me to shop." Also strange.

"But today isn't a Hogsmeade day," Hermione responded gently.

"I have special permission. I've already asked if I can bring you."

"Oh. Alright, then."