Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

Chapter 2

It was as easy as falling asleep.

One moment, he was sitting, every nerve in his body blaring as danger loomed. And, then…

Nothing. His limbs felt weightless, and his senses dulled, as though he were submerged in deep water.

He felt a tug on his soul, urging him along the current. Bit by bit, he let go to follow that gentle but insistent pull.

In the distance, there was a pattering sound, like a woodpecker on a tree trunk. An incessant tapping. Just as it stopped, a hazy figure stepped in his line of vision. A familiar shape; and he halted his progress out of his body to wonder at the sight.

It raised its arm. A beam of light shot out.

Sparks crashed into the darkness surrounding him—and the darkness shivered. As it recoiled from him, taking the merciful numbness with it, Draco felt it—

The vice around his heart. The fire in his lungs. The rawness of his skin, like he was being flayed alive.

"Draco!"

Hands wrapped around his forearms, and he screamed from the pain of his overwrought nerves. He was dragged across the floor, the top half of his body hanging out into the empty corridor.

"Damn it!" she hissed. Hermione.

Air whooshed underneath him, and he floated. Her nails dug into his skin as she continued to pull him.

"Gra—" he moaned, the back of his throat galled as if he had swallowed glass shards. "Granger."

She ignored him, hauling him into the next carriage.

"Granger," he said, his voice gaining strength the more distance they put between them and…it.

"What?!" They were halfway down the carriage, and if the determined set of Hermione's shoulders were any indication, they were not stopping anytime soon.

"Let me down."

She glanced over her shoulder and glared at him. "You're bloody kidding me."

He peeked down his legs and over his toes. The door through which they came was closed; he pondered briefly if he had missed her put a locking spell on it.

"We'll move faster if you don't have to drag me along." His eyes flicked up to her again. The corners of her lips were gouged in a frown. "I promise," he said.

As they reached the end of the corridor, she nodded stiffly and released the Levicorpus spell.

"Thank you," he murmured as he picked himself up from the floor.

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't thank me yet." Her long fingers gripped his wrist, and together, they ran into another carriage. "There's bound to be an empty one—please let there be an empty one—"

Near the end, a door stood slightly ajar. They rushed for it; peeked inside.

"Thank Merlin," Hermione whispered, shutting the door behind them quietly. As Draco stumbled to a bench, clutching his sides, she waved her wand over the door, muttering.

When the wards were in place, she shuffled to the opposite seat and lowered herself down. Her face was pale despite their run, and her wide eyes fixed on him.

Draco met her gaze unflinchingly. "What," he growled, "the hell was that ?"

03 September 1998

Eighth year was supposed to be a time for learning and a time for putting the past behind them. An actual education. Who would have thought? Not Hermione Granger, not even as she attended the Sorting Ceremony for the younger years and every new teacher announced for the year was someone she trusted. Not even as she made it through the first two weeks without a single, solitary event that demanded her to research ways to destroy some nefarious magical artifact or a maniacal Dark Lord. Her first night in the library, she breathed in the musty scent of old books and sighed to herself as she opened a textbook, an actual learning tool, and set to write out her first homework assignment for NEWT Arithmancy.

Just as her quill pressed into fresh parchment, a rucksack slammed down onto the table next to her. Her lips formed a tight line. Bloody typical. She set down her quill and gripped the old, wooden table with curled fingers as she brought her narrowed gaze to the source of her disruption. A shock of platinum hair hovered next to her. His stare bore into hers through nervous, tight gray eyes. She swallowed. The last time she'd been so near to him, his deranged aunt had sliced Mudblood into her skin. Hermione scratched at the scar.

"Granger." He ducked his chin as if greeting her was an afterthought.

"Malfoy." She followed his lead, though quieter with a slight bite that dared him to taunt her.

He reached a hand up to his forehead and smoothed his hair back. A nervous tic, she realized as she watched his hand fall back down to his side and ball into a loose fist. She heard him breathe sharply through his nose and it looked like he might be about to bolt from the library at any moment. Instead of encouraging him to leave, she grabbed the back of the chair next to her and pulled it out, silently offering him a seat.

"Right." He sat down and dropped his eyes to the table. "Listen, Granger, I –"

"We don't have to do this," she told him kindly as her gaze followed his to the table. "It is what it is and there's nothing that can change it."

She heard the way his throat constricted around a lump and pulled her lips between her teeth. He was going to do it, she thought. He was working his way up to something – something big. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. Not now, possibly not ever.

"We do – I do." Malfoy dragged his eyes from the table to hers. His lips tugged down and his pallor flashed pink. "I… appreciate –"

Hermione scoffed, the noise tearing its way from her throat before she could stop it.

He rolled his eyes. Irritated and doing a poor job of hiding it. But still, he pressed on.

" – I appreciate what you did for me, for my family." He stole a heavy breath. "After everything."

Hermione shook her head, a sadness filled her eyes and pulled her lips down at the corners.

"You shouldn't thank me, Malfoy." She started packing up. There was no way for her to finish her homework now. "I haven't done anything worthy of thanks."

"A hellhound."

In the dim light, Draco's fair complexion turned a sickly shade of gray. "A hellhound," he echoed roughly. His fingers clawed through his hair. "Fuck."

"It's here to—"

"I know," he snapped. His throat bobbed, and then, much more gently, whispered, "I know."

Hermione hugged her arms over her abdomen, hands bunched into the fabric of her robe. "I'm sorry."

For a few breaths, there was silence between them, heavy with remorse and regret.

"I'm not ready to go yet."

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. She shook her head once. "I'm sorry," she repeated, a rare feeling of uselessness overcoming her.

Draco bent forward, cradling his temples between his hands. "Is there anything…" He sighed. "Is there anything I can do to stop it? Can I kill it?"

Pain seared through her like a fiery talon scraping the inside of her sternum. A warning. "Draco…"

"Can it be killed?" When she didn't respond, he leaned further into the space between them, pinning her with a sharp, hopeful look. "I know I can't outrun it forever. I just,"—he cleared his throat—"I want to see my parents one more time. To say goodbye."

She lowered her eyes, fighting the agony in her chest.

"Please."

Slowly, her gaze dragged back to his face—desperate and dire, just like they were one cold, winter night. "I don't know," she breathed. "I don't know if it can be killed. But it can be stopped. Long enough for you to get away."

His shoulders relaxed minutely.

"At least, I think so. From what I've read...and there's not much written on them, not many have seen a hellhound and lived to tell about it,"—she grimaced—"magic won't affect a hellhound for long. It can shake off a curse or a hex within minutes."

"So, how do we take it down?"

Hermione gave him a tight smile. "Do you know the Labours of Hercules?"