Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.

Chapter 4

31 December 1996

There was a gloomy atmosphere that surrounded the castle. It was filled with the haunting suspicion that something terrible was around the corner. She hadn't slept properly since she stopped taking ten potions a day to cure her of Dolohov's curse and it was making sixth year even more difficult. Whenever she closed her eyes, Hermione would hear a disembodied voice calling out to her. It started with just her name and then escalated into demands. Problem was, she had no idea what it wanted her to do. Then, she'd wake and the brightness of the day would cast the shadows away.

The scar on her chest was still hot to the touch. It felt like it was turning itself inward, tugging on her heart and drawing her closer to… something. Probably a side effect of the curse, Madam Pomfrey told her.

Most of her classmates were gone for the holidays but Hermione stayed behind. She was supposed to visit her mum and dad but a sick grandparent ruined those plans. She didn't want to go to The Burrow because she was still furious with Ronald and his snogging sessions with Lavender Brown. So, she stayed at Hogwarts and promised the others that she'd keep an eye on Draco Malfoy – even though it was pointless; there was no way he was a death eater, as she'd tried to explain to Harry countless times.

When she first heard the voice while awake, it was Christmas Day.

"It's time to pay up, Hermione Granger."

She decided that she simply wasn't getting enough sleep. Hermione scratched at the marks on her chest. They were irritated and she assumed it had to do with the wool of her jumper. However, even after she changed several times, the hot marks still stung.

"You owe me."

Hermione shook off the voice, though she couldn't escape it. It grew more insistent as the days passed. Between Christmas and New Year's, Hermione found herself in the library with a pass for the Restricted Section and flung through many old and dangerous tomes. She searched everything from hearing voices to dark, purple curses.

Nothing explained what was happening to her nor the urge she had to actually follow the voice's instructions.

It wasn't until she discovered a small, black book bound in leather that she found her answer. Whispers in the Dark: Witch Trials and the Devil's Mark. She'd of course researched witch trials since getting her Hogwarts letter, thinking it important to know the history of her kind. However, she'd never read the darker versions. The book in front of her told stories about witches who were tortured after being found with marks of the Devil. As she flipped through the pages, various images flitted through her vision. She stopped, held her breath, when she found a mark that looked exactly like hers.

"Oh, bugger," she whispered as she read the small caption beneath the photo. "Witches afflicted with the Claw of the Beast, otherwise known as the Devil's Mark, were regarded as the most sinister of all those who claimed to speak to the Devil. These witches were discovered to be demons. Those with the Devil's Mark were responsible for… oh, no!"

Hermione gasped and dropped the book onto the ground. She jumped up and clasped her hand over her mouth as she felt the urge to vomit. No,she thought desperately, no, that can't be true.

"You owe me one soul, Hermione Granger." The voice confirmed her very worst fears.

"I am not a demon!" Hermione argued uselessly. Her hand flew to the top of her head just in case she'd sprouted horns. "I will not!"

"A soul for your life. You struck a deal."

"No! I am not a demon. I will not –" Hermione shook from head to toe. Even as the voice commanded her, she felt it tugging at her soul. A warning. A threat.

"We. Had. A. Deal."

The thread around her soul pulled sharply and she gasped against the pressure. With the book still on the floor, Hermione fled the library and didn't stop until she reached her dormitory. Even as she burrowed herself under the blankets and pillows, the voice still purred in her ear.

"A soul for your life. You owe me. I do not forget, Hermione Granger."

Hermione walked around the school feeling like a hollow shell for the following two days. It wasn't until New Year's Eve that she finally sat in the Great Hall with the rest of her classmates. She was thankful that so many were on holiday because she didn't think she could stand Harry or Ron bothering her about the state of mind she was in. At any moment, she'd glance behind herself to ensure there was no tail with a spade at the end. The Devil's Mark on her chest ached terribly. She hadn't slept in days. And the voice — oh, that voice — wouldn't leave her alone.

"Hey, Hermione!" Seamus waved her over to the other end of the table where he was sitting with Dean. She met eyes with them and paled. Could she possibly take a soul from Seamus or Dean? They hadn't done anything wrong, not ever. Even as she thought it, the presence within her urged her to do it. Hermione snapped her head away from her two friends and pushed away from the table.

Her feet couldn't carry her fast enough from the hall. She rounded corner after corner and climbed staircase after staircase until she found somewhere she could be truly alone. Prefect's Bathroom. All of the others were gone, she could stay here until everyone went to bed. Hermione slammed the door behind her and sagged against the door.

"Granger?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to the far end of the room, across the swimming pool-sized bath. He stood in long, black slacks and a white button down shirt that was — she gulped — unbuttoned. He'd obviously just dressed from the bath because his hair was still plastered to his head, wet and dripping down his face.

"Malfoy!" Hermione squeaked. She straightened herself out. "What are you – how did you get in here?"

A smirk curled his lip but she thought, perhaps, he barely meant it as vindictively as normal. "Parkinson. She's a good friend."

"Y-you shouldn't be in here." As he stepped closer, she stepped away. She didn't trust herself. She didn't trust him, either.

"Can we just pretend this never happened?" There was something in his voice, a plea, exhaustion, nerves, that knocked her off kilter. She'd never heard anything apart from snarky arrogance from the blonde in front of her. "Granger, I'm not in the habit of saying 'please'."

"What's going on with you this year?" She tilted her head as she appraised him. Malfoy was more disheveled than she'd ever known him to be. Untucked shirt, hair messily lying about his head, trousers falling off his hips because he hadn't yet tightened his belt. "Harry thinks –"

"Yes, tell me, what does your precious Potter think?" He was vicious again, a sneer wrapped his lips around the words.

"He thinks you've accepted the Dark Mark." She didn't sugar coat it. Something inside of her was egging her on, gently directing her moves.

Draco paled considerably and that's when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the way the skin around his cheeks appeared waxy and sallow. Hermione stepped toward him. She felt something twinge inside of her, right behind the Devil's Mark. It itched and she resisted the urge to scratch it.

"Don't come near me."

"I can help you." The words didn't even sound like her voice as they left her. Softer, almost, enticing. Her eyes widened as she grew closer to him still. "I – I can… help."

"I don't need your help, Granger!" Draco shouted. "The Order can't do anything for me, okay. Just fucking leave. Go run back to Scarhead and Weaslebee and just fucking leave. me. alone."

"I'm not talking about the Order!" Hermione jumped toward him as he neared the door. He was so close that she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes. "The Order can't help you, Malfoy. But, I can."

He scoffed. "Right. How's that?"

"I –"

The string around her soul tightened, guided her words. She absently itched the mark on her chest. For some reason, without consciously deciding to, Hermione tugged down the fabric covering her mark and showed Draco. She watched his eyes widen a fraction, his lips pulled into a strict line.

"You've made a deal with the devil?" His eyebrows are perched high on his forehead.

Tears sprang to her eyes, the corners stinging as she tried to push them away.

"Wouldn't you?" She asked him harshly. "Would… you?"

She put the fabric back over the mark and Malfoy's eyes found hers again. She watched the knot in his throat bob once and when he tried to speak it took a moment for the hoarseness in his voice to allow it.

"I would," he said resolutely with a short nod. Water dripped down his cheek and Hermione wondered if it was leftover bath water or tears. "Is that how you can help? My soul for the safety of me and my family?"

Her scar throbbed as she nodded. "I promise that no harm will come to your family if you will agree to forfeit your soul in exchange."

Draco eyed her and she felt completely exposed as his gaze flickered from her eyes to the mark not once, but three times. He swallowed and she watched the way he wet his lips and pressed them tight. His hand shot out between them and Hermione's eyes widened.

"Deal," he whispered and if she didn't know any better, she'd say he was eager.

"Deal."

She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. The voice inside her head sang with sweet laughter.

Draco hissed as she lifted his tattered shirt away from his injuries. She glanced over the marks on his chest—four gouges spanning from under his right collarbone to the left side of his ribcage.

She swallowed the bile rising to her throat at the sight of the pooling blood. "Just a flesh wound," she said weakly, schooling her features.

"Oh, good," Draco breathed, eyes blinking lethargically. "That's exactly what it feels like. Minor injury." He tried to prop himself on a shaky elbow.

Gently, Hermione held his shoulder down. "Don't. At least let me patch you up before we do something stupid again."

With a sigh, Draco settled down. Hermione muttered a healing charm over the gashes on his torso, stealing glances at the door from the corner of her eye. They were back in the compartment in which they hid earlier, and the wards had stayed intact. But it was only a matter of time before the powerful creature recovered and decided to hunt them down.

She took a fortifying breath and focused on the task in front of her. She swept her wand across the wounds, stopping the gush of blood—a temporary solution. Frayed muscle fibers and stark bone peeked through the fluid. He would need to go to a healer when he gets off the train.

When he gets off the train, Hermione repeated in her head. She bit the insides of her lips, working faster to seal the wounds.

As she charmed the last gash, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Her eyes flicked to his face—drawn and pale. Deathly pale.

"Granger." Though his voice was feeble, his grey eyes were sharp and urgent. "I want you to tell my parents—"

"No." She wrenched her arm from his grasp. His hand slid off without resistance, and she continued to heal him.

"Granger—"

"I said, 'no,'" Hermione growled. "I said I would buy you time to see your parents. So you'll see them." She bent down and worked on his injuries, ignoring his pointed stare.

He shook his head slowly. "It won't work. It's too strong."

"Not yet," she muttered. "I won't let it take you. Not yet."

Slowly, he sat up on the bench, facing her. He ducked his head to catch her eye. "It's what I signed up for. Remember?"

Hermione turned her face away. "I'm so sorry—"

He cupped her cheek. "My parents are safe. They're alive, and they're safe, just as I wanted." Tears sprung from her eyes, and he wiped them away as they rolled down her cheek. "And I've got you to thank for that, Hermione Granger." His thumb trailed the side of her face, over her jaw, and traced her bottom lip. She tasted her tears on him. "Wherever I am—whatever existence I'll have for the rest of eternity—I'll always be grateful for you."

Hermione raised her hand—covered in crimson—and wrapped it over his. She turned her face into his caress and pressed a kiss against his palm.

With a nod, he threaded their fingers together. His hand was drenched with her tears; her hand was soaked in his blood. "I'm ready."

The gravity in his voice stole her breath. "I'm not." She willed steel into her spine as she gazed at him. "There's one thing we can do to stop this. To stop all of it." She squeezed his fingers. "But—it's irreversible."

He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "Tell me."