Hermione POV

First Friday of a new school year. I knew exactly where every student would be, specifically the 5th, 6th, and 7th years. They were at underground parties, on dates in Hogsmeade, making out in empty classrooms and hallways. Without televisions and computers (the latest craze in the muggle world) muggle born students would be doing what wizarding students already knew how to do so well. They would all be letting loose and shacking up. I would be letting loose too, but in an entirely different kind of way. My scar ached as I made my way towards the Head Boys' quarters. Tonight would be the night that I would give him a scar of his own. Something to rival that death eater scar that Voldemort had branded him with. That would be nothing compared to the mark that I would leave. I'd researched them all, choosing one specifically for him. I was giddy at the idea of marking him, my rage seeping up to intertwine with the strange feeling.

I was ready to make him suffer. It's what Theo had promised me. I had been replaying his words all week and despite every effort not to, I could still feel the ghost of his hand on my cheek. His fingers had rough calluses, I remembered every ridge of them. Perhaps he played an instrument or sport I was unaware of. I could almost picture those callused hands strumming a guitar. The image didn't quite fit, maybe a violin or a cello. It was stupid, the thoughts of those hands on my skin haunted me. I clearly needed to vent my lustful frustrations if Theo's pretty face and fingers could squirm so easily into my thoughts. Sliding my hands between my thighs as I read a book had been an easy distraction over the past year, a distraction that had been taken from me when Theo took my most recent book. No other book seemed to be calling to me like that one had been on my first day back in Hogwarts. I wanted it back. After tonight's distraction, I would demand it back before I left.

The door was already open into their private room. We hadn't discussed a time, so it was probably the easiest way for them to keep track of my arrival. Students often sat with doors wide open. It was a normal occurrence in the prefect dorms to leave doors open for company, until company was no longer wanted of course. The room looked much like mine, with two beds instead of one and everything decked out in Slytherin colors. Theo was lying on a couch, my book in his hands and his feet propped up on his thighs. It was odd. I had never noticed how strangely close the two men were. Had I just not paid attention before the war? Over the past few days, in my quest to ignore them that had taken constant notice of their location, I'd noticed the casual way that Theo would touch his shoulder to get his attention or the brush of legs because they sat so close in the courtyard. Now, seeing legs so casually lying on a lap, I was suddenly hit with a thought. If I didn't know any better I would say they were more than friends. No, surely not. The idea was absurd and made my anger bubble up more. If it were true, it seemed immediately unfair. He didn't deserve that, and Theo, with that pretty face of his, deserved better, despite his shitty choices.

Theo sat up when he noticed me at the door. He quickly used his wand to shut it behind me and cast a silencing spell before sitting up. He looked uncomfortable- dark circles pooled under his gray eyes, his nearly white hair looked disheveled, his face porcelain pale if not for the circles. He sat so stiffly that he could have been a statue. He could be a statue. Despite everything, every part of me that hated him, I could see what Theo saw in him, if they were in fact truly more than friends. The man was a haunted piece of art that you would see outside a mausoleum in a graveyard with wings- a fallen angel. My entire body went taught at the thought, my skin burning with irritation and the desire to mar that skin, that body. I never wanted him to look in a mirror without being disgusted with what he saw. I was about to make his outsides match his insides.

"We're glad you came," Theo said, drawing my attention back to him. I could swear I saw the statue stiffen harder at Theo's words through my peripheral vision. A small smirk pulled at Theo's lips. I didn't know what could possibly be so funny.

"Let's do this. We don't need to waste Granger's time," said the statue and I nodded my head in agreement.

"Don't forget our deal, Granger. You will promise not to kill him."

It was a simple thing to agree to. Now that I had had time to think about it, I had come to the conclusion that death would be too easy. That did not mean that I wouldn't make him plead for it. I felt the strange tug of my cheeks. A smile. I couldn't remember the last time I had smiled purely for the sake of smiling and not to appease another person. I liked the thought of his suffering too much. That should scare me, but it didn't.

"I promise," I said. It was easy to say, filled with rage as I was.

"Where do you want me then?" The statue asked, standing to walk to the section of free space between the end of two beds and the sitting area. "Here?"

How could he be so casual? It made my anger crack to the surface. I wanted him to cower. Magic sparked over my hands, coming out of the tip of my wand, looking so much like a muggle sparkler. I knew from my studies that wandless magic could only be done by powerful wizards and often led to darkness. Why my magic seemed to be so easy to tap into in my anger at this man was a mystery. I didn't care. I only wanted to unleash it.

"Shirt off," I said.

It was lost on me that those words could be conceived as sexual until Theo giggled. The statue shot him a nasty look as he began unbuttoning his expensive collared shirt. I was not surprised at the sight of the dark mark. I'd seen it plenty of times on other death eaters. I was surprised however that it had seem to become more gray now that Voldemort's magic had died. I didn't have much time to examine that before I found myself distracted by the marks across his chest, jagged long slashes across his torso. I was immediately jealous of whoever or whatever had made them. Then I remembered. Sectumsempre. Harry had cast that spell, made those marks. I was irrationally mad. The next time I saw Harry I was going to smack him for ruining my moment.

I didn't give him any warning, didn't build up the anticipation any longer. My magic spilled out at a simple word.

"Nota."

Theo flinched as the statue dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. I watched in fascination as the brand seared his flesh. I took my time with it, drawing out the magic as he clenched his teeth. The word formed slowly into puckered burnt skin. The skin was damn near black by the time he finally started to sob and swear in a string. HEARTLESS. The word was right where his cold, black heart would be if he had one.

If I were a simple muggle, I would settle for fingers or toes next. Maybe later. Instead, I settled for striking with a curse that sliced open his old scars. It would make them fester again, feeling much the same as they had when Harry had struck him during 6th year. He really cried then. I felt something at the sight of the blood, but it wasn't vindication. It was a sense that it wasn't good enough. Nothing felt good enough. Not the third spell I used, a drowning spell that sent him into a fit of sputtering coughs, water leaking from his nose and mouth as he fought to catch a break. Or the fourth spell I used, a spell that made him feel like there were insects crawling in his skin. He scratched at his arms and legs, screaming. Not enough. More angry than ever, I finally settled for the unforgivable.

"Crucio."

What felt like an eternity slipped by as he shook on the floor, blood pooling beneath him from his old wounds being reopened, his screams echoing off the walls, and I still felt nothing but rage. It still wasn't enough. Why wasn't it enough? Why didn't it feel like justice? Had I ruined it after the first time? Had it only felt good because it had been unwanted?

My concentration broke from my own frustration. Tears streaked down my face and as Theo raced to the statue's side, I could only sink to the floor. It would never be enough.

"Fuck!" I screamed at the realization. My skin felt so hot with my anger. I didn't even notice the first lick of flames until my arms were engulfed in a strange orange glow. It didn't hurt, not in the sense that my skin peeled or charred. I only felt the brush of heat as it traveled up my arms and set my torso ablaze followed by the rest of my body. I was lit up like a torch.

The fire did something. I felt it burn away the part of me that ached, the part of me that felt cheated by my lack of comfort at his pain until it touched my rage and washed it into something less. It wasn't contentment exactly, it was just…clarity. Through the flames I could see Theo healing the crying angel's open wounds, brushing his face, kissing his cheeks. The statues eyes never left mine, he pointed towards me, drawing Theo's attention. Theo's eyes found mine. He flicked a spell in my direction and the fire burned away, leaving confusion in its wake. Who was I? I knew of course that I was Hermione Jean Granger. I knew that Theo and Malfoy sat across from me, I knew that I had fought in the battle of Hogwarts and been on the winning side, but something inside of me had broken. Who was I that I could do such a thing as what I had just done and feel nothing but hate for myself in the clear presence of love? I hated that they were able to find it so easily, that they didn't deserve it. Why didn't I deserve that devotion? The word on Malfoy's chest, the permanent brand, answered the question for me. I was heartless.