Insatiable

"Nott, I need to stop by your quarters after classes today, I believe I lost one of my rings amongst your couch cushions."

Malfoy's voice slithered out of his mouth, deep and resonating, not looking away from the potion he was working as he spoke. Theodore didn't blink at all, but did look questioningly to Draco's hands, spotting indeed, the possibly paler, indent of a missing piece of jewelry. He looked back to the Star Anise that he was crushing with a mortar and pestle.

"Of course. Which one was it anyway?"

"One from mother's side of the family…Her father's signet."

This was of course false. Malfoy had the ring safely trapped in a tiny satin box in his pants pocket, too worried about losing it to just leave it loose. He wanted to get into the Head's Common Room though, and his only available key to that room was Nott. The damn portrait wouldn't let him in without Nott, even though he knew the password. It was some portrait of a Head Girl from the past, from Ravenclaw, whose limp rust colored hair and twitchy attitude made Draco dislike even her preserved countenance immediately.

Hermione had come out of hiding that morning, her presence at the Griffyndor table had not gone unnoticed, and true to her lie of a flu--she looked terrible. Her skin had become paler even than Malfoy's, a fine, clear porcelain under which you could make out the distinct blues and purples of veins. But even those colors looked lackluster; every thing about her seemed dulled. Her eyes were glazed over, not moving, not darting around observing in their usual fashion. The bruising, the swollen black nad purple cut up face that he'd seen just a few nights before was gone, and he knew full well a bruise like that did not go away that fast.

She's using a masking charm to cover her wounds…Why? If she was attacked shouldn't it be all over the wizard world by now that someone beat up Gryffindor Princess Granger?

She seemed completely uninterested in her food, not like her usual self at all. There was a distinct purple under her eyes, and her eyelids seemed swollen, either from lack of sleep or crying, or both. Her hair was not exploding with bright clean curls today, but instead it looked flat, unwashed, and pulled back into a braid that had obviously been slept on. Her robes weren't crisp and fresh looking, but wrinkled and scrubby looking. There was something else wrong about her robes that he couldn't quite put his finger on…

He noticed these things all the time, before, and more so now, because everything she did in the past had managed to irritate him in some way. If she observed too much, he wanted to be left alone, if she walked to close it was because she made him uncomfortable, if she looked him straight in the eyes, he found it easier to insult her and make her turn away than admit that he wondered what she saw. When she ate she ate too healthily and her rigidity to principle aggravated him, when she sat in class she sat up to straight, she never rebelled, she never relaxed, she never let anything go unnoticed, unanswered, unexplored, untouched—except for him of course.

Not that I want her to.

But now, it was all gone: the curiosity, the anger, the incredulous look she usually gave Potthead and Weasel when they fucked something up, the ambition. She was blank. She fidgeted in her seat between the Weasel and the Weaselette, Potter sitting across from her, head down as if staring at his plate. Draco noticed offhandedly that Granger wasn't looking at the Boy-Saint either. Maybe they'd had a spat. Potter's head shot up all the sudden, and she froze, then suddenly flew out of her seat and made a flat out run for the door. That's when Draco realized what was wrong with her robes: she was wearing baggy Muggle jeans that were usually worn by boys, and the rest of her school uniform and outer robes were hanging off her; she'd suddenly lost a substantial amount of weight in the last week. He didn't get up, even though his curious voice was screaming for him to follow. He'd figure it out later when he went up to Nott's room.

Oh bloody fuck it Malfoy, you know you want to follow her.

He stood up and went out into the corridor, but she'd disappeared.

Hermione had gone to Snape's storeroom. She needed a Dreamless Sleep Draught, and she was most definitely not going to the Hospital Wing for it. She stole what she needed and retreated to the third floor bathroom, seeking solace in the sound of her gurgling potion and Myrtle's wailing. She felt like she could wail for fifty years too and maybe after that, she might feel better. She headed to class, but sat uninvolved all day, she couldn't react. Voices just seemed to float around her like visible beings, like miniature dementors all around her, and they scared her. When she finally made it back to the Heads Common Room, She bolted for her room and locked the door behind her, absentmindedly sat down to her homework and tried desperately to stick to her newest routine.

It was as her door slammed that Nott and Malfoy walked in, hearing the loud hollow click of her lock falling into place. Malfoy gave Nott a questioning look, one eyebrow arched and an aristocratic sneer on his face. Nott held up his hands and shook his head,

"She's been like that all week, locked in there, and always in the damn shower, but she never seems to get any bloody cleaner…went in this morning to absolutely no fucking hot water mate."

Malfoy didn't show any interest in this information, but his mind was buzzing. He asked Nott to get him a small glass of FireWhiskey, and set about "searching the couches." He reached into his pocket and secretly slipped the ring from its satin bed into the palm of his hand while Theodore wasn't facing him, and continued digging through the deep cushions of the Head Common Room furniture. When he heard the definite sound of the shower being switched on from the bathroom, he made coughed.

"Found it mate." He slipped the ring back on its appropriate finger, the large silver design of a tree with a tiny ruby near the middle, and turned to Nott, taking the FireWhiskey. He drank, and hissed a little at the feeling akin to ripping flesh within his throat. Eventually, sitting about with Nott, doing their homework in silence and drinking, the only sound in room was running water, the clinking of glasses set down on tables, and the almost unison scratching of quills. Suddenly the water shut off. A few moments later Granger emerged, her hair looking washed, and pulled suspiciously over one shoulder to hide the right side of her face, with half wet curls sticking to the skin of her neck and shoulders as she limped, yes, limped across the room in black sweatpants and a matching spaghetti strap top. She spoke quietly, her voice choking a little on the first word:

"Th-eodore, have you seen my bag? I'm sure I dropped it in here…"

Nott said nothing, acting as if he hadn't even heard her, but continued on with the essay for the Muggle Studies class he was being forced to take. She turned to address him again, and saw Draco stretched out across the couch on his side, like a black cat, and her gasp was enough to actually make Nott look up. He raised at eyebrow at her, her eyes now fixed on her feet, and her hair falling further into her face, she turned quickly towards the door, leaned over to grab her bag off the floor and moved as quickly as she could back to her room. Draco had seen her ankle in the process of her leaning over, the sweatpants moved up enough to display what he guessed was a bad break, all purple and swollen. Her hair had moved, the dark, wet curls rolling off her back to reveal a massive bruise between her shoulder blades all blackened and yellowed around the edges, and specifically, another small group of bruises on her left shoulder, four small bruises that looked as if created by fingertips dug into her flesh, complete with little cuts on each from fingernails. She reached down for her bag and revealed scratches on her arms—defense wounds…and others. Fresh red skin that looked as though it had been scrubbed until it bled a little. And she winced with every footfall, not just from the pain of her broken ankle, something else was wrong…

I don't understand this…Someone did not only rough up Granger, as I'd thought. Someone attacked her. But why would she keep it a secret, why would she not go get Poppy to fix her up?

He stood suddenly, packing up his bag, and nodded farewell to Nott,

"Your…roommate…of sorts, has lost the plot mate…if she ever had one, the little Mudblood." He gave a short hard laugh and excused himself. He had a letter to write. He returned to his room and wrote a letter to his mother, saying he was concerned for a female friend who seemed to be withdrawing from the world and he asked her if she knew of anything that could make a girl behave that way. His mother was the only person he trusted completely in the world, so when he ended the note with the fact that this poor girl had gone to great pains to hide her injuries and that he did not want anyone to know until he knew better how to handle it, he knew his mother would keep his confidence.

Hermione was just giving herself a dose of her new sleeping draught and tucking herself in, cocooning in the blankets as if they would somehow protect her if she had enough layers. She finally got some sleep without the whole thing repeating in her head, without seeing his eyes as he looked up at her at breakfast, without hearing people thinking he was so perfect, kind, and good. She slept without thinking at all. This Dreamless Sleep Draught was just what she needed.

It worked for a couple weeks. Then everything got worse…