The Guardian

by TeTe91

Like most of the abandoned Death Eater operation bases, a creature of the night protected the premises. A ferocious beast, which didn't hesitate to tear wizards to shreds. Curses were useless against it, simply bouncing off its skin. Protective spells could only hold it at bay for so long. The creature was the perfect killer.

Time was of the essence.

Today was it. Her chance.

Her only chance to sneak away unnoticed and go through with her plan. Camp was buzzing with activity, the preparation for the next attack - hopefully more successful than the last - in full swing. Merlin knew they couldn't cope with another failure. The last one had cost them not only most of their potions supplies, but also lives - too many of them. In her notebook, she kept track of every fallen soul… that she knew of. Pages upon pages filled with the names of friends and allies alike. Her fingers traced the capital H of her best friend, the Boy-Who-Was-Supposed-To-Save-Everyone. They had been fools for relying on a mere seventeen-year-old, but Dumbledore had trusted in Harry and so had they.

Taking a few deep, calming breaths, Hermione forced her hands to close the notebook. Now was not the time to mourn the deaths that could not be undone. A tight knot had formed in her throat, a harbinger of tears which had long run dry.

Hermione pushed the sadness aside. Her wristwatch read 4:20 pm, leaving just a little over three hours until sunset. She resolutely grabbed the equipment she would need for putting her plan into action: spellbook, blade, oil, hand mirror, vial, luminescent crystals, ink, mortar and pestle.

The spellbook had been handed over to the researchers after the Order had managed to capture a snatcher. An Eastern European wizard, who had dedicated his service to the Dark Lord. They had questioned him for days, but in the end he had turned out to quite frankly be an unstable, lunatic minion.

Bill had wanted to discard the spellbook after reading the old folktales - misconceptions long debunked, written in a confusing order, jumping from one topic to the next - but Hermione had held on to it. Surrounded by mad legends and nonsensical drawings, one ritual withstood her critical gaze. She couldn't put into words what about the described ritual had caught her attention, but it was just… different. Even the orderly handwriting differed from the haphazard scrawl on the other pages.

Everything securely packed into her satchel, Hermione made her way through the camp. A glance over her shoulder and she knew that nobody paid her any attention. With a flick of her wand, the glamour hiding a hole in the wall just big enough for her to squeeze through was revealed. She had painstakingly loosened bricks over the last couple months by secretly disabling the camp's protective wards around that specific spot, then manually chiseling for hours at a time. Removing them the Muggle way prevented magic from crossing the perimeter of the spell and accidentally triggering the wards. Outside of camp, she turned back one last time, calling upon all the reasons she would risk her life because of a hunch she had and replaced the bricks before she sealed the hole in the protective wards and applied the glamour.

After Voldemort had won the Battle of Hogwarts, the surviving members of the Order had scattered to the four winds. It had taken them months to find each other and regroup. Their numbers were laughable, but their fighting spirit had forced them to soldier on. The memory of Harry's lifeless body lying in the courtyard of Hogwarts, his empty eyes staring unblinkingly into the grey sky, was still fresh for all of them.

Since then, the Dark Lord's followers had taken over the entirety of Wizarding Britain, cutting the island off from the mainland. Through his brutal methods and grand displays of power by publicly executing not only his opposition but also his fallen-from-grace minions, he had steadily lost the support of many. The more likely it became that a random witch or wizard might be the next victim of his arbitrary wrath and anger, the more defectors and informants joined forces with the Order. As it stood, the Order might just be able to tip the balance of power in its favour. However, a lot of factors played into this miniscule chance. With everything that could influence the outcome of this war, Hermione wanted to, no, needed to eliminate at least one risk, maybe even gain further intel on the new kind of magic the Death Eaters incorporated in the protection of their bases these days.

With the Death Eaters somehow harvesting magic from the night, fear of the dark had been taken to a whole new level. Nobody could be certain whether they would witness the next sunrise. Now, everyone was filled with anxiety as they watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. A once beautiful sight, tarnished by dark magic.

As it had become her habit, Hermione searched the sky for the sun, the fiery orb protecting them from the night magic. While the time on her watch was a good guide for when the last rays would leave her unprotected, following the sun with one's eyes was still the most reliable option.

Light

The single way to combat the night magic.

The Order had tried numerous spells, leaning further and further into the forbidden, dark side of magic, but to no avail. Bill and her had come to the conclusion that only light magic, pure to its core, would be able to stand a chance against the abomination that was night magic. How, they had not figured out yet, but maybe Hermione would find a way tonight.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that," Hermione whispered, tearing her eyes away from her protector, unstoppable in its course towards the horizon.

With a sense of melancholy, Hermione let her gaze wander over the scenery. So far, she had made good headway. The grounds lay abandoned before her, the once perfectly maintained gardens wild and free. Half a year ago, it had been a magnificent mansion. Now, it lay in ruins. On her way down the gradual slope of the hill that overlooked the grounds, a mixture of long grass and unruly weeds brushed up against her long skirt. No trace of the former glory of the manor gardens remained as the flora took on its untamed form.

The gate's hinges screeched, in dire need of oiling, as Hermione pushed it open. Although it rang loud, a few animals taking flight, Hermione was not bothered by the noise. While the sun was still visible in the sky, nothing sinister lurked in the shadows. During the day this was simply a big expanse of land, the remains of Malfoy Manor residing in the middle. The night magic the Dark Lord had created was incredibly scary, but remarkable at the same time. Somehow, he had managed to warp spacetime in the darkness, to create pockets in the shadows, only accessible while the sun was down. However, space was not the only thing he had forced his will onto with this new strand of magic, but also matter - magical beings - creating them from seemingly nothing. Those monsters were unlike anything they had ever seen before. Their bloodlust seemed boundless in the way they drenched the land they guarded with blood, dyeing the soil red.

Like most of the abandoned Death Eater operation bases, a creature of the night protected the premises. A ferocious beast, which didn't hesitate to tear wizards to shreds. Curses were useless against it, simply bouncing off its skin. Protective spells could only hold it at bay for so long. The creature was the perfect killer. The restriction to the grounds it protected was the sole reason any witch or wizard had escaped with their lives.

As the pebbles of the path towards the front entrance scrunched beneath her feet, Hermione laid one route of flight after the other before her inner eye, knowing all too well that she would never be able to outrun the Guardian . With its wings, it could easily catch up with her regardless of any head start. The images of such a monster sweeping down from the sky to pick up a fellow Order member just short of the property line, ripping off his head with its claws, were forever ingrained in her memory.

Her plan simply had to succeed.

Instead of using the front doors, two wooden slabs with their tops blasted off, Hermione chose to mount the rubble that used to be the window to the study. The furniture lay in shambles and the floor was littered with shards of glass. Dust had settled over the remains of a life of luxury. A singular photo frame stood on the mantle of the fireplace. Brushing the powdery dirt off the glass, Hermione immediately recognized it as a family portrait. Narcissa Malfoy sat on an ornate chair with a high back, a small toddler version of Draco bouncing up and down in her lap, while Lucius Malfoy stood beside them, his hand resting on Narcissa's shoulder. If you looked close enough, you could see Lucius squeeze his wife's shoulder, the corners of his lips pulling up momentarily. Hermione did look closely and wondered what the pair in the picture would think about what had become of them.

However, she had no time for such pointless mind games. Nobody could bring them back from the dead. Every second of sunlight was essential for preparing the ritual. If the next steps further down in her plan did not require the manor to look practically untouched, Hermione would have cleaned the place. As it stood, she put the frame back onto the mantle and quickly crossed through into the drawing room. Even after all those years, the shards from the chandelier still lay scattered all over the floor, a dark fleck of brown marking where Bellatrix had carved the slur into her arm. Hermione could only imagine that this had been meant as a reminder for the family's failure. Her skin broke out in goosebumps. Too many bad memories clung to the walls.

Her feet carried her safely through the debris of the hallway until she stopped at the gaping hole that was once the grand entrance to the ballroom. Leaves from nearby trees had fallen through the broken skylight, covering the floor in a carpet of brown and green. Through the long window front to the side, warm sunlight filtered into the room. Dusk bathed the room in shades of orange.

There he was.

At the far end of the room, the Guardian , trapped in stone as long as the sunlight kept the darkness at bay. He sat on his haunches, perched on a column approximately as high as her waist. Even from afar, she could see that everything about him was grotesque. Far from human. Nevertheless, Hermione had to examine him to confirm her hunch. His enormous, bat-like wings enveloped him like a cocoon. They encircled him, casting his figure in shadow, only the tip of his tail peeking out at the floor. A pair of curved horns projected upwards through the opening at the top.

Carefully, Hermione treaded the spots least obscured by the decaying leaves. As her hand hovered over his wings, hesitating momentarily, Hermione silently scolded herself for being foolish. The sun wouldn't set for another hour, and twilight would last an hour after that, so there was no need for being afraid of this motionless statue.

Calling on her Gryffindor bravery, she touched the wing resolutely. The stone felt cold and sandy beneath her fingertips. Uncertain of what dangers these creatures held even in daylight, the Order had instructed the members never to touch them just in case, but Hermione had been proven right. In daylight, no danger exuded from them - they could not be awakened. The followers of the Dark Lord were so convinced of their night magic's powers that they didn't bother using other spells for reinforcement. Arrogance was one of the biggest follies of the Death Eaters. Underestimating their enemies would cost them dearly.

To inspect him properly, checking off her mental list of factors, Hermione had to get inside the wings' embrace. That left her with no choice but to cower down to shuffle past the lower ends of his wings and twist up into the confines of his wings. She had just ducked her head beneath them and started to peer upwards, when a sudden movement startled her. A wordless hex rebounded off the inside of his wings and fizzled out, no damage done. The dying red light of her curse revealed a little bird, as panicked as her, flitting to safety through the small opening the overlapping wings formed at the top. Scared that she had set off an alarm Hermione held her breath, listening for the sound of incoming Death Eaters.

No crackling sound of thunder, the twisted version of their apparition. Thankfully, the Dark Lord's minions had indeed become negligent. Seconds ticked by in silence, the lone sound the whisper of the wind against the window panes. Releasing her breath in a relieved sigh, Hermione stuffed her wand into her sleeve and drew herself up into the enclosure of the wings, coming face-to-face with the Guardian , clad in a meager loincloth.

Uneasiness settled in her stomach, her fingers fumbling with the latch of her satchel. The luminescent crystals cast a blue-ish white light onto the enclosed space, bathing everything in an eerie atmosphere. His features were both highlighted and hidden in deep shadows. Starting from the column he stood on, Hermione let the crystal in her hand travel along his body. Contrary to what she had thought, there were no visible markings on the column. The only thing residing on the column beside him was a bird's nest, tucked into the crook of his tail. That explains the flustered little bird from earlier. It also served to tick off another of her assumptions: nobody had trespassed the grounds in a long time.

Countless hours had been spent scouting seemingly abandoned bases like this in the dead of night, only to be ambushed by a Guardian . Hermione had often voiced her theory that as long as the grounds remained undisturbed before dawn and after twilight, the Guardians didn't move.

So far none of his extremities were even remotely human. Far from, actually. Although his hands were proportional to his size, i.e. huge, instead of fingernails he had sharp, long claws. His feet resembled more that of a raptor, a theropod. Their shape was elongated and each of his toes had an eagle-like talon. Perfect for snatching people from the ground and hauling them up into the sky. Raising the crystal farther up, Hermione paused to marvel at his muscular thighs. Those broom thighs could put professional Quidditch players to shame.

Blinking, she continued her examination, finding that his entire body was the perfect example of muscle definition, the subsections of his abdomen easily countable. Only the zig-zag crack across his upper body disturbed the likeness to a Greek god statue. Tracing the edge of the rift with her finger, Hermione traveled back in time. Back to when she had been livid with Harry. Merlin and Morgana, how angry she had been with him for using a random spell from that godforsaken potions book. This might just be the wound he had inflicted that day.

Maybe .

Hermione couldn't rely on such vague assumptions. She needed solid proof.

Reaching his chest, she found a piece of white marble embedded between his pectorals. Whereas the rest of his body was slightly cool to the touch, the marble felt ice cold. The temperature difference, she had not anticipated - the piece of stone, though, she had.

The Order had never let her enter a base, but she had been an observer of several failed attempts. A perk of being part of the curse research and protection team. They would let her watch from a safe distance, but never get close enough that she stood a chance to notice any smaller detail. So, she had known that most Guardians like him had a fragment of different colour and texture than their skin inserted into their torso. It was a load off her mind that she had been right about this. Otherwise, a central element of her theory about the creation of the Guardians would have been wrong, rendering this mission utterly useless.

Illuminating a path up and over his shoulders and down his left arm, she found further indicators that her hunch might be right. In comparison to the smooth stone of his right forearm, his left was riddled with gouges, nicks and slices, the stone practically chiseled open. Her research had concluded that this kind of 'wound' was not uncommon among the Guardians . Several of the monsters bore similar damage on their left arms, although those were in the minority.

Hermione had to pause, her mind wanting to skip ahead to the ritual.

"Torso, chest, left forearm, face." She said her list of indicators aloud as a reminder for herself. There was yet one more item to check off her list. Everything about his face was sharp and angled, only enhanced by the crystals' light. Like everything else about the Guardian , his features were extreme. With her fingers, she painted a path for her eyes to follow. From the tips of his bat-like ears, her fingertips drew a line along his strong jaw to his pointed chin. Next, her fingers ventured to his lips, tapping the ends of his protruding canines. A predator's fangs. The bridge of his nose was long and straight, his brows set in a deep scowl. Skimming over his forehead, where two long, curved horns broke free from his skull, she stroked over his high, prominent cheekbones. The similarities were certainly present if you knew what to look for. As for his eyes, she wanted to get as close as possible, hoping that the eyes truly were the gate to the soul. His horns were exactly close enough together that she could tuck her crystal in between. Her left hand joined her right, cupping his face, and she drew herself up onto her tiptoes. Etched into stone, dormant in the sunlight, the gate appeared to be closed. Slowly, she tilted her head, gazing at his eyes from different angles in the hopes she might catch a glint of life beneath the stone.

Hermione huffed, unsure of what she had expected from that final inspection. She had not believed in auras while still attending Hogwarts, and that hadn't changed. Albeit his face had been morphed, she couldn't deny the similarities. Therefore, any reasons for delaying the ritual had been eliminated. The sun wouldn't wait for her in its descent.

Laying out her shawl on the floor, Hermione set up her utensils. In the middle she kept the spellbook. She had read the instructions dozens of times until the words were etched into the insides of her eyelids, the phantoms of the runes dancing before her closed eyes. The details of the ritual were so familiar to her that she didn't necessarily need the spellbook, but Hermione preferred to be safe rather than sorry.

First she needed to prepare the paste:

Soil of the land, which bound the creature;

Ink, to sign the contract;

Blood, as the essence of his rebirth.

Both soil and ink were easy to come by; merely the blood posed a challenge. A simple cut into the palm of her hand, like many blood rituals required, wouldn't suffice for this particular one. The spellbook specified in no uncertain terms that Hermione had to use blood from a wound mirroring the creature's to call upon its host. Meaning, she would have to make a cut between her breasts, collecting the first drops from the blade for the final step.

With her back towards the Guardian , his unseeing stone eyes unnerving her, she opened the top buttons of her blouse. After years of helping out in their infirmary, Hermione knew how deep she had to cut as not to cause serious damage. Her initial cut was shallow, just deep enough to draw out a couple of drops. The 'first blood', as it was called in the spellbook, taken from the 'piercing blade' was the key ingredient for the ritual to work.

Without it, no binding would take place.

Carefully, she bottled her crimson blood in a vial, making sure that none of it spilled onto the floor. For the second cut, the blade penetrated deeper, a rivulet of blood pouring from the wound. Drawing back the dagger to let the blood run freely, her head fell back, eyes rapidly blinking the tears away. Hermione squeezed the bowl between her breasts, biting down on her lip to keep in her pained sob. Despite her effort, a whimper broke free, tears collecting in her eyes. Drawing back the dagger to let the blood run freely, her head fell back, eyes rapidly blinking the tears away. No matter how much it hurt, within the Order she probably was the only one capable of performing the ritual.

Nobody except her had retained their virginity.

She had puzzled over why virginity was so central to the ritual since the spellbook did not specify why. In the end, she had come up with a reason that satisfied her: purity would be needed to cancel out the twisted nature of the night magic from the monster's creation. As the pain subsided, Hermione bunched up her blouse and applied pressure onto the cut with it until the bleeding stopped.

Mixing her blood with the soil and ink into a thick paste didn't take long, her hands all too familiar with the circular motion of grinding in the mortar from hours of experimenting in their makeshift potions lab. The mixing ratio was just right, so she didn't have to add any of the supplementary oil, which the book had advised to bring. In the ever waning sunlight, the sky already decked in dark reds and purples, Hermione made haste as well as she could. Without a helping hand, drawing the runes onto her own skin took her longer than anticipated. Of course, she had practiced each stroke in the safety of the camp, but with the small hand mirror only reflecting a fraction of her décolletage and the darkness creeping up on her, her fingers tensed up. Constantly having to consider that she viewed the reverse motion strained her concentration. She glanced at her watch, sighing. Half an hour to go. In hopes of loosening her fingers, she flexed them, then finished the last strokes.

As she turned back towards the Guardian , Hermione froze under the stare of another pair of hollow eyes.

Lucius Malfoy, or rather, what remained of him. In the shadow of the creature, shards of white marble resembled what had become of the once proud wizard. Broken into fragments, his bust still retained his condescending glare and regal air. Where the winged monster now throned, this likeness of the former master of the house must have adorned the room. With a flick of her foot, Hermione turned the cold, unblinking eyes away from her.

Again, Hermione ducked under his wings, then proceeded to dip her finger into the paste. Copying the runes onto his chest, a group of seven around the embedded piece of marble, was far easier.

Berkana, representing birth and liberation.

Dagaz, advocating day and dawn.

Ehwaz, symbolizing twin forces.

Gebo, for generosity.

Mannaz, as the sign for self.

Wunjo, as in kinship.

Algiz, substituting protection and shield.

Her strokes were firm and sure. The trident shape of Algiz rounded off the set in the crevice between his breasts.

Two more steps and she would be in the clear with the ritual. Taking in a couple of deep, measured breaths, Hermione forced her hammering heart to calm down. This would work. Too many indications pointed towards her hunch being justified for this to go sideways. She inhaled through her nose on a count of three, shutting out any gruesome attack by a Guardian she had already been the witness to. On her exhale, she called upon her last memory of the man she would fuse magical cores with.

It happened some years ago during a battle. The Death Eaters found one of their previous camps, but underestimated their numbers. Although the moment of surprise was on the enemy's side, the Order quickly gained the upper hand. Hermione was busy fending off curses from a Death Eater when he suddenly dropped dead to the floor, hit in the back with the worst Unforgivable. Behind the Death Eater stood another cloaked figure, shoulder-length white-blond hair just barely peeking out beneath his hood. For a moment which seemed to stretch out endlessly, they stared at each other. Hermione had her arm stretched out in front of her, ready to unleash a slew of curses, but something kept nagging at the back of her mind. This Death Eater had just killed one of his own. To top it off, the traitor lowered his wand. As curses whirred past them left and right, the Order gaining ground with every hex fired, they simply stood there. As if in slow motion, he lifted his hand to his head, his fingers spanning over his mask. However, just when he started to pull it off, to reveal his identity, another Death Eater pummeled into him and whisked him away in a dark cloud.

She had revisited the scene countless times, wondering what would have happened next. The memory, paired together with the fact that on their raid of Malfoy Manor the Order had faced far less obstacles than they had anticipated, Hermione had come to the conclusion that she would take the chance with this particular Guardian .

Setting down the mortar, she cleared her throat and began invoking the magic within the runes, focusing on the flow of magic within her to redirect it to each individual symbol. One after the other, the symbols heated on her skin, drawing magic from within her core. The words came to her easily, the spell practiced countless times. Upon summoning the last rune, feeling her magic flowing freely through her limbs, Hermione uncorked the vial of 'first blood'.

The sun's lingering rays had finally vanished.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!"

She called out his name, the last part of the incantation, and spread her 'first blood' onto his lips. Not long and she would get the answer as to whether her theory had been right. A theory Bill had immediately disregarded as soon as she had opened the lunatic's spellbook.

Now was the time of revelation.

Either she was wrong and the Guardian would tear her to shreds or she was right and-

The Guardian's eyes lit up red.

Hermione witnessed the transformation nobody had yet survived to report on. It started in his hands and feet. As if the absence of sunlight activated some kind of chemical reaction, the stone dissipated to reveal skin underneath. Inch by inch, the protective layer of stone retracted to set the living, breathing creature beneath free. On his left forearm, the cracked stone was replaced with scar tissue interspersed with fractures of ink-tainted skin. The wings developed their smooth, leather-like texture.

At the sight of his flexing and twitching fingers and his claws scraping against the pillar, Hermione's heartbeat sped up. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the transformation, though, and so, she stood there as if she was made of stone. The groove in his torso sealed itself into a silver line of scars. A white-blond strand of hair that had previously been rigid fell over his shoulder, longer than Hermione remembered it. While he had always been pale, his skin had taken a sickly grey colour. The ritual's magic seemed to be working from the outside in, his head and chest the last parts of his body to break free. With his red, glowing eyes fixed on her, he stayed motionless on his column until the marble in his chest was the last and only piece of stone on his body.

A vicious snarl escaped his lips, his long, pointed tongue swiping out of his mouth. As he folded his wings at his back, Hermione flinched.

Something had gone wrong.

She had to run, but her feet wouldn't obey. Instead she merely stumbled backwards, away from the creature, a murderous gleam in his eyes.

"Malfoy…" she mumbled, shuffling further away from him as he stepped off his column. He was tall, so much taller than her, towering over her, obscuring the full moon. Her hand mirror broke, shards crunching beneath her feet.

"Draco…" she breathed. For now, the creature only slowly stalked towards her, his tongue laving over his lips, the traces of her precious 'first blood' soon gone.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy!" she cried out, her final attempt at awakening the man inside the creature, but in vain. The Guardian didn't falter in his steps. Her foot got caught in her shawl and she fell. It didn't matter, she couldn't have outrun him anyways. All that was left to do now was hope he would be quick about ending her life. Still, she held out her hand, her body reacting on its own, wanting to keep the beast at bay. Her eyes screwed shut as she awaited her end. His giant hand closed around her wrist and her muscles went limp.

"Please…" she whimpered, too afraid to open her eyes.

Wet. Something long and wet slithered around her fingers.

"Granger."

The voice was so gravely that Hermione almost didn't recognize her own name. Hesitant, she opened her eyes. Silver. The red murderous glow was gone and replaced with silver. He was gazing at her through the gaps between her fingers, his tongue laving at her digits, wiping away the remains of the blood paste.

"What in the name of-" he cleared his throat, his voice hoarse from the long period of disuse, "Merlin and Morgana are you doing here?" His eyes strayed from hers as he examined her hand. Opening his mouth, he closed his lips around two of her fingers and sucked on them. The inside of his mouth was hot and moist, his tongue curling and twisting around her fingers. Overwhelmed with the strange slithering feeling, Hermione gently pulled her hand free, cradling it at her chest.

"I'm here to help you," she gasped, her lungs fighting with the gulps of air she drew in.

In response, Malfoy snorted and stood tall. "Help me? Don't make me laugh, Granger. I'm a monster." And as if to prove his point, the wings, which he had heretofore kept motionlessly folded on his back, unfurled - snapped open, really. The movement was so sudden that it cut like a whiplash through the silent night. Sharp and loud. Far worse than the sound, however, was the sight of the streaks of thin lines stretching across his wings. The veins were black and pulsed in time with a heartbeat far steadier than hers. The way he plunged her into shadow brought the immense wingspan to her attention. Intimidated by his large and deadly body, Hermione couldn't suppress a short whimper.

Nevertheless, she gathered her courage and countered, "You're not a monster, Malfoy."

Malfoy snarled and swiped his tongue once more over his lips. Rolling his shoulders, his muscles tense beneath his skin, he flapped his wings. The resulting gust of wind sent the leaves scurrying along the floor and her hair flying. Afterwards, he rustled them irritatedly, staring her down. .

"I've killed at least half a dozen of your precious Order members."

Eight. Hermione knew the exact number of his victims, all of them written down in her little notebook.

"You haven't killed me." Seeing as he kept his distance, she stood up, brushing leaves and dirt off her skirt.

"Yet."

Her curiosity got the better of her and she asked, "Why haven't you done so?"

He folded his wings and leaned his head back. Silence spread between them, Malfoy looking upwards, his tongue darting out every once in a while. Illuminated by moonlight, Hermione marvelled at his face. It was so undeniably him at that moment, but at the same time so alien. Following his example, Hermione gazed up as well. There was nothing but the moon, full and bright in a cloudless sky.

"I want to treasure this moment of consciousness." His voice had lost its edge, a soft whisper, like the rustle of leaves in the wind.

"You aren't conscious apart from now?" He angled his face to the side, so he could look at her, his eyes darting between hers, searching for something.

"Excuse my wording, Granger. I'm not in control the rest of the time, either trapped in stone or forced by this damn curse to protect the manor. I'm always conscious, however." The thought of being a helpless bystander, always mentally aware, but unable to steer your own body, made Hermione's skin break out in goosebumps, a shiver running down her spine.

"Had you been in control, would you have killed them regardless?" In the blink of an eye, he towered over her. His eyes bored into her, their colour more like a storm brewing in the sky than their previous liquid silver.

"No." A hot breath ghosted across her face as he spat his reply. Indignation replaced his usual haughty demeanor, easily perceptible even in his transfigured state. Despite the show of aggression he was putting on for her - baring his teeth, flaring his nostrils and whipping the floor with his tail - Hermione got distracted by the moonlight hitting his horns at the perfect angle. The horns were black, with the ridges painted silver. She didn't feel threatened by him any longer - not after finding out that he had had zero control over his cursed body. Imagining how the texture of ring upon ring would feel under her palms and fingertips, her fingers twitched involuntarily. An angry click of his tongue brought her back to the topic at hand.

"Then, you're no monster," she stated matter-of-factly. For her, it was as simple as that. Malfoy knitted his brows as he drew back from her to stand at his full height.

"What makes you so sure about that?" His arms crossed across his chest. A sort of defense mechanism, as if she could harm him.

"You were George's inside man, weren't you?"

Nobody had ever questioned the lapse in the protective charm around Malfoy Manor the night the Order had stormed the premises. Especially after George had insisted on carrying out the attack on that very night, Hermione had gotten suspicious that it hadn't been a coincidence. George had practically cackled with glee as they slipped past the borderline unhindered. Only when their second squad triggered the wards, unleashing the poisonous gas, which they quickly fended off with bubblehead charms, had he started shouting orders. As part of the protection team, from the safety of outside the manor grounds, Hermione was tasked with diverting the toxic fog away from their attack squads.

Nevertheless, it had given them the edge they had needed to infiltrate the manor and push back the Death Eaters, decimating a good number of them without any losses on their side… until all hell broke loose.

At the top of the hill facing Malfoy Manor, Hermione had had the perfect outlook on the scene. The Order had pushed forward and into the manor. Green, red, and purple lights flashed beyond the walls, shining through the window. Strings of black smoke had shot into the sky. Screams, cries and shouts had torn through the darkness. One of George's magical grenades blasted a gaping hole into the study window. Three figures had clambered free through the makeshift exit, firing curses and hexes over their shoulders. A fourth Order member had appeared at the hole, but had been pulled back into the walls of the manor, a horrifying cry piercing through the silence of the night. When one of the others turned around to help just to be tackled to the ground, his shout dying as the beast tore his neck open with its teeth, Hermione had started running.

"Get back," George had shouted as the creature had pounced on the next person, carelessly slashing across the witch's back.

"Bloody save yourself, Hermione!"

His order had been the last thing he had ever said to her, before he turned around and tossed another grenade. Its explosion bought her enough time to get back beyond the property line. He had sacrificed himself to buy her some time. The moment the grounds had been untouched by any outsiders, living outsiders, the Guardian had retreated into the manor. Everything afterwards was a blur in her mind.

Besides his fingers tensing around his biceps and his tail flicking irritatedly, Malfoy stood still. He had clearly not anticipated that anyone would ever figure it out after George had blown himself up. Hermione watched him press his eyes shut. She noticed a tick in his jaw, his teeth clenched tight. As he opened his eyes and gazed at her, the storm had blown over, his irises the colour of a rainy sky. With sagging shoulders, he turned around and walked to his pillar. Stroking the surface with his gigantic hand as if in deep thought, he finally answered.

"It was meant to be my ticket out of," he vaguely gestured around him, " this ." Gently, he scooped up the bird's nest, so tiny within his palm, and set it aside. A bitter chuckle resounded throughout the ballroom, when he turned back towards her. "But I fucked up. My aunt caught me before I could defect and punished me by turning me into this ," his fingers reaching up to brush along his horn, all the way back to the slightly twisted tip, "forcing me to guard the grounds I betrayed." Hearing him confirm what she had already suspected still managed to hit her hard.

"How? If the Order knew the specifics of the spell, ritual, or whatever it was, they could find a way to make it undone." Hermione had no doubt about that, no matter how long it would take them, they could reverse it - or at the very least, render them susceptible to hexes, jinxes and physical attacks, but Malfoy didn't need to know that.

"You overestimate my rank within the Death Eater hierarchy, Granger. I didn't have access to that kind of information and who knows what wounds my dearest aunt inflicted on me that were really necessary." Staring into the distance, his hand covered his left forearm, hiding the scars.

"All I can say is that she walked in on me tempering with the protection spells, smashed my father's bust and started screeching insults, calling me a disgrace for Wizarding kind. Just like my father." Scraping his nails along his arm, he painted a path to his chest where the piece of white marble was embedded into his skin.

"Instead of running I kept subduing the damned protective spells." His nails made a tick, tick, tick sound as they tapped against the stone, his eyes still fixed onto a spot in the darkness outside.

"One moment, she was attacking me with a dagger, slashing away at my forearm, murmuring Slytherin knows what. The next moment, I felt like my body was being torn apart and rearranged. Then nothing. Then I ripped off a woman's head with my bare hands." The last part had come out as a whisper, barely loud enough for her to hear. His claws pressed into the flesh around the marble but couldn't penetrate his skin.

Hermione observed him as he silently stood there, his brows knit together and fingers flexing. The memories of that night must have had him in a grip, his posture tense. Hermione knew the feeling all too well. For her, it always felt like being pulled underwater, into the depths, where no light could reach the bottom. Over the years, this pond of sadness had been filled diligently with tears, an ocean of grief. Each time she was pulled under, the memories threatened to never let her reach the surface.

Memories like that were never a good place to revisit, so Hermione carefully stepped closer, afraid of startling him, and tentatively placed her hand on his, his skin smooth and warm to the touch.

"I'm here to free you."

With a flick of his wrist he pushed her hand away, glowering down at her.

"It's been some time since Hogwarts, Granger, but neither the runes on your chest nor the incantation you spoke were meant to free me, so stop lying." Under his piercing glare, Hermione felt the warmth of the runes more noticeably on her chest. Clutching the front of her blouse shut, Hermione worried her lower lip. She debated about trying to mislead him, but since he had deciphered the runes and heard her spell, there was little use in doing so.

"I want to bind you to myself," she decided on telling the truth. Surprisingly, he stopped glaring at her, merely looking at her intently.

"So, what happens after you subdue me? After you've become my mistress? I'll still remain like this." His tone was far from cutting, more resigned to his fate.

"I'll set you free." At that he scoffed. His tail shot forward and dragged her hand away from her collar, her blouse falling open.

"Ehwaz. Twin forces. That's a binding rune not meant to be broken." Hermione's gaze locked onto his face as his fingernail traced the m-like shape of the rune. "Out with the truth, Granger. We don't have forever."

"The Order needs whatever is in the vault," she explained, inhaling deeply as he removed his finger from the top of her breast. She glanced at his tail, which hadn't let go - the tip of it brushing along the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. For all Hermione knew, whatever the Death Eaters kept in the vaults of their hideouts was still within the manor. The corner of his lip pulled up into a lop-sided smile.

"So, you can tell the truth after all."

Hermione wanted to close her blouse again, but his tail tightened around her wrist, his eyes scanning the other runes.

"And after that, what will you do about me then, Granger?" A silent warning accompanied his question, his tail tightening briefly around her wrist, cautioning her not to lead him astray.

"I'll use you," his lips pulled into a broad smile, his sharp teeth gleaming in the crystals' light, "for an ambush." Satisfied with her reply, he finally let go of her wrist so she could cover herself again.

"Well, good to know you have a plan. Get on with it then." He nodded towards her ritual equipment, in complete disarray after she had stumbled all over it.

"What do you mean? I already performed the ritual." In her mind she quickly checked off the steps of the ritual again and to her knowledge, she truly hadn't forgotten about anything.

"Doubtful. I can feel my control slipping already." And it must have been true, because from the corners of his eyes the murderous red glow crept towards the center. Slowly, but steadily.

At that moment, everything halted.

Only one thought dominated the clamouring noise in her head. The ritual had failed and she wouldn't make it out alive. Countless times she had considered the possibility, had written a journal's worth of her research results for the Order to use in case she failed, but now that it had become reality, she simply didn't want to accept defeat. Because just as many times as she had thought about the ritual failing, she had checked the steps, the runes, the incantation. Over and over.

She wouldn't die. With that resolution in mind, Hermione murmured, "But… but I fed you the first blood." Her feet carried her back towards where the spellbook lay discarded on the floor. The book automatically fell open to the ritual, so frequently had she studied it.

"You've obviously done something wrong." Line by line, her finger followed the instructions. It should have worked. A glance at the vial told her that no first blood was left.

"I'll star-" Looping his tail around her hip, Malfoy drew her close. With his finger hooked into her blouse's placket, he tugged hard, sending the remaining buttons flying. Next thing she knew, Malfoy's long pointed tongue lapped from her navel upwards, steering clear of the runes.

"Wha- what are you doing?" She pushed against his shoulders with all her strength, but he wouldn't budge. Instead, he circled her wound with the tip of his tongue. After she struggled some more, squirming against his tail caging her in, he finally stopped, raising his head to her eye-level.

"Calm down. I'm just trying to keep in control, while you figure out what went wrong, Granger." His tongue licked his lips with relish. "And you might want to hurry up, because although I'll admit that you taste divine," he purred, his eyes roaming over her chest, "and that I could do this all night long, it'll only last so long." The whites of his eyes had reclaimed their space, repelling the red glow. Again, he ducked down his head, his tongue stroking along the edge of her wound in quick succession.

"Think, Granger. What went wrong?" The hot, wet trails he left on her skin were hard to ignore, compromising Hermione's focus.

"It's paste, runes, incantation, full name, and first blood. Oil if needed. Your full name is Draco Lucius Malfoy , correct?" At the sound of his name, he peeked up at her, a satisfied glimmer in his eyes. Between licks, he hummed, nodding his head.

The paste was easy enough to make and Hermione had no doubt that she had done it according to instructions. As for the incantation, she had practiced it enough times that she could recite it in her sleep. That left either the runes or the first blood, and the amount of blood should have been enough.

"Then, let me check the runes again." Pushing against his horns, she signaled him to stand up straight, so she could examine his. Grudgingly, he obliged, constantly eyeing the wound between her breasts as she checked one rune after the other. Guiding one of her crystals along the circle of runes, she inspected them for any errors. However, she found no mistakes. The runes were perfectly legible. Therefore, she could only have messed up her own runes. Since the hand-mirror, with its already limited size, had been ground to pieces beneath her shoes and had only frustrated her during the first run, Hermione could only offer the spellbook to Malfoy.

"Here, check whether I painted any mirror-inverted onto me," she instructed, as he accepted the spellbook, holding it delicately in his hand. His eyes finally tore away from her wound in the middle and alternatingly studied the pages of the spellbook and the runes on her chest.

"Everything's correct so far." With deep creases between his brows, he read on, his nail tracing the description of the next steps. His scowl deepened and he requested, "Light, please."

"What is it? Did you find the error?" He didn't answer right away, but silently started reading the page from the top. 'First blood' was where he faltered, snapping the book shut and holding it out for her to take back.

"You should leave." His tail fell to the floor, releasing her from its embrace.

"Is your consciousness slipping again?" At first glance, he looked fine, his eyes clear, albeit slightly darker.

"No, I'm fine for now. You'll have enough time to get out of here. The ritual isn't something you'll consent to or want to do with me." Indignation rose in Hermione. Tonight was her one chance to do this before they launched their attack on one of the bigger bases. If he wanted to play the 'I'm a monster' card again, she would have none of it.

"I'm not leaving, Malfoy. Tonight's my one and only chance. I don't care whether you think you're a monster. I don't. So, what went wrong with the ritual? Out with it," she demanded resolutely.

"It's a sex ritual, Granger. That's what is meant by first blood."

Heat bloomed in her cheeks. That certainly was another explanation for why a virgin was needed. Now, it was also clear that whenever the instructions mentioned a 'connection' it was not purely magically, but also physically. Her mouth went dry. She didn't cherish her virginity or have illusions about her first time being magical , but the unexpectedness made her nervous. Before she accepted his statement as true, though, she read the passage of the ritual again. 'First blood' and 'piercing blade' could be interpreted as defloration. She had even annotated that interpretation on the page, but had crossed it out later on.

Apparently, she would lose her virginity tonight.

"Okay, so be it." Squaring her shoulders, she accepted her fate, placing the spellbook back onto the shawl.

"You don't understand what you're talking about." His tail gave an irritated flick.

"I might be a virgin , Malfoy, but I do know what sex is." She braced her hands on her hips. "It's not like I saved myself for anyone special. I didn't have time for it, what with a war raging and what not." At her minor outburst, he rolled his eyes.

"That's not what I meant, Granger," he huffed.

"Then tell me," she demanded, narrowing her eyes at him.

A smirk graced his lips, revealing more of his long canines. "Words cannot describe."

She rolled her eyes at him in return. " Good Godric , then show me."

As his tail wrapped around her waist and hoisted her up, Hermione shrieked, her hands flailing until they held onto his horns. He set her down on his column and pushed her knees aside, so he could stand between her legs. His soft chuckle at her reaction made her take a breath to fling some of her more colourful vocabulary at him, but all that left her lips was a gasp. He had reached beneath his loincloth and pulled his penis free, laying it on her abdomen. There, it made for a vivid explanation as to why she wouldn't want to lose her virginity to him. As if to emphasize the sheer length of his penis compared to her small statue, he pulled her snug against him, showcasing how deep he would reach inside her.

"I'd break you." Seeing how he reached up to her belly button or maybe even further, Hermione could see where his concerns stemmed from. Like everything else about him, his cock was monstrous. It was not only long and girthy, but also completely abnormal. His tip was slightly pink, not a sickly grey like the rest of his skin. However, already at the seam of his glans, the beastly features started. Where Hermione knew a human's corona to be smooth, his was uneven at the edge.

"It's…" The slightest bumps ran around the seam. As uneven as the rim of his tip, his shaft was layered, similar to the ridges of his horns.

"It's…" Hermione couldn't help but touch him. Her curiosity won over the panic she felt. Leading her finger over one crest after the other, three in total, she marveled at his softness. There she let her fingers linger, too scared to touch the bulge at the base of his cock.

"It's…" she swallowed thickly, "it's so warm ."

His chuckle at her odd comment ended abruptly in a sharp exhale, as her finger brushed over the corona, tracing the bumps. Malfoy didn't brush her hand away, though. Instead, he held still, letting her explore his cock further, steadily growing stiffer beneath her featherlight touches. As she was finally able to take her eyes off his cock, Hermione observed his face. He had leant his forehead against hers, his eyes squeezed closed. While her palm rubbed his tip, his eyelids fluttered. His hands spasmed on her knees whenever she lightly drummed her fingers on the bumps of his glans. The almost imperceptible sounds she drew from him, as she ran her hand up and down his shaft, were palpable as short puffs of hot air against her skin.

"It'll be a tight fit," she concluded, wrapping her hand around him as best as she could.

"We aren't doing this, Granger." His eyes remained tightly shut, his small noises morphing into groans as she started slowly pumping him.

"You don't want me?" Just when she asked, he had thrust the slightest bit into her moving hand, seeking more friction.

"It's a bit too late to deny that." His hot breath ghosted against her face.

"Then why not?" For a split second, Hermione thought it might be because of her Muggle heritage, but would he grind into her if he despised her?

"If we do this, it'll be final. Forever . Bonds like that can't be broken." Although she had made a mistake in interpreting the 'first blood' part of the ritual, she had understood from the start that the merging of their magical cores would be irreversible.

"I know." She halted her stroking, the reality of what they were about to do sinking in.

"Say, did you want to kill the Order members?"

His head snapped back, eyes flying open. A snarl broke free of his throat.

"I already told you: No," he ground out. His face was a mask of anger.

"Did you want to stay fully conscious while your body was compelled to continue the mindless killing?"

"Of course not." He shook his head in affront, the storm picking up in his irises.

"Sssh." Carefully, Hermione brushed a strand of hair behind his ear.

It was soft, so soft.

The moment her fingers made contact with his skin he tensed. He hadn't been touched intimately in a long time. Just like she had done, when he was still covered in stone, she traced his brows. His irises cleared and his eyes fluttered shut. Cradling his cheek, she drew him closer and he let her, melting into the palm of her hand.

"Then, take my virginity." Her thumb drew circles onto his cheek, a movement he replicated on her thighs.

"I'll hurt you." True concern shone in his eyes as he gazed at her.

"I can bear it." She had to.

"I can only try to be gentle, Granger." He frowned.

"It'll have to do." She mustered a smile, hoping it would reach her eyes and not betray the panic rising in her stomach.

"May I kiss you?"

His request was barely loud enough for her to hear. Her breath caught, but she nodded. Their first kiss only lasted for the blink of an eye, a tentative brush of their lips, followed by Malfoy's silver eyes locking with hers, a silent question whether he may continue. They could have swiftly gotten this behind them, but he had to be considerate.

During their Hogwarts years, Hermione had always thought her first time would be with Ron. Sweet, funny Ron. In her imagination, they would have both been nervous, their fingers clumsy, figuring out the steps to this dance together. Then, after Harry's death, Ron could no longer bear to look at her, too painful were the memories of the three of them, too tightly interwoven.

Therefore, she had found solace in research and Ron in strategizing. The kiss they had shared during the Battle of Hogwarts had been their first as well as their last.

Thoughts of Ron wouldn't help her agenda of losing her virginity to Malfoy, though, so she slid her hand to the back of his head and pulled him in, initiating the kiss this time. She needed him to take over, to dominate her senses. If he didn't, she would overthink and that wouldn't do. To her disappointment, Malfoy didn't adjust to her picking up the pace and kept on moving his lips languidly against hers. If he wouldn't respond to her liking, she would have to try a different angle. Thus, she redirected her attention back to his hard cock, still pressed against her abdomen. With her free hand, she palmed his tip, circled its seam with her fingers, and stroked him. As soon as she developed a good technique, eliciting soft panting breaths from him, his tail pulled her hand away.

"What's with the haste?" He angled her face up with a finger beneath her chin.

"I just want to get this over with…" her mind scrambled for a reason other than her nerves, "...before your control starts waning again." He seemed satisfied with her argument, eyes trailing down to her wound.

"Lift your hips for me, will you?" The intention of his question didn't compute with her until he hooked his fingers into her skirt and knickers.

"Or would you rather leave your skirt on?" Quickly, she shook her head and obliged. He couldn't know how nervous she had gotten. Fixing her eyes on his horns, she tried to ignore the sensation of his nails lightly scraping along her legs, to suppress the shiver that threatened to betray her. He was so careful with her it only served to make her nerves even worse.

To distract herself from the fact that Malfoy now had a perfect view of her labia, Hermione rushed to take off her blouse. Anything to delay having to look at him… staring at her? She didn't want to see. As her fingers fumbled with the fastening of her bra, he placed his hand on her forearm, drawing her eyes to him.

"That's enough. Don't force yourself, if it makes you uncomfortable." She was glad and furious at the same time. Glad that he didn't push her and furious that she had been so obvious.

"Just lie back and let me take care of you." With his hand nudging her back, Hermione leaned back onto her elbows.

"Let me just quickly get the oil," she interjected, but his hand wouldn't relent.

"Not yet, Granger." He would surely tear her apart without the lubrication of the oil.

"What do you mea-" A broad stroke of his tongue along her slit, ending with a quick flick of her clit, made her brain go blank. The second and third stroke restarted her thoughts, going from one into overdrive in no time. Her legs tried to shut, to push him back, but his hands held her spread wide open, his tongue dipping in for another round. Not even when she pulled at his hair, did he stop lapping at her core, merely raising a brow at her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, her voice shrill to her ears.

"I'll have to," the tip of his tongue swirled around her clit and Hermione had to stifle a gasp, "prepare you, Granger."

"The oil will get me wet just fine, Malfoy," she countered, snapping at him.

"It won't make you come, though," was all the response he had for her as his tail snatched her ankle, freeing his hand so he could splay it across her abdomen and push her back down. Hermione swore his hand was burning, hot enough to brand her stomach, so acutely aware was she of its heat and weight. The sensation paled in comparison to the scorching exhales he breathed against her skin, his tongue gliding like lava between her folds, teasing her entrance. Like a whip of flames, the pointed tip of his tongue tortured her clit, making it harder to keep her voice in with every strike.

When he circled her clit, setting a flaming ring of fire around her sensitive bud, Hermione could no longer hold back, an involuntary whine resonating somewhere deep within her throat. For a split second, she hoped he hadn't heard, but the way he peered up at her, a smirk crossing his lips before he dipped low to suck on her tight bud, confirmed the opposite. The more she succumbed to his mouth feasting on her labia, the louder became her affirmations of arousal: gasps, keens, mewls, moans. It only served to spur him on in his pursuit to drive her mad with desire, to push her over the edge.

And on the precipice she stood, swaying. The movement of his canines against the juncture of her legs didn't even register with her as his mouth opened and closed, unleashing his tongue onto her clit, where it flicked, hard.

Something inside her burst, unraveling the tight knot in her core, flooding her body with pleasure. But Malfoy didn't let up. He doubled down, plunging his tongue deep within her. With his lengthened, pointed tongue, he expertly found her bundle of nerves, pressing and prodding against it persistently. The first wave of pleasure had not even ebbed down, when the second wave hit her. Hermione got lost in the crashing and swelling of the waves, her mouth wide open in a silent scream.

As she rode out her orgasm, Malfoy stood over her, watching her, licking her essence off his chin. A mixture of satisfaction and want shone in his eyes. It mortified her. She felt completely visible to him. Embarrassed, she raised her hands and covered her face, protecting at least a little bit of her dignity.

"I didn't think anything could taste more delectable than your blood, Granger, but I was wrong." Hermione whimpered, pressing the balls of her hands harder into her eyes, wishing she had another pair to shield her ears from his words. As if she was not riled up enough, Malfoy trailed his mouth up her stomach in open-mouthed kisses. She could feel the tip of his tongue skipping around the lower edge of her bra, making her thankful that he had stopped her from fully undressing. Merlin knew what else he would have in store for her, had she done so. He contented himself with laving his tongue over her wound, humming in between licks.

"You don't need to hide yourself. You looked beautiful." Getting a compliment - on her orgasm face - from Draco Malfoy of all people did not improve the situation for Hermione one bit. Actually, she wished he had never mentioned it.

"Don't lie to make me feel better," she complained, feeling herself go a darker shade of red. Thank Godric for the low light of the crystals. Her objection gave him pause. She could literally feel him studying her.

"It's the truth." He backed his affirmation up by dragging his glans through her drenched folds, making her gasp.

"Please, just take me already," she whined.

"Do you want me to take the lead?" His hand moved from her legs to bracket her waist, his thumbs caressing her skin in light circles. Afraid her voice might break, Hermione merely nodded.

As he stepped back from her, the colder nighttime air blowing over her skin was a welcome change, giving her body the chance to cool down, if only momentarily. Fanning out her fingers, Hermione gazed up at the full moon through the skylight, trying to redirect her thoughts, but to no avail. The next thing she heard was a brief pop . Then, a wet, slick sound. Through her fingers, Hermione watched as Malfoy applied a generous amount of oil to his rigid erection, making sure to lather the tip until it glowed in the blue-ish crystal light, all the way down to his bulge. Once he had thoroughly spread the oil all over his achingly hard cock, he drizzled some onto her labia, rubbing it in with the pad of his thumb.

Gently, his tail pried her hands away from her face.

"You should cast a contraceptive spell, just in case." His lips were pressed into a thin line, clearly as uncomfortable with the thought of an accidental pregnancy as she was. Hermione pulled her hands free and let one hover over her abdomen, forming the words to the spell with her mouth silently.

With his tip already nudging against her opening, he leaned forward, bringing his mouth level with her ear.

"I'll only take your virginity and immediately pull out afterwards. Understood?" The look he gave her made it clear that a nod of her head wouldn't do this time. Only a verbal affirmation was acceptable, so Hermione answered, "Understood."

His brow furrowed in concentration as he aligned his cock with her entrance.

"You might want to hold onto my horns," he advised, mere seconds before he began pushing in.

Hermione's hands shot up, grasping the horns, feeling him stretching her. Painstakingly slow, he inserted the tip. Hermione hissed. Her knuckles turned white from how hard she held onto his horns. His hand kept her hips locked in place. Otherwise, she might have shimmied away.

"Sweet Salazar, please relax."

Concentrating on her lower muscles and deep, steady breaths, Hermione tried to oblige, which was no easy feat considering the ache in her nether region as he continued pushing in. 'Piercing blade' certainly was a fitting metaphor for how painful it felt. His grunt mingled with her sob as he thrust his bumpy corona past her entrance.

He had truly tried to be gentle, but it hurt. It fucking hurt.

A teardrop slid down her cheek, drawing a hot, wet line across her skin. Before it could fall, however, Malfoy's tongue caught it, retracing its path.

"It hurts." She took a shuddering breath. "It hurts. Please, pull out." Her hymen had been torn, her virginity taken. Nothing more was needed for the ritual, but he did not withdraw, like he had promised her to.

"Say the incantation again." He winced. "Just to be safe. I won't move until then." She loathed him for making sense. As she fought to ignore the pain, taking deep, measured breaths, Hermione tried to recall the words to the spell. They didn't come to her as easily as the first time. She had to pause several times, for although Malfoy kept his word and held still, her inner walls still fought to accommodate him. Instead of the pain, she redirected her attention back to the runes, one by one warming on her chest. To the long, soft strands of hair falling over his shoulder and trailing over her body. To his hands flexing on her waist.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy," she finished, pressing his name out through clenched teeth. Her fingers quivered as she had to let go of one of his horns; the ridges had left indents in the palm of her hand, so tightly had she clung to it. Her outer lips were slick with oil, her fingers easily gliding to where they were connected. This 'first blood' glistened bright red on her fingertips. Awaiting her to complete the ritual, Malfoy opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue. As his tongue wound around her fingers, he moaned deeply.

One moment his eyes were closed, relishing in her taste, the next moment they were wide open and glowing white. His hands tensed on her hip, his nails digging into her flesh. He pulled.

He jerked, pulling her farther onto him and Hermione hissed. This, however, was only the start, for he wrapped his tail around her middle and brought her with him as he stood straight. While Hermione scrambled for purchase, for anything to steady herself on, his wings unfurled, spreading wide. Her legs trembled as she clamped down around his waist, hoping it would keep her from sliding down further onto his cock, the rim of the first crest threatening to push past her entrance.

The warm trace of the runes swelled to a scorching heat. But worst of all was her wound.

Blood shot free from it, twirling in a circular motion. Along the rivulets of her blood swirled miniscule golden particles. A cyclone of blood and magic formed, drilling into his chest. It went straight for the white piece of marble, working away at it. Bouts of night magic unravelled at the corners, dark ribbons fighting to hold onto the fragment in his chest. Before long, it had dug around the border of the stone, excavating it from his flesh. Floating between them, the black ribbons retreated into the white marble. Without the Guardian as a vessel, the night magic could not latch onto a magical core. Thus, the fragment disintegrated into fine powder. As soon as the glittering dust had dissolved in the air, carried away on a light breeze, blood tore free of Malfoy's wound, intertwining with hers, a maelstrom of gold, silver and red.

The spirals became a two-way stream, blood transferring from one into the other. Starting from her chest, magic shot through her body like fire. It felt like a ripple of tiny explosions, every cell of her body disassembling itself to introduce a spark of his magic, fusing into something new.

Her consciousness expanded, picking up sensations outside of her body. Simultaneously to Malfoy's magic integrating itself with her own, Hermione felt her magic flow along the streams of his nerves, melting into his very being. Slowly, the explosions died down, her whole body in tune with his. The foreign feeling of their magic pulsing in sync eradicated any doubt whether the ritual had worked.

They were bound.

Forever.

Hermione was catching her breath, her eyes fixed on the hardened, dark red spot where the marble had set, golden light pulsating in time with her heartbeat. And likewise, a staccato rhythm throbbed where her wound had healed.

"I'll pull out now," he rasped. The sound of his voice called Hermione back to reality, away from the wonder that was their bond. When the white glowing had stopped, his eyes retained their silver colour. His hand took the place of his tail on her waist, but Hermione pressed the heels of her feet into the backside of his thighs, hindering him from lifting her off his cock.

"What are you doing?" There was a pained quality to his voice and Hermione didn't have to ask why - she knew. It had taken all his willpower not to thrust into her, judging from the abundant need registering through their bond.

"Let's stay like this a little longer." The thought of him pulling out seemed dreadful to Hermione. How empty she would be.

"The bonding worked. No need to prolong your suffering, Granger." Why would he still speak of suffering? Hermione couldn't understand. He had to feel the sensation the way she did. This overwhelming sensation of completeness. Suffering. She would certainly suffer if he withdrew from her. Separation meant suffering, connection meant pleasure.

"Please." She dug in her heels harder, his hands insisting to pull on her.

"I can't." He kept denying her, while Hermione could feel his resolve ebbing.

" Please ," she repeated with emphasis, hoping that if he wouldn't trust the desire he must know she felt, he would at least believe her words.

"Don't test me," he warned. His inner fight to withhold was a losing battle. His hands already resigned to hold her in place, shivers running through his body as his control slipped.

"Please, Draco," Hermione whined. For a brief moment he let go of her. The edge of his first crest finally slid in, eliciting a grunt from Draco. It only made Hermione yearn for more.

"I'll hurt you," he pressed out, his eyes shut tight.

"You won't." Hermione canted her hips forward in hopes of gliding further down, but to no avail.

"I will."

"You don't , Draco. All the pain is gone."

All that remained was need. To prove her honesty, Hermione squeezed around his cock.

Draco's eyes flew open and she knew her want was clearly visible on her face, a deep flush burning on her cheeks. His pupils were blown wide, focused on her eyes as he turned to sit on the pillar. Like this, her knees rested on the stone. By letting go of her waist, Draco gave her control.

"Thank you." She cradled his face in her hands and drew him in for a kiss. Their lips moved in time with the rhythm of their magic. The farther Hermione sank onto his aching erection, the more insistently it drummed in their chests. Their moans mingled between them, their tongues dancing within their mouths. The raised seams of his crests, now two fitting inside her, stroked her walls. Whenever those brushed past her sweet spot, spikes of pleasure shot up her spine.

They separated, sucking in breaths.

"More," Hermione begged.

Draco's tail wound around her locks, pulling at her hair. A pleasurable pain tingled on her scalp and Hermione leaned her head back, granting him better access to her neck, where he ran his tongue up and down. Moving on from her neck, he left a trail of hot kisses down to her chest, where he nipped and sucked the swell of her breasts. A snapping sound was quickly followed by her breasts springing free, no longer confined by her bra. The straps fell useless off her shoulders as Draco began his assault on her nipples. He plucked and poked them with his tongue.

" More ," she demanded this time, for regardless how furiously she slammed her hips down, it was never enough. Meeting her in every of her plunges with a thrust of his own, Draco hit her just right.

Right spot.

Right pressure.

"Draco," Hermione moaned, grinding down onto him.

His hips jerked up. "Say it again."

"Draco," Hermione groaned, her core pulling tight.

He took hold of her hips and pushed down. "Again."

" Draco ," Hermione sobbed, her hands driving forward and into his hair, fisting his soft strands.

He worked her down onto the last crest, her clit hitting his bulge whenever he seated himself deep within her. A back and forth of "Again" and "Draco" ensued, his name getting distorted between cries and screams as he fucked into her. Every push propelled Hermione closer.

Closer.

Closer.

Closer .

Until pleasure coursed white hot through her veins. As her whole body convulsed in ecstasy, her walls spasming around his cock, Hermione felt him topple over the edge with her, his climax hitting her with an intensity she had never known to be possible.

A blinding white light.

Euphoria took full control over her.

In the end, she was left immobilized, her limbs heavy. Her thoughts were sluggish and her tongue was like a dead weight in her mouth.

Wrapped in darkness, Hermione came to herself, promises being whispered against her temple.

"From now on, I'll serve you." Warm skin pressed against her chest.

"The bond will be the death of me." Her fingers were tangled in long strands of hair.

"I can't lose you." Magic throbbed in her chest.

"They can never hurt you." Fingers tensed around her shoulder.

"I won't let anything happen to you." A thumb caressed along her side.

"I'll protect you." Warm breath brushed across her face.

"I swear." Lips pressed a kiss onto her forehead.

His words shouldn't have made sense. Yet, his words of commitment, his oath to protect her, resonated with something deep within her. Although the feeling of their connection had dulled down, she knew he spoke the truth.

"Draco?" His string of vows stopped abruptly.

His wings that had enveloped them opened up. Blinking, Hermione's eyes adjusted to the crystals' glow, the moon bright above them. The low blue-ish light cast shadows on his face. His eyes, however, shone bright.

With worry.

With concern.

With fear.

"Yes, Mistress?"

A dull ache resonated in her chest.

Although she had freed him from his curse of having to guard Malfoy Manor, she condemned him to a life bound to her, to be her Guardian . Compared to him, she was fragile, easily hurt. Even without further words falling from his lips, Hermione understood that this new task, protecting her, was different. It was worse, for he truly couldn't lose her.

/

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