It was a fleeting transgression.

It wouldn't happen again.

At least, that was what Hermione assured herself of as she dropped a fresh pile of books onto her favorite table.

Malfoy's case was one thing, but to fixate on the happenings of the evening before was a complete and utter waste of time, a surefire way to convince herself there was more to that eerie moment than there really was.

Books were her purpose. Books were the road to a better world for her clients. Clients that needed her, that had been begging for help for centuries, only to lay down at the feet of the Ministry of Magic, in hopes of following bylaws made my witches and wizards. Clients that —

Malfoy's your client, she thought.

It was true, and it was precisely why she had never been, and would never be romantically interested in him. The only thing she cared about was his future, because Malfoy's future was the same as every vampire she was meant to serve.

He was a client, she reasserted.

Her misstep was unforgivable. Never in all her years had she done something so unprofessional.

Still, stuttering heartbeats looped in her head, an unending percussion she simply could not shake, no matter how hard she tried. The slow, inhuman sound had intoxicated her, drawing her in like siren-song . . .

What happened had undoubtedly been a moment of confusion, an action based outside of both fantasy and reality — but perhaps there was more to it than that. It had been so sudden, so unthinkable, so unlike anything she had ever done or would ever do.

Maybe there was a Knut of truth in that old wives' tales about vampiric hypnosis.

Maybe storytellers had witnessed it firsthand, been victims of it themselves. It was documented in thousands of magical fairytales, after all, passed down for generations in the oral tradition.

The more she thought about it, the more possible it seemed.

It would hardly be the first time the Ministry made a mistake when it came to other species. For years, they claimed house-elves laid eggs, for God's sake. Vampire law was inexcusably misinformed — a clear-cut failure in understanding their inherent needs, behaviors, and instincts.

Maybe centuries of folklore was the real source of truth.

She glared at the pile of books. The spines were old, with faded titles and frayed binding. Vampiric Anatomy and History beckoned her, the textbook on the very bottom of the pile. Irrational actions begged for answers, and a ninth-century reprint of a Transylvanian vampire's take on his own kind could have the very answers she sought . . .

She seized the top book instead.

Reflecting on their last meeting was not going to change what happened, nor was it going to do her any good. Thinking about him wasn't going to do her any good.

Nor would it do any good for her case-load.

Besides, if the Ministry found out that vampires could hypnotize humans, there was no saying what they would do. So long as she stayed far away, she could remain in ignorant bliss. Trying to decode what Malfoy did was entirely selfish. Obliviating Millicent had been entirely selfish. Everything about her actions over the past twenty-four hours had been entirely selfish.

It was time she did her job.

She flipped open the cover of Dangerous Beings Under Welsh Rule. The United Kingdom had a long history of demonizing vampires, and she wanted to find every angle that had influenced current legislation. Once she had, she would untangle it in front of the Wizengamot themselves.

The text was robust. Gems of new information were delicately woven throughout it, and Hermione planned to discover each and every one of them.

He's your client.

She frowned. Her eyes had scanned the same page four times over, yet she couldn't recall a single thing that she'd read.

More sleep was in order. Fatigue was going to be the death of her.

Massaging her temples, she reminded herself to start going to bed earlier. The night shifts truly had wrecked her schedule, not to mention her long days in the library. The last time she had gotten more than five hours —

"At it again, I see."

Hermione didn't bother opening her eyes. After all, she was still a little angry with him.

"Hey, Harry."

She could picture him leaning against the nearest bookcase, the I told you so in his tone. Again, he reminded her so much of Malfoy. Haughty and devilish, the both of them.

"Sorry, didn't mean to butt in," Harry apologized, though as Hermione finally regarded him, she could see he was smirking in that way he did when he was absolutely not sorry at all.

"You're not butting in."

He was butting in.

"Oh, good. So erm — so how long have you been in here today? I mean — you did go home, right?"

"Of course I did . . . I just started," she replied. She held up her blank leaves of parchment and flipped through them. "Clearly."

"You've been skiving off. I figured you would've studied the whole library by now," he poked.

"I'm certainly working on it," Hermione muttered.

"I was only kidding."

"Me too — well, kind of. I do still have a lot to do. The more research I can show, the better chance I have before the Wizengamot."

"How long do you think it'll take?" Harry asked. "Altogether, I mean."

"A while. I spent years on the elves."

"I remember."

"Obviously, vampires are significantly more complicated."

"Yeah, obviously."

Still, he stood there, staring at her as though he was judging her for something far more serious than working too much.

"Was there something you needed?" she asked.

"Not really. Thought you might want to go get lunch," said Harry, "beings you're here so early again."

"I'm not hungry," Hermione said at once, looking back down at her book. It was a distraction more than anything — it wasn't like she was reading it. If she couldn't before, she certainly couldn't with Harry hovering over her like that, that smug grin pasted across his face.

He knows.

The next thought wasn't hers.

Potter barely knows his head from his arse, you're being paranoid, Granger.

Hermione blanched. Her stomach lurched. Bile bubbled in her esophagus.

The voice had been as clear as it would have been in person, full of snark and all-encompassing of the petty rivalry that was still in play years after the two men had left Hogwarts.

Harry cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sick?"

"Erm — no. I just erm — I just remembered something," she lied. She shook her head. "It's er— it's an old law. Blood ritual ordinance. Sorry, I just really need to focus."

Harry made no move to leave.

"You're still upset about yesterday," he deduced.

"I don't hold grudges, Harry, you know that," Hermione retorted. She rifled through the pages of her book, scanning them madly as though she were consuming them with reckless abandon, but she wasn't reading a thing. She just wanted him to leave.

"You put Rita Skeeter in a jar," Harry pointed out, "for a year."

"Yes, well, you're not Rita Skeeter are you?" she snapped. She closed her eyes. "Sorry, I didn't mean to —"

"It's fine, I get it," he said, shoving off the bookshelf. "I pushed your boundaries."

"What gave you that idea?" Hermione asked flatly.

"Dunno. This whole I'm studying thing you always do when you're angry."

"It was a rhetorical question, Harry. You absolutely pushed my boundaries."

"I know — and I'm not sorry I did. Friends worry about each other." His features softened. "But I er — maybe I was a bit hard. I am sorry about that."

Hermione slid the book aside and grabbed another. She didn't even look at the title before flipping to the glossary. The busier she looked, the sooner he would leave her alone. That was her logic, anyway.

"Apology accepted," she muttered.

"Doesn't sound like it is."

"It is," she said, glaring up at him. She turned back to her new book and shook her head. "But I still can't get lunch. I have a lot to do."

"I dunno, Hermione, you look like a break might do you some good," he said.

Her gaze darkened. "Justice doesn't have time for breaks, Harry."

As if you're getting any justice done, she scolded herself, staring at paragraphs, not reading a thing. You haven't even taken any notes.

Fortunately, Harry didn't know she wasn't reading those pages, he didn't know she was so stuck in her own thoughts she had no room for new information, and he definitely didn't know Draco Malfoy was now somehow dictating her inner monologue. He held up his palms in surrender.

"Fine, fine. I guess I'll just er — I guess I'll go, then."

"Don't do that," Hermione said.

"So you want me to stay?" he asked seriously.

"It's not that I want you to stay or go," she explained. "It's that I have a lot of work to do and I want you to respect me enough to try to understand why it's important — and to give me the space to do it. I don't exactly have a lot of support right now, Harry. Is it so bad that I ask for yours?"

Harry sighed. "Look, I don't understand it, and I don't think I ever will . . ." He shrugged. "But if it's important to you, there's probably a reason. You're the smart one."

A smile tugged at Hermione's lips.

"You're right," she agreed. "I am the smart one."

Harry grinned back at her.

"We're good, then?"

"We're good," Hermione agreed.

When they were younger, it was Harry whose struggles stretched far beyond little things like work and friendly tiffs. Now, it was her turn.

As he left her to her devices, she slumped in her chair.

The men in her life were all menaces, and now, one of them seemed to live in her head.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing?" exclaimed the Ministry librarian, Burrish.

Hermione woke up with a start and blinked, taking in the landscape around her. Still, she was in the library, and apparently, she'd fallen asleep atop an open book. Which text it was, she couldn't remember.

"Oh . . . oh no. I'm sorry, I didn't mean —"

Burrish seized the book, wearing a murderous expression unlike any Hermione had ever seen. He was a little man — no taller than Flitwick — but his fury was bigger than that of a mountain troll.

"That book is from the twelfth century!" he shrieked. "And now it's covered in drool!"

"Drool?" Hermione repeated. "I don't drool."

"It's wet," Burrish hissed.

"Look, I'm sorry, truly. I guess I've been a bit under-slept." Frenzy and shame were setting in. Hermione cleared her throat and started to collect her notes, eager to escape the scene. "I'll just erm — I'll just . . . go."

"You're right, you will," Burrish growled, poking at the book with his wand. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded like, "Damned medieval ink."

Crushed from her own embarrassment, Hermione wordlessly charmed the other volumes to return to their respective shelves. As they floated away, she carded through her notes. Nothing of value was there — not a single thing.

Distractions were persistent demons.

Frustrated, she tucked them in her folder and started towards the library doors. Her clients would be getting in soon, and she had no time to ruminate when —

She bumped into something hard.

The impact sent her stumbling backwards. She caught her balance, but her folder — and every leaf of parchment within — were not so lucky. It all flew into the air, a windstorm of beige, before floating slowly to the floor in a scattered pattern.

"On a mission, eh, Granger?" McLaggen chuckled. He bent down to help clean up the mess he caused, not even offering an apology.

A single, blue ballpoint pen zipped past him.

It rolled across the hardwood, past Hermione's foot, only stopping when it hit the corner of a bookcase.

She could only stare at it.

A slow heartbeat. Racing thoughts. Ba-DUM. Ba-DUM. Ba —

"Hermione?"

McLaggen's voice pulled her back into reality.

"What?"

"I asked if you were on a mission," he said.

"Oh. No, I'm just getting ready to go into the office," she murmured in response, seizing the pen.

McLaggen handed her a messy pile of parchments and stood, towering over her in a manner she was far from comfortable with. The Ministry really needed to hire more women.

"Ah right," he said, holding out a hand to help her up. Hermione didn't accept it. "Good old night shift."

She rose to her full height and brushed off her robes.

"Something like that," she grumbled.

"It's not all bad," he replied. "Honestly, I miss it a bit sometimes, with the quiet and the —" Suddenly, his expression changed. "Fucking hell."

"What's wrong?"

Without warning, McLaggen seized her by the elbow.

"What are you — let go of me!"

"Shh!" he hissed, dragging her between a set of bookshelves.

Hermione wrenched her arm away as he looked around, his eyes darting to and fro like a man gone mad. He didn't want them to be seen, but why?

"When did you get that?" he demanded.

"Get what?" Hermione asked angrily. "Cormac, this really isn't funny —"

"That."

He tapped his wand against the crook of her neck. Flummoxed, Hermione palmed the spot he had prodded.

"What are you talking about? I —"

"You can't let anyone know," he said lowly. "Especially not Caldwell. He'll bloody kill you — probably put you before the Wizengamot."

"The Wizengamot? For what?"

His face fell.

"You haven't seen it yet."

"No, I haven't seen anything on my neck," she growled. "Now, I don't know what you're getting at, but if this is some sort of sick joke, I'm not amused."

Draco hadn't bitten her. After multiple meltdowns and studying her skin, she knew he hadn't. There was no sign he had ever touched her at all — well, except for the voice in her head.

"It's not a joke," he whispered, "and keep your voice down."

Hermione swallowed hard. Rarely was McLaggen serious about anything. While she had been worrying Harry might know something, it was, in fact, the office thick-head that seemed to have answers she surely did not want him to have. She crossed her arms.

"Fine," she deadpanned, quieting herself, "but I'd like to know what was so important that you thought you had the right to grab a coworker like that. That's a human resources violation."

"I had concern for that coworker's safety."

"My safety?" Hermione balked. "You're the only thing making me feel unsafe here."

"Funny. I'm your best friend now, believe it or not," he breathed. "Doubt anyone else has warned you."

"Warned me of what?"

"One of those fang-faces has taken a liking to you."

Hermione scoffed. "What makes you think that?"

McLaggen sucked in his cheeks and rolled his eyes, as though he were calculating whether to tell her the truth or not. Hermione half-considered strangling him. To have the audacity to —

He unbuttoned his collar.

"So first you grab me, and now you're trying to take off your —"

She stopped, speechless.

"Happy now?" he asked.

Hermione could not tear her gaze from him. What had started as an unusual encounter was only growing stranger by the second, and now, she stood there, entranced by none other than Cormac McLaggen's neck.

A golden circle was embedded in his skin.

"What is that?" she asked.

Her voice wavered.

"My guess is you already know." His Adam's apple bobbed as he averted his gaze. "Got close to one once, a client. She er — she had a way about her, just — well, let's just say she was different than the other ones. You know what it's like."

"I'm afraid I don't," Hermione lied.

"Don't bullshit me, Granger," McLaggen growled. He pointed at her neck. "I know exactly what that means."

Hermione refused to look at him. She swallowed hard.

"What happened to her?"

"What?"

"Your client. What happened to her?"

Cormac's brow wrinkled with something akin to sorrow. "She was afraid she might try to bite me. Fucked off and went noncompliant." He narrowed his eyes. " And she made the right call. Every time she saw me, all that was in her mind was how she was going to turn me — and you know what? As soon as I got this — this thing, I wanted her to. I would've bloody let her."

"That's mad," Hermione said at once.

"Is it?" McLaggen asked. "You've been reading enough to know how strong mate magic is. What d'you think would happen, if a blood-sucker took one of us as theirs? You think it'd all be fun and games, do you?"

Everything clicked.

The puzzle pieces fit together so perfectly, but Hermione hadn't wanted to believe it. It was so farfetched, so unthinkable . . .

She was going to be sick.

Malfoy never hypnotized her. He'd done the very thing she had been pressing him to do.

He found a mate.

The world began to spiral around her. All of the air was being ripped from her lungs, dragging her into the undertow of her new reality. After all of her pushing the idea on him, she hadn't expected him to take it quite so far.

He didn't want a vampire — so he chose the only human he was allowed to see.

"Granger, whoever it is, you've got to make him go noncompliant," Cormac went on. "It's the only way."

"I didn't —" She faltered, tears brimming in her eyes. "I didn't even see it. I looked in the mirror, and —"

"I didn't at first either," he interrupted. "No idea why that is. But once you've been marked, you see them everywhere. Boglim in Goblin Liaison? Has had one for months. Saw it before I even saw my own. It's a miracle he's not turned by now."

Nowhere in any of her books had this strange, golden circle been explained. Yet, as she looked into Cormac's eyes, she knew he meant every word he said. No matter how little he studied, no matter how brainless he was at the surface, he knew something research could not have prepared her for.

Draco Malfoy had stolen her childhood. Now, he was stealing the rest of her life too.

She blinked away her tears.

"There's no getting rid of it, is there?"

Cormac softened and shook his head.

"Afraid not, Herms. The only thing you can get rid of is him."