Draco had kept that promise to take her to Hogwarts. But it wasn't in the way she was expecting. It was the following morning when he had found her in the Malfoy Library. Her head was throbbing from the excessive drinking and the effects of Voldemort prodding her mind. When she heard his footsteps up the stairs, she wished she had the invisibility cloak to sneak away. Another session with Voldemort trying to break into her thoughts in conjunction with a hangover felt like it might kill her.

The same series of events unfolded like the previous day. She refused to take the potion, he forced her hand. They'd barred their teeth at each other for a few minutes, and after she was settled, he apparated them to their destination.

But this time, instead of ending up at the Ministry, they were at the entrance of Hogwarts, a place she once called home.

It was decrepit and lifeless, like all of the warmth that it used to have was sucked right out and replaced with a dark shadow. Dementors swarmed around each tower of the castle, a warning of hopelessness. The last time she had stepped foot here was the Battle of Hogwarts in 1998.

Lavender, Fred, Lupin, Tonks.

Hermione was glad to have had a calming draught, or she may have lost it in the entrance hall. She tried to remember the happy memories, but with the cloud of despair that surrounded the castle, it seemed impossible.

"Lord Malfoy," the high pitched voice called as the sounds of clicking heels came towards them. Hermione turned to see the crusty witch adorned in pink garments approach. "So good to see you again."

"Dolores," he replied flatly, not even looking in her direction.

"When I heard you had taken a ward, I was elated. I always thought the Malfoy name should take as many as possible, as you would provide the best environment to showcase the strength of the Sacred Twenty-Eight." She took a slight pause, darting her eyes at Hermione for a second. "However, I was slightly concerned when I heard of who it was. Nevertheless, we will provide Ms. Granger with the same curriculum as everyone else, despite her less than desirable heritage."

Draco, seemingly not paying attention, nodded at the pink witch. "Wonderful. My house elf will pick her up when the lessons are complete."

He turned to leave quickly, as if he had more pressing matters to attend to. Hermione stood and stared at Dolores Umbrige. She had aged worse than she could have imagined in the past decade. It seemed that the war had negative effects on the other side as well.

"Ms. Granger, I hope you will be on your best behavior while in our lesson today," she said as she walked Hermione deeper into the castle. Instead of the halls being filled with bright eyed children in school robes, there were masked men and snatchers. Any semblance of the Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff houses were stripped away, replaced with iconography of Salazar Slytherin. "I am sure you will be, as I am aware that Lord Malfoy has you under a strict regimen."

Hermione curiously thought about what Umbridge was talking about. For the most part, she was resting and had been brought to the Ministry. The house elves delivered her food three times a day, and she usually sat and spoke with Astoria. Other than that, she was left to her own devices within the manor.

Umbridge brought her to the old Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. It looked identical to how she had remembered it, dimly lit, the vaulted ceilings, even down to the cobwebs that strung from the wood banisters. There were numerous desks, however, only half were full. Her eyes scanned the faces in the group, and she recognized two of the seven.

Ernie Macmillan and Madame Pomfrey.

She had last seen them months ago, they had both been stationed in Wales and went missing in action along with several other Order members. They were located, but with them being stationed at St. Mungos and then Hogwarts, their extraction was nearly impossible.

"Take a seat, Ms. Granger," Umbridge said as she made her way to the podium at the front of the room. Hermione made her way towards the empty seat near Pomfrey, but Umbridge cleared her throat. "Ah ah ah, Ms. Granger. Please leave at least one seat between you and the students."

Hermione lingered for a moment longer, trying to find Poppy Pomfrey's eyes, but they looked as dead and empty as hers. From what she could discern, Madam Pomfrey was completely under a trance, making her stay in the zombie-like state she was currently in.

A book was placed in front of Hermione as she found an empty desk. The leather cover was embossed in gold letters that read 'Pureblood Families and their Achievements in the Modern Day by Greggory Nott.' Hermione wondered what Greggory Nott would have thought if he had seen his grandson share a drink with her as they reminisced on old days.

Umbridge cleared her throat, "Class, please turn your page to 243, we will be discussing the Ollivander family name and their contributions to the craftsmanship of wands and other arcane objects."

Almost in unison, everyone in the room started to manually turn the pages of their book. It unsettled Hermione to hear the synchronous movements. It felt sterilized and scripted, the joy she felt from learning was completely devoid here.

She glanced over at Ernie as he thumbed through his book silently. There were red scars on the back of his hand that upon her further inspection, spelled out 'The Order will fall.'

It made her sick to know Umbridge was still enacting her sadistic methods of punishment. It was probably worse now that she had full reign. Though they weren't kids anymore, it seemed to be even more demoralizing. When Harry had come back with the scar on his hand that read 'I must not tell lies,' she nearly went to end Umbridge's terror that day. If it wasn't for Harry stopping her.

He was too proud and always believed that good would prevail. And he always, always wanted to see the positive in all situations.

As Hermione looked around the room, she tried her best to channel his words and Dumbledore's, to stay in the mindset that she will overcome. But she was too practical, too pragmatic, too… jaded.

"Ollivander's are a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, their name meaning he who owns…"

"No, they're not," Hermione interrupted.

Umbridge, with a smile still plastered on her pink painted lips, looked directly at her. "Excuse me, Ms. Granger?"

"Garrick Ollivander was a friend of mine. His mother was Muggle-born, and he denounced the Sacred Twenty-Eight."

The pink lips pulled into a thin line. "One man cannot speak for the entire family, Ms. Granger. I suggest you zip now." She waved her wand and Hermione felt her throat tighten and vocal chords compress. She didn't pay the lecture any mind, it was all just propaganda. Just sat and contemplated how to escape her captivity and free everyone here.

When Tappy comes to pick me up, I could quickly overpower him. Not ideal, I don't want to hurt him, but he wouldn't be able to outrun me I don't think. The Room of Requirement would be a good place to go, or any of the other various hiding spots Ron and I had found in the castle. It would be heavily monitored though…

"Ms. Granger," the shrill voice interrupted her string of thoughts. "It seems that you are not paying attention. Please, stay after class for your punishment."

The punishment Dolores Umbridge handed to her was exactly how she expected. A black quill was forced into her hand, and she wrote 'mudblood trash' over 500 times. It was carved into her skin. When she protested, the pink witch would send painful jinxes and curses to get her to continue to write. After an hour, Tappy arrived at the gates of the castle. She was much too exhausted to think or even try to escape, and didn't want the Dementors to be sent after her.

Tappy apparated them back to the manor, and Hermione fell fast asleep in the red room.

—

Hermione spent the next two weeks in the Malfoy library, practically sleeping and eating there. The only time she had left the library was to attend her 'lessons' at Hogwarts every few days. Tappy had become her number one helper, finding books on high shelves and conjuring ladders for Hermione's to stand on. She had found numerous books on vampirism, lycanthropy, and other curses that seemed related.

The library itself became Hermione's. Her notebooks were scattered over the tables, her loose strands of hair between the pages of the leather bound books, her scent embedding into the stone floors.

The only times she had seen Draco were when he collected her to go to Hogwarts or the Ministry. No words were exchanged between them, and each time, she took a full strength calming draught.

She couldn't figure out why Draco wanted her to research vampirism, she thought maybe it was a game for him. But any game with an outcome of him being removed from this earth was worth humoring. She knew that if he wasn't with her at the Ministry, he was probably out murdering her friends. Perhaps this search was simply a distraction. Some enrichment for the captive lion.

Occasionally, she would go to her room, to freshen up and change. Astoria had filled the closet with the latest fashion trends for witches, which didn't seem very practical for Hermione. Most of what Astoria had stocked were dresses, skirts, and rather revealing clothing.

When Astoria asked why Hermione hadn't touched a majority of the items she had selected for her, Hermione gently reminded her that she was usually either at the manor, or being tortured in the Death Chamber.

Wearing a dress while being under the Cruciartis curse was out of the question.

After that conversation, Hermione found that many of the items had been removed and replaced with long sleeve shirts and thick pants. Presumably, to protect from jinxes and hexes that would affect her skin.

Astoria would bring her tea and snacks throughout the day, but never asked what Hermione was looking into. She would just sit with her and talk about the party she went to or the latest gossip in the tabloids. It didn't distract Hermione at all, she was adept at multitasking. It actually was nice to have her company, and she was sure Astoria was bored without Daphne and Draco around.

Hermione had just arrived back from the Ministry with Draco. He apparated her back with him, but left immediately after. Though she was exhausted, she made her way to the library, expecting to see Astoria. To her disappointment, the third floor was empty. She opened the books and read about the historical relationships between vampires and hags, occasionally looking towards the stairs to see if the petite witch was coming. But after a few hours, she was much too tired to read.

She found herself standing at the end of the west wing corridor. Slowly, she made her way to Astoria's room. She had never been there before, but she had seen her skip to this doorway. When she approached, the door was ajar, and Hermione saw the witch laying in bed in the late afternoon.

"Astoria, are you okay?"

Twinkle came to the door. "Lady Astoria is fine, miss. No need to worry."

Astoria coughed and sat up. "Hermione, you can come in."

She looked incredibly pale and gaunt. On her pillow, there were spots of blood, which shocked Hermione. She recalled that some days Astoria seemed under the weather, but Hermione thought that her condition seemed significant enough today to need a healer.

"Should I for call for Malfoy or your sister?" she asked, coming to the bedside.

"No, Draco said he was incredibly busy today and to only call if necessary. And Daph said she was bringing me back a whole wardrobe full of clothes, don't want to upset her over something silly and get on her bad side."

"I don't think this is unnecessary or silly, Astoria. This seems serious."

She coughed into a cloth handkerchief. "Oh hush, pretty girl. It's simply my immune system, and I went to that party at Pansy's the other night. I just hope I'm better by next weekend."

Hermione sat at the edge of the bed and moved strands of Astoria's hair away from her sweaty forehead. She desperately wished she had her magic to try to help. Hermione assessed her symptoms. "What's happening next weekend? Another party at Pansy's?"

"Did you forget? We're having an event here… for the summer solstice. Remember? The ball?"

Shortness of breath. Extreme fatigue. Coughing. Feverish. This wasn't just the normal illness you'd get from a weakened immune system. From what Hermione observed, it was a chronic illness of some sort, or something occurring to her regularly.

"I'm sorry, it slipped my mind." Hermione was truthful, she was too preoccupied with her research.

Astoria held Hermione's shaky hand. It was so typical of her, to be sickly in bed and still comforting another. "You were there today, weren't you?"

Hermione nodded.

Astoria scooted over in the bed and pulled her under the covers. As much as Hermione wanted to oppose, she let the small witch handle her. "You poor thing," she said softly. Her hand draped over Hermione so gently, trying not to discomfort her any further.

"Astoria, will you be honest with me?

"Of course, Hermione."

She couldn't understand what would be impacting such a young witch. She was only twenty-four, seemed relatively active, maintained a healthy diet, and had the means to see any healer or specialist she could. There wasn't a clear explanation other than something that made Hermione's stomach turn.

"Is he feeding on you? Is that why you're so sick sometimes?"

"Oh, heavens no. Draco would never do that to me."

"Promise me?"

"I promise, Hermione. Really. Draco, he does bad things I know. Really, really bad things. Bad things to you. Evil, horrible, vile things. I tell him all the time not to, that he needs to stop. But he doesn't have a choice. I know you don't believe that, and you don't believe me. Just trust me when I tell you, he wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

It was quiet for a few moments. Hermione believed that Astoria was telling the truth that she said that Draco wasn't harming her, but she wasn't sure if that was the reality of the situation. He was cunning and sly, and she was too naive to see the warning signs.

"We both need rest and fire whiskey, I think. I'm not a doctor though," Hermione said, feeling the warmth of the bed soothing her aching muscles.

"You're smart enough to be one. Probably all those books you read."

"McGonagall gave me a time turner in third year just so I could take more classes and read more books. Isn't that ridiculous?" Hermione giggled as she felt sleep gnawing away at her. "Wish I had one now so I could read and sleep at the same time."

Astoria rested her head against Hermione's shoulder. "All those books on vampires. You really hate him, don't you?"

"I do."

"Are you going to kill him?"

"Yes."

—

For a second after she woke, Hermione could have sworn Ginny was next to her, clutching onto her arm, sleeping soundly. It was comforting to see her friend in the darkness. But as her eyes adjusted, she saw Astoria's soft features, her long brown hair flowing over the pillows. There was something so innocent about her presence, like she had been shielded by all the horrors all while living with the cause of them.

Quietly, she moved Astoria's arm away from her and made her way towards the kitchen, thinking about how good a glass of water would taste, but she froze when she heard the mutters of the vampire from inside. She heard the sick sound of flesh tearing and a low groan. Horrified he may be tearing apart someone she knew, and her damn curiosity getting the best of her, she placed her hand on the swinging door.

Hermione peaked through to see Draco shirtless and bloodied. He was holding a knife, cutting into his skin and gritting his teeth, digging his fingers into the wound.

She gasped, seeing the carnage in front of her eyes. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Draco annoyingly grunted, pointing the knife in her direction, "Granger, would you mind FUCKING OFF? I'm a little busy!"

She entered the room, crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. A smile crept on her lips, seeing the struggling creature in front of her. He had heard her screams and cries for two months and now, it was her time to watch him squirm. "You're trying to deny me the pleasure of seeing you in pain?"

He slammed the knife down on the table and with two long strides, he was in front of her, grabbing Hermione by the throat, holding her against the wall. Her hands went to his wrist, waiting for the second he would start to press down on her airway and take her breath away. His eyes were filled with such intensity that holes felt like they were burned into her skin.

"You are an insufferable bitch," he spat, baring his teeth at her. He squeezed his fingers over her pulse, feeling her heartbeat hasten. If she was scared, her face didn't show it, but her heart was a dead giveaway. The way it fluttered under his touch as he pressed her harder into the wall was a telltale sign of her fear. Even with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, she wouldn't be able to break away from his grasp.

Quickly, he pushed her aside and went back to the table, reaching for a bottle. When he turned, Hermione could see raised bumps in his back, scattering across his chest and stomach.

"What did he do to you?" she asked. They weren't boils or recognizable as any sort of magical affliction. They seemed physically embedded into his flesh.

He breathed deeply, a hint of pain crossed his face. "Does it matter?"

"You need my help, don't you?"

Draco ran his bloodied fingers through his hair, making the white strands turn pink. The definition of his chest and abdomen seemed to hold the blood in the crevices, slowly dripping it onto the tile floor under him. The bright red against his pale skin was like spilled ink on a piece of parchment. Hermione thought he may have looked like a piece in a modern art museum.

He sighed, rubbing his neck in a frustrated manner, spreading more of his ichor on his paper white flesh. "They cut me open, shoved shit into me. I'm trying to get them out, but my skin is sealing too quickly. I need you to make the incision so I hold the wound open. Then I need you to pull out whatever the hell is in me."

On the table next to the fire whiskey, was a knife, surgical blade, and forceps. Hermione had some triage experience in the field, but she had never done anything without some sort of aid from potions or magic.

"Can you manage, Granger? Or do I need to call for a house elf?"

"I can manage," she said, walking towards the tools set on the table. She reached for the surgical blade, noting the large size as a #22 blade, meant for deep incisions. Medical books her parents had in their house was always downtime reading for her when she was young. They were dentists, and she had their stomach for blood and gore. It almost excited her at the prospect of slicing the monster open.

Draco grabbed her hand and moved her fingertips along his ice cold chest until she felt a bump. "You need to cut deep, and hard. It's tougher than you think. Don't worry about hurting me."

"I'm not," she said too quickly.

"I nearly forgot who I was speaking to," Draco scoffed before taking another drink.

Hermione looked up into his eyes as she positioned the blade at the top of the foreign object. He nodded, and using two hands, she pressed the blade into him. It took nearly her entire strength for it to pierce through his skin, using her body weight to cut downwards. The tendons felt as if they were snapping and attempting to cinch back together within milliseconds.

Draco growled through gritted teeth, shoving his fingers on either side of the fresh wound to hold the muscles open. The sounds of tearing as he struggled to keep himself open nearly made her vomit. Hermione saw the edges of the flesh immediately attempt to stitch itself together, as if she poured a wound closing potion over it.

She grabbed the forceps and started to dig deep into him, prodding into the bloodied hole gaping open. When she grabbed hold of something, she started to pull, but the muscles attempted to attach over the tool the more she struggled to grab it.

"Fucking hurry up, you cunt," he barked.

"Shut up, you spoiled little brat." Hermione couldn't help but smile as she yanked it out of him, hearing him scream. Before she could even look to assess the damage, the wound had fully closed, looking as if nothing had ever happened.

In the grasp of the forceps was a thick, rusty nail. She let it clatter onto the table as she wondered what else was buried inside him. He took her hand again and ran it along his abdomen, over every one of his defined muscles, stopping at another irregular raise in his skin. It was as if he was a canvas, his blood was the paint, and her fingers were the brush.

She pressed the tip of the blade against him again.

"You wet or something, Granger? I haven't seen you smile like this since Viktor Krum stepped foot at Hogwarts."

"I hate you," she said as she shoved her full body weight into the blade. "I hate you, you fucking prick."

She pushed down, but couldn't find any leverage, so she fell to her knees to use her body weight to tear the scalpel downwards. It slowly moved, carving a straight line into him where the object was buried. When his fingers were in, she took the forceps and forced them into the wound.

"Fucking whore," he grunted as she pulled a shard of glass out from him. "You look like a fucking whore on your knees like that."

"And you look like a pathetic piece of shit groveling for my help."

"I hate you," he said.

A spiked piece of metal.

"I hate you," she said.

Several jagged stones.

"I hate you."

Another nail.

"I hate you."

More glass.

"I hate you."

It took an hour to retrieve all the objects embedded into his flesh. By the time they were done, Hermione was exhausted, her muscles ached from having to use every bit of strength to cut him.

But, it temporarily satiated a hunger she had inside of her.

They both sat on the floor against the kitchen counter, passing the bottle of fire whiskey silently between them.

"How is Tori doing?" he finally asked, breaking the silence, the alcohol easing the tension in the room.

"She needs to see a healer. Says it's just a cold. I think it's worse."

"Thank you for being with her. I wish I could have been here but…"

"I know, Malfoy." She took another drink before handing the bottle back. His cold hand touched hers, lingering for a second longer than she would have liked. "She's too good for you, I hope you know that."

"I am well aware."

Hermione looked at him from the corner of her eye. "If I find out you are doing anything to her…"

"Merlin, Granger, you think I'm that sick?"

She had buried hundreds of people over the past few years with their throats torn from their bodies, their stomachs gutted, and drained of blood. There were likely even more than she knew, especially with how disconnected she was from the world.

"You're worse than sick. You're evil, wicked, degenerate, heinous, depraved, demonic, foul…"

Draco smirked, bringing the bottle to his lips again. "Did you find a new dictionary up in that library or something?"

Hermione turned fully towards him, arms crossed. "What's wrong with her, Malfoy? Why is she so sick?"

He sat there and sighed. Hermione thought it looked like he was searching for something in the back of his head, like something was filed away from his mind.

"She's been sick her whole life, Granger. Since we were kids, I have been at her bedside, watching over her, through all the ups and downs. There have been more downs as of late."

"Why don't you take her to a healer?"

"What more could they do? You don't think that between the wealth of the Greengrasses and myself that we had not exploited every fucking resource we could? I'd burn the world down and myself with it, if that would ease some of her pain."

Hermione couldn't fathom Draco Malfoy caring for another human being after seeing what he has done. But the look in his eyes told her all she needed to know. He loved Astoria, or, loved her as much as someone without a soul could.

To her surprise, he passed the bottle back.

"Are you going to tell me what warranted such unusual punishment?"

"It's not of your concern, mudblood."

She thought for a few seconds, trying to piece together a puzzle that didn't make sense to her. "It's because of me, isn't it? Because you haven't broken down my Occlumency yet. Or even tried."

"Believe it or not, you're not the only one I have to answer for. It's a big war, and you're just a little lion."

Hermione stood, grabbing the knives and forceps from the table and bringing them to the sink. Curiously, Draco followed her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Cleaning up your mess." She turned on the tap and started to rinse the tools under warm water. She couldn't remember the last time she had done any sort of dishes with her hands, but it came naturally to her.

"We've got house elves for that, you know," he said, resting against the counter next to her. He watched quietly, observing the movements of her hands intensely.

"They do enough already. You've probably never had to do the dishes ever, not even with the use of magic. Spoiled brat… Shit!"

Hermione lifted her index finger, watching the blood drip from a nick from the surgical blade.

Draco reached for her hand slowly, and ran his thumb against her palm. He wet his lips and swallowed hard as his silver eyes lingered on Hermione's small cut. Lingered, not in a hungry way, but curious. Applying a small amount of pressure to the base of her finger, he watched her blood pool from the incision.

Usually, his cold touch was forceful and abrupt. Hermione was surprised at how gentle he was, she didn't recoil away immediately.

He lifted her hand and pressed the pad of her finger onto his bottom lip, her blood starting to seep into the cracks and lines on his mouth. Looking into her brown eyes, he touched his tongue to the opened skin. Hermione pushed back, slipping the tip of her finger between his lips, feeling the cold dampness, sending a chill down her spine. She felt her blood rush as he softly sucked, wrapping his lips around her fingertip, squeezing her hand to taste more of her.

She closed her eyes and airily moaned at the sensation.

Draco suddenly threw her hand down, pulling her out of the daze she found herself in.

"Get the fuck out, mudblood."

Hermione, red faced and flustered, left without a word.