ch. 44 - brink of truth

Hermione

School drags.

The minutes crawl by, each lecture a dull hum behind my racing thoughts. Every assignment, every discussion - just pointless distractions. I tap my quill against my parchment as the professors drone on, my mind already deep in the castle's shadows, piecing together what we still don't know.

Draco, ever the frustratingly attentive alpha, insists we finish our coursework before diving back into our research.

"We still need to graduate, pet," he reminded me earlier, when I suggested skipping lunch to get a head start in the Restricted Section. "Can't do much if we flunk out."

I hate it when he's right. Well, half right. If we weren't here, we'd have time for more than just research… The thought makes me feel needy.

To make sure I actually ate, he made us do our homework in the Great Hall, with the condition that we'd have an early dinner before heading back to work on our project. When I pouted, his lips would quirk up and he would say, "You do turn into quite a stormy little swot when you're hungry," like that explained everything.

Now, as we finally slip into the darkened corridors leading to the library, I feel like I'm buzzing with anticipation. The castle has settled into its usual nighttime hush, the flickering torches casting long, wavering shadows across the stone floors.

"Slow down, omega," Draco murmurs, his fingers grazing the small of my back as he steers me forward. "You're walking like you're about to hex the books into giving up their secrets."

I huff, barely sparing him a glance. "Maybe I am."

His chuckle is low, teasing. "And here I was hoping you'd save some of that ruthless energy for later."

I shoot him a look. "Do you ever think about anything other than sex?"

He tilts his head, mock thoughtful. "Mmm. Yes. You, for example. Though, admittedly, that circles back rather quickly." Draco winks at me.

I roll my eyes, biting back a smile as we enter the library, heading for the Restricted Section. "Shall I join your shame and admit my thoughts end up on the same track more often than not?" The moment the words leave my mouth, a flicker of heat curls low in my belly. It's more forward than I usually am but it makes something purr inside me to admit it out loud.

Draco gives me a smug look, all sharp angles, and wicked amusement. "Oh, Granger, if you're admitting that, I might just swoon. Shall I fetch a pepper-up potion?"

I scoff, "You'd enjoy the attention too much."

My alpha smirks, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to my cheek. "Only if it's from you, darling." My heart flutters in my chest.

—

The Restricted Section is darker than the rest of the library, the shelves towering over us, packed with thick, weathered tomes bound in cracked leather. The air is heavy with dust and something older, something almost alive. This part of the castle breathes differently as if it remembers the secrets locked within its shelves.

Draco moves beside me, his presence warm and welcomed. "Alright. Where do we start?"

My gaze sweeps the room before landing on a thick, iron-clasped tome, half-hidden between two others, its spine almost faded into the darkness. The title is barely legible.

Blood & Banishment: The Art of Ancestral Curses

"Here." I pull it free and haul it to one of the worn wooden tables, Draco leaning over my shoulder as I pry it open. The pages are old, ink faded but still readable. The text discusses the intersection of Dark Magic and Blood Magick, the ways they weave together, making a spell permanent—not just on an individual, but on a lineage.

One passage jumps out at me immediately. A section on magical suppression curses. My eyes scan the page, breath catching as I spot the name written at the bottom.

"No curse of this nature can persist without consequence. Magic resists unnatural restriction. Where power is leashed, it will find another way to manifest."

—Excerpt from Dumbledore's Study on Dark & Forbidden Magic, 1946

My fingers tighten around the book. Dumbledore studied this.

Draco's eyes flick to mine, sharp with realization. "This is from Voldemort's time at Hogwarts."

I nod, flipping the pages faster. If Dumbledore was researching blood magick and magical suppression then—

I stop, heart pounding, as I reach a list of referenced sources.

One of them isn't a book. It's not an academic study. It's a journal.

"Private Notes on the Matter of Magical Suppression, A.P.W.B.D."

I exhale shakily. "So he kept personal records, ones that weren't published."

We stare at each other for a long moment before the conclusion slams into place between us at the same time.

The old storage rooms.

Beneath the castle is Hogwarts' storage vault. A collection of confiscated artifacts, forgotten relics, and magical objects deemed too dangerous to be left in the open. The unclaimed belongings of former headmasters and professors rest there, gathering dust alongside unclaimed possessions of those who died within Hogwarts' walls; remnants of lives left behind, sealed away in the depths of the castle.

When McGonagall took over, Dumbledore's office was relocated here, some of his personal research and collected artifacts packed away alongside the rest of history waiting to be forgotten.

Draco exhales slowly, shutting the book with a soft thump. "Looks like we need to go deeper in the castle."

"Not now," I say quickly, shaking my head. "It's too early. Madame Pince would have a fit if she caught us. And Onyx? She'd find out in no time."

So we leave the Restricted Section and return to our table in the back of the library, reviewing our notes.

Draco

The library empties slowly.

Dinner ended an hour ago, and the usual stragglers, Ravenclaws holed up in their studies, stressed-out Seventh Years poring over last-minute essays, trickle out one by one. Madame Pince made her last round ten minutes ago, muttering about the deplorable state of academia before locking up for the night.

We keep our heads down, letting the dimming candlelight and the hush of the abandoned library settle over us.

The castle is silent now.

Hermione exhales, slow and measured, before finally looking up from her book. "Alright, c'mon." Her eyes glitter in the pale light of the library.

My heart starts to race. Not from nerves, no.

But Hermione, her sweet omega scent lingers in the air, heady and distracting, making my knees a bit unsteady. Her curls fall wild and soft over her shoulders. Ink stains her fingers from whatever frantic note-taking she'd been doing earlier. And fuck, there's something about her like this: so sharp, so relentless, so mine that sets my blood simmering and puts my alpha on edge.

I push my chair back with an easy stretch, smirking. "Lead the way, pet."

She doesn't hesitate, slipping her hand into mine and tugging me to my feet, her grip firm with purpose. Without another word, she pulls me toward the Restricted Section again, her determination setting the pace.

My omega is focused, all business, but I can't stop watching her. The way she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. The way she moves… I should be helping, I should be focused, but my alpha is pacing in the back of my mind, growling mine over and over.

So I focus on following her as we descend deeper into the library.

There's a part of the restricted area that even Madam Pince has obviously stopped tending to. Old floor plans of Hogwarts reveal a hidden lower level beneath the library – an abandoned space where the castle stashes its most dangerous secrets. It's a place few know about, and even fewer dare to enter, but for those bold enough to take the risk, it's an entrance that can open doors to more than anyone expects.

Hermione comes to a sudden stop. "Here."

I step in close behind her, peering over her shoulder at the iron-barred gate nestled between the shelves. It's easy to miss - tucked in the shadows, nearly swallowed by the darkness. Not a door, but a passage. One that leads down, vanishing into the gloom beneath the castle.

A gated, warded passage.

Hermione murmurs a spell under her breath, wand poised, and the air hums with a faint shimmer of magic. Her breath hitches. "It's old." She gives me a look that tells me she's already two steps ahead.

We're about to step forward when she turns, tilting her chin up at me. "Before we go, I need you to focus."

I raise a brow in question. "I am focused."

She crosses her arms. "No, you're watching me like you want to drag me into the stacks and ruin me."

A slow, wicked grin spreads across my face. "Observant."

She exhales sharply, but I catch the way her pulse flutters at her throat. "Draco."

"I can multitask," I murmur, stepping into her space. "Plot, break into forbidden places, and still find time to appreciate my omega."

Her breath stutters, just a little, when I brush my fingers along her wrist, trailing up her arm.

"We don't have time for distractions," she tries, but I can hear the waver in her voice.

I lean in closer, one hand braced against the bookshelf next to her head. "That's where you're wrong, Granger," I say softly. "It's been a curse for decades, remember?"

Her resolve cracks. It always does when I get her like this – cornered, breathless, and torn between logic and want.

I close the distance, ghosting my lips over hers, and she breaks first. Her hands fist into my robes, dragging me down into a kiss that steals the breath from my lungs.

She tastes like peppermint tea and ink. I could fucking drown in her. My hands slide over her waist, gripping tight, and pulling her flush against me. Her body presses against mine, heat pooling between us as her lips part, letting me deepen the kiss.

My alpha rumbles in satisfaction when she tilts her head back, yielding, letting me take.

I catch her lower lip between my teeth, savoring the way she shivers beneath me, the sting of her nails dragging down my arms. My hands slip lower, curling around the backs of her thighs. I lift her - just enough to steal a gasp from her lips, swallowed by my kiss.

Her scent spikes.

She's getting worked up, wound tight against me, and fuck, we're supposed to be sneaking into the depths of the castle, but all I can think about is pinning her against these shelves, flipping her skirt over her round ass, and—

A soft clink echoes through the dark.

We freeze.

Her breath is shallow, her eyes wide as we turn slowly toward the source of the sound.

The gate is open.

The magic has flickered out, the iron bars no longer sealed shut.

I exhale a quiet laugh, still catching my breath. "Didn't even need to break in."

Hermione looks equally dazed, her lips swollen, her body still pressed against mine. But then her eyes sharpen, focus returning. "C'mon then."

I want to groan. I want to pull her back into me and keep kissing her until she forgets her own name. But I know how that would end, a whining omega. So instead, I give her a lazy grin, adjusting my grip on my wand. "After you."

We step through the gate and descend into the dark, the sound of our footsteps echoing off the stone walls. The air grows colder, the smell of earth and decay mixing with the faint scent of something older, something forgotten. The narrow corridor twists and turns, leading us deeper into the hidden depths of the castle.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally reach a heavy wooden door, hidden behind layers of old cobwebs and dust. With a creak, it opens, revealing the room beyond.

Hermione

The air is thick with the scent of old parchment and dust, the candlelight flickering against the towering stacks of forgotten books and trinkets. We've finally found it. The storage room where Dumbledore's old notes, journals, and personal artifacts were kept.

Draco stands beside me, flipping through a worn leather-bound journal, his brows furrowed in concentration. "This one's written in his later years," he murmurs, running his fingers over the inked lines.

I sift through the pile in front of me, my fingers skimming over titles and fragments of notes scrawled on loose sheets. Dumbledore had recorded everything, his theories, observations, and, most importantly, his concerns.

Then, I see it. A passage underlined in deep blue ink stands out among his neat, flowing script.

"There are few things more dangerous than a mind that seeks to bend magic to its own will. Blood magick, in particular, is a practice that twists not only the soul but the lineage of those ensnared by its power. I have seen firsthand the lengths to which some will go to sever the bonds of nature, to control what was never meant to be contained. A student has found herself close to Tom, Cora Onyx. It has been shared with me that she has expressed an interest in such studies—an interest I fear is not purely academic."

My heart pounds in my ears. "Draco," I breathe, tapping the passage.

His silver eyes scan the words, his jaw tightening as he reads. "Onyx." He exhales sharply. "I didn't realize her time overlapped with his."

My fingers tremble over the page. "She wasn't just interested. Dumbledore was wary of her." He wouldn't have written this if he didn't think she was dangerous.

Draco glances at me, his expression grim but determined. "We need more. If she was tied to the blood magick and if she had access to research this deep, there's got to be more somewhere."

I nod. "We need to keep looking."

Draco

Hermione's hand is still hovering over the journal, her finger tracing the passage that has sent us both spiraling into uncertainty. Cora Onyx.

I turn the journal in my hands, letting the worn leather rub against my fingers, the fragile pages threatening to crumble if I'm not careful.

Hermione's eyes are locked on the page, her lips pressed together in that way she does when she's trying not to give in to whatever's running through her head. The more she reads, the more I see that familiar edge of anxiety creeping up on her again. I can hear the tension in her breath. My gaze shifts from her to the stack of books and notes littering the desk in front of us.

The words blur into each other, and my mind is overwhelmed by the ancient text. A part of me wonders how much longer we can keep going before it becomes too much. But then I see it. A small, delicate book hidden behind a stack of larger volumes. I reach for it, pulling it free and cracking it open with a sharp inhale. My eyes narrow as I read the first few lines, the words familiar, haunting.

"The curse will bind them. Blood shall be the tether. But it can only be undone by the one it is meant to sever. Only the purest bloodline can reverse what has been wrought. The price is not yet known."

I frown at the words and trace a finger over them thoughtfully.

–

We've spent what feels like hours in Dumbledore's office, rifling through his notes, pulling apart every journal, every scrap of parchment. The flickering candlelight casts long shadows over the desk, the quiet ticking of the clock the only sound breaking the silence.

Hermione's been working nonstop, flipping through page after page, and I can see the tension building in her. Her hands are slightly trembling from the strain of it all. Her brow is furrowed, eyes darting between books, each new piece of information making the puzzle harder to solve. Won't be solved in a night, I remind myself.

I stand up, stretching, the fatigue from hours of research catching up with me. I see the same exhaustion in her eyes, the same thoughts running through her mind—the tension, the pressure to keep going, to keep digging until we find the answer. But even she knows it's time to step back.

"I can't look at any of this anymore," she murmurs. "Let's call it a night." She rubs her brow and lets out a yawn. She's still uneasy, still not ready to give up, but the exhaustion is too much for either of us to ignore.

I give her a small nod, reaching for the stack of books we've gone through. "C'mon, let's head back and get some rest."

We gather the journals and notes, pack them into our bags, and make our way out of the office. The cold air of the corridor brushes against our skin. The hallway is quiet, the sound of our footsteps the only noise breaking the silence. The passage we just came through feels miles away now, and the further we get from it, the more the tension in my chest begins to loosen.

We slip through the door without pause, and Hermione moves straight to the fire, letting her bag fall beside the nearest chair. We sit in silence for a moment, letting the room settle around us. The fire crackles softly, and the tension from earlier starts to melt away. I glance at Hermione, her eyes already half-closed as she leans back into the chair.

Hermione

It's been a long, exhausting day. I feel like the weight of it is pressing on my chest. The fire is warm and easily wraps me in its arms, making me drowsy. All I need right now is my alpha holding me–

Without thinking, my gaze drifts to him. His lips are slightly parted as he breathes in, the firelight flickering across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw. It makes something inside me tighten.

"Draco," I murmur, my voice barely louder than the crackle of the fire.

He turns to face me, his expression unreadable, but there's something in the way his eyes meet mine.

I bite my lip, unsure of what to say now that I have his attention. There's too much happening in my head, too many thoughts crowding my mind. But right now, none of that matters. I don't want to think about curses or Onyx or anything else.

I reach for him, my hand finding his. His fingers curl around mine instantly, warm and familiar. My gaze shifts to our hands, then slowly meets my eyes again. He leans forward, his breath fanning across my skin. Draco is my favorite distraction.

"We don't have to do anything, Hermione," he murmurs, his voice rough with something I can't quite name.

Always so concerned. "I know," I whisper back. "But I want to, if you want to..."

And then, without another word, Draco closes the distance between us. His lips brush mine in a kiss that's slow, tentative. lHe's giving me a chance to pull away. But I don't. I lean in, letting him deepen it, letting the rest of the world slip away until there's nothing but him.

His hands settle on my waist and I melt into the steady press of his body. My omega hums at the contact, a low, instinctive purr curling in my chest. I thread my fingers through his hair, feeling the softness give under my touch. He groans quietly into the kiss, and the sound sends a flush of warmth straight through me.

The next kiss is hungrier, more urgent, his mouth moving over mine with the kind of possessive focus that makes every nerve in me light up. His hands skim down my back, tugging me closer like he needs to feel every inch of me against him. Even exhausted, I want it - I want him. That sense of being known and wanted, held and claimed, fills me until I'm trembling with it.

Draco pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breath ragged. "Let's take you to bed."

A yawn slips out before I can stop it, soft and sudden. He huffs a quiet, amused sound, brushing a kiss against my forehead before wrapping his arms around me and lifting me effortlessly into his hold. I nestle in without thought, instinct easing me into his chest as he carries me to bed like I belong there. Because I do.