"It isn't what we say or think that defines us,

but what we do."

- Jane Austin


Chapter 16: Formidable Opponents

"Rise and shine princess."

Hermione rolled over to glare at the platinum haired nuisance that disturbed her from the one thing that gave her a brief sense of relief in her hell scape of a life.

"What?" Hermione bit out. "What could you possibly want now? Have more elementary insults to hurl at me?"

Malfoy sneered. "If only that was all I had to do with my days. No- Granger, I have come to collect you."

Hermione's heart, a few moments ago relaxed and calm, was now beating a frenzy through her body. Had he finally snapped? Had she pushed him too far? She should have just given it to him and let him do what he wanted! She needed more time... More time to concoct her escape plan, more time to figure out her next move, more time with -

The name hung like a poisoned apple in her mouth, the name that so effortlessly sent a panic through her as she internally corrected herself. Pansy. She needed more time with Pansy.

"Stop freaking out", Malfoy rolled his eyes. "He isn't going to kill you. Yet anyways..."

Hermione looked at him with a questionable gaze. "Then for what?"

"For training of course", he shrugged like it should have been obvious. "You didn't think after

that little stunt you did with Nott the Dark Lord would just let rot away up here."

"What's it to you lot if I rot away up here?" Hermione questioned. What was she, some lackey for him to fetch whenever he pleased? Was she going to be his new trained dog?

Hardly...

"I'd prefer to rot, thanks", She snapped as she rolled back over in her bed. Was it foolish to wish Malfoy would just go away and leave her alone? Would it be too much to ask the universe for this one simple request?

Apparently yes, because before she pulled her covers back over herself, she felt Malfoy's firm grip wrap around her ankle and pull her to the bottom of the bed, so she landed hard on the floor.

"What the fuck!" Hermione screeched as she attempted to claw at her sheets.

"I'm not asking, mudblood", he hissed. "Get up, get dressed, and let's go or it's my arse on the line."

"Why would I care if you get what's well deserved for being such a prick?" Hermione jeered. "Ending the prestigious Malfoy line is the least your precious Dark Lord could do for the world he condemned. Why should you be an exception? What do I care if you were wiped off the face of this purgatory of a planet?"

They were not schoolmates. They were not friends. They were not even acquaintances. They never had been, in spite of Hermione's efforts, when they were children. She used to look for him in the hallways, along with his Slytherin posse. They embodied what she thought magic was supposed to be. They were perfect, poised, and magic came so effortlessly to them. Like their own DNA expected them to be fantastic and all magical. She would ease drop on the Slytherin's conversations, Malfoy always at the center for he seemed to live the most lavishly and spoke of things that seemed straight out of a fairytale. Malfoy Manor that seemed like a castle, flying carriages, enchanted gardens that never wilted, and a house full of magic that was as natural to them as breathing.

It was everything Hermione had dreamed about. What every little girl fantasizes about is when she thinks of becoming a fairy princess with magical powers, and in a complete twist of fate, she got to be one! A person with magical powers that is, because princess she certainly was not. They lived comfortably. Her parents loved each other, and they loved her equally in return. She had supportive parents who tried their best, and she couldn't fault them for that. They were thrusted into a world that was never meant for them and that they themselves would never understand. They would come with her to Diagon Alley and look with wide eyes filled with shock and awe at the things they would see, the magic that came pouring out of shops, and items that defied the laws of physics.

And after that first year at Hogwarts, how excited she was to return home and tell them her year of fighting a troll in the bathroom, the groundskeeper who was half-giant, being wrapped in a plant that would squeeze you death, tricking a three-headed dog, and levitating feathers, and the feeling that came after telling such tales, for the first time, of not belonging anywhere when her parents looked at her in fear.

It was subtle.

Barely a shadow.

But it was there.

Fear.

She had become something to fear at 12 years old. And as the summer dragged on, and her parents, who tried their best to hide their discomfort and misunderstandings, she longed to be back where she was meant to be. At Hogwarts, all of the knowledge and magical prowess free for the taking.

When it was time to return for their second year, she wasn't frightened or deterred from Harry's run in with what was then a weak version of the man now haunting her or the dangers they faced on the third floor - she was aching. Aching to be back in a place that felt where her path was now taking her, a place where she didn't have to hide.

More fool her...

Because when Malfoy uttered that horrid word to her the first time – mudblood – and she went back to her room trying to hide her broken heart, she realized she would never truly belong anywhere. She was too different to belong properly at home, and she was too ordinary to belong to the magical world. And as the years went on, as she heard Malfoy talk about his magical home life and how effortlessly he seemed to belong in the magical world belonging to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, she felt her resentment grow, her callousness thickened, and her disdain for Slytherin's intensify. How could people destined for such greatness, who came from families brimming with magical ancestors, throw it all away for chaos and destruction? And then have the audacity to tell her she doesn't belong when they were actively ruining their world...

Inhaling deeply, Hermione pushed herself off the ground, a storm brewing in her chest that was desperate for a way out. She was not the girl she once was, and it was about time Malfoy saw that.

"I am getting sick of how you keep coming in here and treating me. I am not some ragdoll you get to push around and toss about. If I wanted you dead Malfoy, you'd be fucking dead right now by your next breath. Make no mistake, I don't need a wand to kill people. It just makes it quicker, less messy."

Malfoy said nothing, but he watched her with cool calculation as she walked over to her wardrobe to pull out items of clothing.

"If I wanted you dead, if I wanted any of you dead, it would have already happened. The only person that poses a threat to me is your master, and don't think it's because I fear him. It's because I am not strong enough yet."

Hermione held her bundled clothes in her hands as she turned to face Malfoy, smiling sweetly and sardonically at his stoic face that looked back at her," - But I will be, one day. And when that day comes darkness will fall, you will all take your last breath at my hand, and I will rise from the pile of your corpses like a phoenix, renewed. You lot have decided for decades that there is only room for one all-magical being and it's about time for it to be a mudblood. Then, and only then, will purebloods know what true power is."

She walked slowly, carefully over to Malfoy, tilting her head up to eye him carefully. His face still like stone, but his grey eyes now had blue in them as his pupils slightly dilated at her proximity.

"Count your days, Malfoy", her words hushes. "Because I'm coming for you first when that day comes."

To Hermione's utter dismay, Malfoy – for the first time in her life – seemed surprised at her as she stalked her way confidently to her bathroom, knowing his eyes followed her the entire time.

I'm going with him, but only because I want to hurt something...


Hermione had unknowingly walked into a den of vipers. Death Eaters were everywhere. Barty Crouch Jr. Was dueling with Rodolphus Lestrange to her right, Nott was sitting in a chair watching as Blaise took on Yaxley, and Dolohov was flanked at Tom's side like a puppy to its handler.

Adrenaline was spiking through her as she reflexively reached for her wand, subtly gasping when she remembered it had been taken by the scourge of her life that was now relishing in delight at her clear panic. Hermione met his stare, crouched and ready to fight for whoever dared come near her. Of all the things he had done to her thus far, ripping apart her memories, stealing her blood for his own selfish needs, and stirring such an unforbidden lust only to leave her desperate for freedom and wanting more, this was by far the worst.

He let her walk into a room with no warning and ambushed her.

And he was living for it. Tom looked at her, a knowing smile of "Got you!" on his face as he kept his arms folded across his broad chest that Hermione was laying against what felt like moments before, but there was a space between them now. A space that wasn't there before.

It wasn't a space of him being her sworn enemy and her being his prisoner. It was a space that he left up to her. He made it abundantly clear that if anything was to go further with him, with them, she would have to make the move. In their never-ending charade of a dance, he had now set her on the side to sit, and it was up to her to keep up the pace.

A pace that she wasn't sure she could keep up.

But why does he have to look so beautiful?

"What is that thing doing here?" Barty yelled out and immediately started advancing towards

Hermione who was standing next to a very amused Malfoy.

"I thought we finished her off at the ritual!" Lestrange commented, his face sneering in disgust,

like she was the ugly one out of the two of them.

Hermione looked with panic around the room for anything that could help her in terms of defense, but her to dismay nothing was in arm's reach. Her eyes briefly landed on Nott who looked just as panicked as she did at the current situation they were all in. Barty had advanced on her too quickly and before she could possibly use Malfoy's body as a defensive tool, the older man had grabbed her around the collar of her black turtleneck, clutching it hard against her skin, his wand digging into her temple.

It dawned on Hermione that it probably was not in her best interest that her first thought was the horror if he pulled her collar down enough that it would show the purple marks that were conspicuously in the shape of their Lord and Saviors mouth before her thought went to that she needed to find a way out of his grip for her own survival. She wiggled in the air as she slightly raised her feet off the ground, Malfoy useless next to her as he watched callously at her struggle.

"Get your fucking hands off of me!" Hermione spit out.

Barty showed his vile teeth as she grunted," I'm going to so enjoy killing the only useful Order member."

Hermione tried in vain to conjure a weapon, but her magic was too diminished. Heat raged through her head as she realized she was too weak to conjure a stick, let alone a blade. But all too soon, just a second later, she felt a cooling spread through her psyche. It was as if someone was blowing cool air into her brain and she felt not only panic, but her insides started to melt with the iciness, a newfound clarity was coming to her.

Try again.

Magic surged through her; her veins prickled with power the likes of which she was not accustomed to. Her magic felt magnified, like it was wrapping itself around an electrical pole, pulsating to let itself go and unleash the splendor that was her.

A blade, not unlike the one Tom had conjured the other night when he sliced her thigh, appeared in her hands and she brought it up before plunging it into Barty's shoulder with a force that sent him knocking backwards away from her.

"Ahh!" Barty wriggled on the floor taking the handle in his hand as he was clearly about to pull it out of his shoulder.

"I wouldn't do that", Hermione commented darkly. Everything in the room looked sharper. The colors looked more contrasted; people were cut out in precision that made them impossible to miss. It was as if she had taken a potion to maximize her eyesight, her senses. Every pigment and pore of her was intensified. She was hyper vigilant of everything around her, including him.

Tom looked magnificent. Like what the Greeks would have described as a God.

His jaw looked sharper; his eyes shone like a black hole sucking in the stars, suspending them so they twinkled like crystals, crazed red lines cracking through the surface. The space between them felt infinitely smaller because if no one else was in the room, his words of poisoned lust would have transpired. He had never looked so beautiful as now.

Every sound caught her attention. Nott's shoes were scraping across the floor as he walked over to Blaise, she could hear the blood spitting on the floor from Barty's neck as Rodolphus was trying to heal him. Dolohov was still flanked by Tom's side, but he said and did nothing. He just stared at the girl with a calculated expression, like he knew better than to confront her.

"Thank you, Draco, for bringing our last piece to the puzzle", Tom smiled, ignoring Barty's grunts of struggle as he stepped over the man's body.

"Why did you bring me here?" Hermione took a step back as he came towards them.

Tom looked around the room incredulously, like the answer should have been obvious. "To train, obviously... Are you sure she was considered the brightest witch of your era?"

He looked at Malfoy in confusion.

"Of every era", Hermione answered as Tom's eyes slid to her. "That includes yours."

"Well then, by all means-" Tom stepped to the side and gestured to the room with a grandiose wave. "Show us."

Stalking towards the other men, his shoes echoing through the empty hall, Tom turned with a sinister smile. "Who is willing to go up against the 'brightest witch of the eras'?" His fingers hooked around the sentence.

To Hermione's sheer delight and Tom's chagrin, no one raised a hand at first. No one offered to step up. The sick humor fell from his face, and it was replaced with one of surly displeasure.

"No one? Really?" he asked dumbfounded. "Not one of you is willing to try?"

"In all fairness, I already tried", Nott spoke out. "I'm good with round 2."

"You're fine, Theodore. I don't even want you dueling until your head is feeling better", Tom stated, turning his back to Nott as he paced around the room.

His head? What happened to his head?

Tom stopped; his hands clasped behind his back, but Hermione noticed his knuckles were white. It took everything in her not to smirk at his clear unhappiness what she could only assume were the best he had to offer.

Pathetic, the lot of them…

"Very well", he cocked his head. "One by one."

Blaise Zabini was first. He very reluctantly approached the dueling floor, Hermione at one end, him at the other. His face was almost comical with how much he clearly was not looking forward to this. He had always seemed rather intelligent in school, and it seemed to carry with him in his adult years. He knew what the outcome would be. He knew who was going to win this duel.

That doesn't mean, however, that she would go any easier on him.

Whatever magic she had been missing was returned to her a thousand fold as she slashed effortlessly through the air. Tom had given her the wand she had used prior and although it groaned in her hand, it still served as a formidable tool against any advisory. Perhaps it was what was in her food the night before. Perhaps it was being rested from sleep. Perhaps it was because she hadn't fought anyone since Nott and she was aching to rip someone to shreds, but considering the food was shite, she never slept well, and she always was bloodthirsty, none of it could account for the level of magic she was feeling right now.

With every stroke, every flourish and wave of her loaned wand, she could feel magic exploding under her skin, like little pearls popping with delight. It felt like a cool wave was coursing through her veins, icing her out, preventing her from being to heated and therefore careless. It added a new level of calculation and clarity that was both alarming and so alluring. It felt the way she should always feel. It felt the way that she was meant to feel, and she could never imagine not feeling this high again.

Before she could even get her full gains worth, Blaise had been spun out of the arena and onto his back, on the cold-stone floor gasping for air. The resounding crunch when he had impacted surely meant several ribs had fractured.

Oops…

Twirling the wand in her fingers, she popped her hip out, her other hand on her hip as she smiled cockily at Tom. He looked at her with a challenge. Like she was a stallion that needed to be broken, and he was going to be the one to do it.

"Next", Hermione raised an eyebrow.

Draco fucking Malfoy…

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy this", Malfoy sauntered on the dueling ground. "Try your best muddy."

"Cute", Hermione mocked. "I'll make a scarf out of your pelt, ferret."

Malfoy was a formidable opponent much to Hermione's disdain. He moved with agility that was far beyond his years and sidestepped her curses like he was dancing. As they continued to pace around each other, his slicing jinx hitting her shoulder, her stinging hex nicking him, she got more frustrated. Not because he was putting up a fight. Not because it proposed a challenge. It was because as she watched is movements, learned his pattern, she recognized them. She recognized his dueling style from one of the Death Eaters that had captured her along with Nott.

In truth, it shouldn't surprise her too much that Nott was flanked by Malfoy at the time of their capture. Blaise was probably the other one there when the two cloaked figures emerged from behind the trees, but as they continued to dodge and cast, she would never get rid of that feeling of ultimate betrayal.

It was ridiculous really. It's not like they were friends. It's not like they even ran in the same circles. The world they had both lived in, that they had no choice in the circumstances that they were born in to, decided for them that they were to always be enemies. Two ends, on polar opposites, like magnets that can't touch.

It's not a friendship that would ever flourish, but still… Where was their humanity? Was Hermione really so awful and unpure of an existence that she should be condemned to live lesser than an insect in their eyes? Was there no memory of when they were children? Before this larger picture of death and fighting loomed before them? Sitting side by side in class, eating holiday dinners in the same Great Hall, attending the same dances, the same quidditch games?

Because here they were, fighting to prove which one of them was stronger. The Slytherin Prince of her year or the Golden Girl of an Era, the first and second in their year scholars, fighting for the last chance to prove that one was better than the other.

And Hermione won.

As she always did.

As she always would and will – because the betrayal of an unspoken school loyalty that never existed, and perhaps was all in her head, was the last surge of vengeance as she yelled out:

"Fiendfyre!"

Flames of level greater than she had ever produced before came flaming out of not only her wand, but her body, as it cascaded like an avalanche towards the unsuspecting boy who had not seen such power from someone his age. As quickly as he broke through it, using all of his force and attention to do so, Hermione, fast as a breath, put her wand between her teeth as she conjured blades in both hands, and throwing one, and then the other, a thud for each one hitting him in each shoulder, sending him back into the ground.

Hermione stayed posed. Her hand still displayed out from the blade left her, hair coming undone around her face, as her chest raised and fell back with a fight well won.

There was no sound besides her soft huffs, her eyes trained like a hunting dog on Malfoy's body as he laid back, blinking soundlessly at the ceiling above them, the handles of the blades sticking out of his body like lawn ornaments.

The moment passed. Her breathing returned to normal, her magic still crackling under her skin begging for another outlet to unleash it upon. Standing upright, her wand still between her teeth, she turned to Tom.

The air between, she swore, sizzled.

Static pulsed between them, the atoms in the air igniting with the charged electricity that was coming off of him in waves. He looked hypnotic. His face was stoic, his lips in a line, but his eyes were drenched with a look that only she knew. A look of want, a look of desire, a look that said mine.

Taking the wand slowly from her lips, Tom watching the movement very closely, she gave him a teasing smile.

"Next."

His eyes bent together as she saw his tongue press against his cheek. Hermione didn't care that her impulse was that she wanted to bite it. The magic that was flowing through her, the longer she felt it, seemed to radiate towards him. Like it wanted to be in him as much as her, wanted to wrap them together infinitely.

"Dolohov."

Nott's eyes went wide.

Blaise, who was busy healing Malfoy, stopped to look towards them.

Even Barty and Yaxley raised eyebrows.

"My Lord?" Dolohov looked towards his master.

"Don't make me repeat myself", he growled out, his eyes not leaving Hermione's, Hermione's not leaving his.

Hermione's lip curled up; her face taut with distaste that he would pull this move. That he was so determined to break her that he would send Dolohov up against her, because anyone who was anyone, whether it be a Death Eater or Order member knew –

Knew that when you went up against Antonin Dolohov, so rarely did you live.

Hermione backed up slowly to her starting position, her eyes still trained on Tom as she eyed him carefully. He never broke eye contact. He was testing her. He was pushing her. Was this a test to see if she'd let herself be killed? To see if she was really that desperate for an 'out' out of this hellscape that was living in his clutches?

Or…

Was this a test to see what she was capable of? It was clear by his soldiers around him that they were lacking. In everything. Structure, poise, ferocity. He was doing things out of order this time around. He was using his last chance at youth to rework the playing field, lay out a new game and change the rules. He wasn't after Harry right now. Hermione thought a lot of things of the man that was Tom Marvolo Riddle nee Voldemort. A lot of terrible awful things, but the one thing she would admit freely to anyone, the man – the monster – was hyper intelligent.

You'd have to be to rule the masses and brainwash an entire bloodline of people. The sheer magnitude of his powers and charisma was evident in most of the UK being blown off the map. For as many great faults as he had, he also had many great accomplishments. Terrible accomplishments, but great. And he wanted her. It still wasn't making sense, what stars were aligning themselves to make their paths cross at this time, but like this war, she was tired of fighting it. Her goal of escaping still rang in her ears, but falling into his grasp, was beginning to be far too tempting.

But Tom would have to wait.

Because now this was a fight for her life.

Dolohov took stance at the end of the aisle, waiting for Hermione to take hers.

At least he's respectful…

Wands raised – wands lowered – the dueling began.

No move was made. No curses or hexes muttered.

It might have been possible to hear a butterfly wing beat had there been something so cheery in the room.

The two stood, assessing each other. Hermione's hair stood on its end as she continued to stare at Dolohov. Although she didn't think Tom would let her die, because he needed her blood, she could still come out of his duel severely injured, something she really didn't want to deal with frankly.

They stood standing for several minutes and then all at once, it started. Dolohov worked wordlessly. His hexes were strong, powerful and hit against her wards so hard it scraped her shoes against the floor. Hermione was barely able to get one combat spell in from having to ward and protect herself. He wasn't as fast as Tom, but his spells were more brutal, more weight behind them.

It seemed to go on for hours. Bending and twisting, sidestepping and dancing. Several times she had attempted to throw a knife, a blade, a hex his way and only one time so far did a blade barely scratch the surface of his arm. Hermione was heaving as she continued to play catchup against the brute of a man.

You have to keep going. Look into the darkness.

The magic in her veins pulsed with each step as she felt a cooling darkness extinguish the frenzy that was building in her body. Just like Tom in his new youth changing the boardgame, she needed to change the pace.

Remember our duel.


Time had suspended. Hermione was watching over herself. A past version of herself that was not too far into the past. Her and Tom were circling each other in the ceremony hall where he had transformed. It was when she had escaped, killing Crabbe, the prisoner, and some unnamed Death Eater she couldn't bother to learn the name of.

She was filthy, covered in dry blood and dirt, as she looked ferociously at Tom, her lips practically dripping with foam. All too soon their duel started, and she remembers hating how he kept toying with her. Leading her on and dancing around her. The thought entered her head: Invade his space.


She was back to facing Dolohov and not a moment too soon. He had sent a crucio her way that she narrowly avoided. Gritting her teeth, magic that still felt both foreign and welcomed pulsing through her, she took off towards the man before a loud snap resounded in the air as she appeared on his shoulders. As heavy as he was, Hermione used his counterweight to swing herself around his shoulders and onto the ground, landing on his chest.

He reached up to land a punch at her, but Hermione pulled her forearms together, blocking his fist, before she reached up and drove her elbows into nose. She felt a crack underneath her elbow as his bone fractured under her and took pleasure in hearing him curse. Raising her fist, she landed blow after blow. Each hit causing more blood to spatter around her like a sprinkler. Each hit for every day, every month, every year she spent fighting for a side she had come to loathe against a side that was becoming more tempting to lose herself in with each passing day. Each hit and splinter of bone underneath her own shattered hand for every time she fantasized about Tom the last few nights, wanting to strand herself on the aisle that was his woe and desire. Each hit because she was mad and maybe that's all the reason she needed.

But Dolohov had enough. With a crack, he apparated, from being underneath to behind her. The only chance she got to see where he was, was when she turned and saw his foot coming at her swiftly, connecting with the side of her head as it snapped to the side, sending her careening back away from him. Her head landed first; a deafening crack of lightening shot through her temples upon the impact that made her see stars. A ring resounded in her ears as she attempted to push herself up off the ground but immediately collapsed, her head landing in a pool of blood, from which orifice on her head she wasn't sure.

"Stop!" she heard Tom's voice call out. Dolohov never came. She remained motionless. Fire was seething its way through her head as her vision washed in red as Tom's face came before her. His head was kneeled down, cocked to the side as he looked at her. Perhaps it was her brain being rattled, but she swore she saw what could be described as concern in his eyes.

You need to get up.

It was Tom. It had always been Tom. It always would be Tom.

Hermione allowed herself to whimper. "I don't know if I can." She whispered.

I can't help you if you don't get up.

I know you're capable of finishing this.

Hermione stayed still for a moment longer. Pressure was mounting behind her eyes, tears mixed with blood as she tasted metallic in her mouth.

Hermione Granger, like a few select few in the room around her she was beginning to learn, was many things. She was once heralded as the Golden Girl. The brightest witch of an era. A champion for all that was light and never knew when to give up. But as they years went on, and the deaths started mounting, and she felt she was once again, like in childhood, belonging nowhere or anywhere. Not with muggles, not with magical beings. The Golden Girl tarnished, the light became shadowed, and what good was being the brightest when intellect had become obsolete in exchange for survival? But one thing had remained.

One thing that she always held onto because of who she was in the core of her being.

And that was that she never knew when to give up.

Hermione Granger was not a quitter.

And she certainly wouldn't be one today.

Looking at Tom through strained eyes, she nodded once. A brief flit of emotion crossed over his face. One of pride as he stepped back to give her room. Slowly and methodically, she pressed her arms into the stage below her, her hands sticking in the now clotting blood that rained from her head as she willed her body to get up. Standing on unsteady feet, she slightly staggered, wincing as her hand went to her head. Her hair fell in clumps around her as she glared at the man who looked as wounded as she felt.

Spitting blood on the stage, she bared her teeth," That's a lot of red you're sporting for being a Slytherin."

Dolohov sneered his displeasure as he posed to duel again, raising his wand. Taking a deep breath, Hermione did the same, albeit slightly slower than him. No one waited this time. Flashes immediately started, but Hermione was struggling to keep up. Not unlike her duel with Tom, she was draining quickly. Regardless of the dark magic that she now realized he had been lending her this entire time, she was weakened and depleting by the second.

"You can't keep this up forever little girl", Dolohov huffed, and it was his first true mistake. He sounded as exhausted as she felt. If she could just get him in the right spot, the fight would be over and Merlin willing, Tom would end the charade. Looking for an opening, it didn't take long to spot one. For every three moves he made, he tended to flourish his wand 5 inches higher than he needed to, leaving his right side open for 2 seconds longer than any other move he would do. The man was very structured in his spell work, but just to make sure, Hermione kept the duel going longer than she needed to just to make sure.

But she knew she was right the first time because by the fifth time he did it, she knew where to hit him. As the sixth time came around, Hermione faked him out on her right, his left, spinning behind herself and jutted her wand towards his opening.

"Sectumsempra!"

A purple flash.

A grunt as it hit its target and a stagger as he fell onto his knees. Blood stains bloomed like roses as he gasped for air, crimson pooling around him like a shallow puddle.

With uneasy feet, she just about collapsed when she felt an arm go around her waist. She half expected it to be Tom but as she looked to the side, there was a different sense of relief when she realized Nott had caught her. He looked on at her, concern clearly visible on his face as he looked over her head, not even bothering to cast a worry glance towards Dolohov. Her eyes fell to Tom who looked –

Shocked. Surprised.

His eyes were wide and although his lips were still in their trademarked line, the click of his jaw and the dark interest in his eyes was unmistakable as he gazed towards his bleeding thug of a Death Eater.

Nott cleared his throat, breaking Tom's attention, but Tom didn't look at Nott. His focus had been broken and his now heated, choking eyes went to Hermione.

"You wanted to see what it does", she choked out, blood spewing from her lips. "Surprise!"

"Master-"Nott shifted Hermione's weight. "If I may?"

He said nothing at first. She was unsure of what he wanted the outcome to be, but after his mediocre peptalk, surely he wanted it to be in her favor. Would he be upset at her maiming his minion? Would he take it out on her? Was she not meant to fight to the death? Dread filled her for the next time he would pay her a visit.

The moment of uncertainty was cut short.

"Go get her cleaned up", Tom waved his hand and stalked slowly over to his now very pale minion. Nott quickly hustled Hermione who was practically comatose off the stage and towards the door.

"Nott?" Blaise hissed. "What are you doing?

"For Merlin's sake, help me!" Nott bit back. "We can't just leave her here. Pansy would kill me."

Hermione felt Blaise grab her other side as her arms were slung over their shoulders, her feet dragging behind her. She hadn't heard Malfoy's voice and wondered if he was still soothing his broken ego. The pain was so intense and growing rapidly that it almost didn't hurt anymore. Her head felt full of so much pressure that she thought she was going to pop.

"Stay with us, Granger", Nott murmured. "If you die, I'll be next once Pansy gets her hands on me."

"You're not spending an eternity in purgatory with me", Hermione smirked, her voice rasp and aching.

Blaise snorted," Nott would go to the place where fish go when you flush them."

"Better than you", Nott admonished. "Your afterlife is probably going to be spent with every man your mom ever dated."

"Oh, fuck, that's awful", Blaise scrunched his nose at the thought. "I take back what I said."

A moment later they burst through her bedroom doors and ushered Hermione towards her bathroom.

"What the fuck did you two do to her!" Pansy's shrill voice sounded through the room causing Hermione to cry with anguish.

"We were forced to duel", Nott explained. "By him. There was no way to avoid it."

"Oh, God – she's bleeding everywhere", Pansy's small hands cupped Hermione's face. Through slit eyes, she could barely make out the beautiful girl's polished face.

"Quick – bring her to the bathroom." Pansy stepped aside. The four of them walked into the marbled room and Hermione heard the tub rushing with water, hot steam filling the room.

"We have to rinse her off to assess the damages", Nott announced.

"No – no!" Hermione weakly bat their hands away from her.

"Hermione", Pansy quietly said. "We're trying to help you."

Grabbing into the girl's sweater, she pulled Pansy close to her to whisper into the girl's ear.

"They can't see the markings on my neck", Hermione pleaded. "Please – I can't handle that too."

"Just put her in the tub!" Pansy jumped back and ordered the two boys.

"Not that I'm thrilled about this-"Blaise gestured to Hermione on the ground," But shouldn't we undress her to see the damage?"

"We don't have time!" Pansy yelled. "She's bleeding out! Just put her in!"

Hermione felt herself lifted into the air and delicately placed in the tub. It immediately turned red. She should have been paying attention to the words around, she should have been more on guard being in a tub with two men she had previously dueled with and the reason why she was even here, but she couldn't bring herself to be bothered. The warm water trinkling down her back as Pansy's small hands caressed her face, Nott slowly using his magic to suture her head back together as Blaise scourged blood away, she felt… Warm.

Enveloped and safe.

Harry and Ron would be horrified.

But they weren't here and these three were and they were treating her with more gentleness than was deserved. Pansy dried her clothes clean; Nott and Blaise carried her back into her bed as Pansy slipped her a calming draught. Her head laid in Pansy's lap as she felt the girl stroking her hair as her barely open eyes saw Blaise leaning against her bedpost and Nott sitting at the end of her bed. From what Hermione could tell, they were retelling the day's events to Pansy who gasped at some places and swore at others. The moment felt peaceful. The moment felt comfortable, and she felt like she maybe – belonged. As the three Slytherins surrounded her, talking amongst themselves and not swearing her existence or looking at her in disgust, she felt like she belonged in their presence, like she wasn't a burden. They didn't even seem to mind. If Hermione's brain hadn't been so rattled, she might have remembered the way that Blaise and Nott talked animatedly at how she took Dolohov and Barty Crouch Jr. down and if luck was on their side, Dolohov might be dead.

But as the fire died down and their conversation was coming to a close, like all good things, it came to an end as the door ushered open a dark cloud of foreboding and intensity.

"Leave us."

Silently, all three made to move, but after Pansy leaned down and placed a chaste kiss against Hermione's hair as she gently laid the girl's bruised head against her pillow.

If her brain hadn't been so rattled she could have sworn she heard Pansy mutter in a stern voice," She's still healing."

The door clicked shut and Hermione was in the suffocating presence of the bane of her existence. She thought he was going to lash out at her. She thought maybe he would praise her. She thought he would try to kiss her, prod her, or invade her mind.

But all of those assumptions were wrong.

As she eyed him through barely open eyes, she saw him move to the edge of the bed, climb into the spot Pansy was just in, and stroke her hair if not more fondly than Pansy had.

"You are a true sight to behold, my dearest", he hummed with appreciation. "Dolohov is barely clinging to life and here you are, resting in bed."

"Wus yer majik", Hermione sputtered, her tongue felt heavy in her mouth.

"Shhh", Tom hushed her gently. "Later, my pet, later…"

"Wus latur?", Hermione barely got out as she fought the clutches of sleep with all of her strength.

Tom's hold on her hair turned firm as she felt him pull her more into his lap.

"Your real training in the Dark Arts begin."


xoxo