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Chapter Text

September 1998          Draco

Draco had always fancied sweets. For as long as he could remember, he craved them. When he was a boy, he’d risk getting caught by the house-elves just to get a taste of pudding before dinner. Over the years, most expected him to grow out of it, the way most children do, but he never did. He woke up reaching for his special treats, his mother sent from home. Or if he were at home, digging through his side table for his treats, before he started his day.

“Mate, you can’t stare like that. You look like you want to eat her,” Theo chuckled, sliding into his seat beside Draco.

He hadn’t even realized his attention was fully locked on Granger again. Sod it all. He took a deep breath, which was a mistake. Theo’s odor of leather and something of the outdoors shoved its way into his throat. He coughed and faced away. She brushed her curls over her shoulder, stirring the surrounding air. The delicate scent of her rose mixed with vanilla suffocated him, making him drool. The urge to lean forward, closer to her, and lick the spot of skin showing on her neck bombarded him. He gripped his quill until it snapped.

“Real subtle,” Theo snickered.

“Shut it, tosser,” he grumbled. He released the broken quill and dug in his bag for another as well as a lolly to keep himself from saying anything stupid.

Granger was off-limits to him. Something about her made him reckless, made him hungry. A hunger he hadn’t felt since he was seven years old. The bloodied memories from then, hazy at best.

What wasn’t mixed up or muddled in his mind was the absolute horror that had been on Granger’s face as she gaped at him in the manor last spring. The actual event was blurred in his mind, but not her expression aimed at him. He was a monster, more than his dead aunt, who tortured her.

However, he was sitting at Hogwarts, being forced by the Ministry to attend as an 8th-year student as part of his probation. Which meant Granger hadn’t said a word about what she witnessed, what he’d done. If she had, he’d have been locked in Azkaban or put down as an uncontrollable monster. He wasn’t obsessed, as Theo told him. He only wanted to know the reason for her silence. She hadn’t said one word to him since the term started, pointedly ignoring him.

Draco breathed in through his mouth, and his eyelids fluttered. The faintest traces of her crossed his tongue, thickening the saliva in his mouth. He snapped his mouth closed as his jaw clicked, the sound more reminiscent of a bone creaking. Fuck, his jaw was realigning. He needed to get away from her and take his potion.

Theo sat back and waved his hand around, moving air. “Turning this place into a hot springs, mate.”

Draco flicked his eyes to his friend, pleading for his help without speaking. Theo nodded and nudged Blaise at the next table over, mouthing words Draco couldn’t see. Blaise raised his hand as Theo winked at Draco. Bloody hell, the morons were about to do something stupid. Theo had been almost unmanageable since the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco had to pull him off the Ravenclaw tower more than once. Damn, Lovegood, for letting Theo in the tower. Silly tosser was convinced he could fly without a broom.

His body jerked, and his hand snapped out to grab Theo’s ankle reflexively. Theo had hopped onto the table and was attempting the Ascension charm. He released Theo’s ankle. Flitwick was yelling at him while Blaise repeated his question louder. Draco took the opportunity to slip out of the classroom. He panted in the hallway to get his bearings before racing to the dungeons to take his potion.

September 1998          Hermione

Hermione hummed as she stumbled to the Viaduct courtyard, still in the midst of being repaired. She wasn’t sure why she wanted solace since she had started the term. Both she and Harry had returned to Hogwarts for their last year. Harry was set on being an Auror, but after he told Ron how he felt about him, and Ron didn’t reciprocate...Harry didn’t want to join the academy yet. He wanted some distance to gain some clarity and to heal after the war.

Surprisingly, Ginny wasn’t surprised when Harry admitted to being with her because he didn’t think Ron returned his affections. She assured them that they would always love each other and be friends, which gave Harry peace of mind.

Hermione wanted to move on, let go of the war, but she couldn’t. Although Voldemort was dead, and the Ministry had formed a special team to hunt down any escaped Death Eaters, she couldn’t let go...because of him. What they had done to him. She still didn’t understand, and she was positive no one other than his parents witnessed what he did to Bellatrix.

She ambled toward the bridge, which still had parts missing, tempting fate with the state of intoxication she was in. His sharp, pale features danced in her mind. Skin as alabaster as it had been that day. She lay in a pool of her own blood, sobbing from the pain of the Cruciatus curse. He took one glance at her and leapt on his aunt, tearing out her throat.

Hermione shivered at the remembrance. She wiped her palm over her face. So much blood as Bellatrix screamed. The animalistic sounds coming from Malfoy, she would never forget. The only thing comparable that she had ever heard was a werewolf as it tore into its prey. Malfoy’s grey eyes had shifted, the whites of his eyes tinted dark red, sharp teeth with longer canines, and black claws stuck out from his fingers.

What was he? And how could he act as though he were any other normal wizard? Surely McGonagall sensed something was off with him? She sighed and picked at her wrist. Perhaps not. After all, she was the only one who seemed to notice how ill he looked sixth year. The wind whipped her curls around and blinded her. She attempted to step back, away from the uneven edge of the bridge.

This was precisely why this area was labeled off-limits, but she hadn’t cared. Just as her balance failed, her feet slipped out from under her, and strong arms wrapped around her. They pulled her back and set her on her feet. A crisp apple scent mixed with mint surrounded her. Her body relaxed into the arms.

“Granger, what are you doing out here?”

The deep timbre of his voice soothed her as his chest rumbled against her body. Oh gods, he was a literal monster; she was not safe with him. He didn’t even sound like himself anymore. Or rather, his posh lit was gone, replaced with a deep, gravelly tone. Malfoy hadn’t just filled out from the point she left Hogwarts with Harry and Ron; he’d grown up. Grown and became a monster.

Hermione fought to clear the curls from her eyes and then stopped, caught in his intense gaze. His slate-grey eyes bore into her, shifting the longer they stayed in contact. The irises brightened to ashes in the snow, shining in the moonlight. She wanted to say she didn’t recall how gorgeous he was, but that would be a lie. The few interactions they’d had before the battle, after the Yule Ball, had been...strange.

“This area is restricted.” His fingers tangled in her hair, gripping it, before he pulled. “You could be hurt.”

“So?” She wasn’t sure what she wanted to challenge him, but she couldn’t stop herself.

“Don’t.” He growled at her. “Don’t say that.”

She pinched her brow. “Why?”

Malfoy yanked her hair, angling her chin toward his. “I didn’t go through that...just don’t say that.” He finished quietly, still clutching her.

“You admit what you did?” She whispered. Maybe it was from drinking too much to celebrate her birthday, but she felt bolder. She wanted the truth.

“You saw what I did.” He averted his eyes.

“Were you...Were you protecting me?” As soon as the words slipped past her lips, she felt stupid for asking them.

Of course, Malfoy wasn’t protecting her from his family; he hated everyone but purebloods. Yet, that wasn’t quite true. He hadn’t admitted that it was Harry when she knew he recognized him. At the Battle of Hogwarts, he fought on their side at the last minute, killing his own father, from what she heard. According to Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott, Draco was the reason they switched sides. Both testified at his trial, as well as Harry. Even his mother had lied to Voldemort to protect Harry.

Malfoy directed his burning attention back to her. Her body grew warm from the hunger in his eyes. No boy or man had ever looked at her that way. The terrifying obsession and longing directed toward her was intoxicating. It was as though nothing existed but her. She worried her body might lose form, and she would melt into a puddle.

He drew her closer and ran his nose up the side of her neck, inhaling deeply. A sound that reminded her of a groan teased her skin. “I would do anything to protect you.”

“Why?” she squeaked.

His tongue ran the length of her throat, ending at her earlobe before he sucked it into his mouth. The heat from his body enveloped her, taking the chill from the air away. Subconsciously, she scooted closer. He let go of her locks, his hot palm sliding onto her neck and wrapping it as the other trailed down the side of her body.

“You’re so tense, stressed. Relax,” he spoke against her flesh. His voice was odd. There was an almost imperceptible growl beneath his words. A harmonic undertone laced his words, like two people speaking at the same time, but it only further soothed her racing heart.

He was a cold-blooded killer. When he saw his aunt had wounded her, there was no hesitation. It seemed instinctive when he attacked Bellatrix. The impulse was only to end her life, not to maim, not to subdue—to destroy, eliminate the threat.

“Are you afraid? You taste afraid. Salazar, it’s so sweet, like sticky toffee pudding.” His tongue continued its path along her throat, laving every bit of exposed skin.

Hermione raised her hands to his chest, intending to push him away, but clutched his robes instead. Her head lolled to the side on its own accord as tingling spread over her scalp. If she had been stressed, tense, or feeling blue, it had faded. Disappeared at his touch. Malfoy sucked on her skin, and she moaned in response.

“Why?” she croaked, still wanting an answer to the question that had plagued her for months.

Malfoy popped his mouth from her and pulled back to view her face. “Because you are mine.”

“What?” That cleared some of the fog in her mind.

“You’ve been mine since I tasted your tears.”

Hermione blanched. That had been a mistake. Along with every other strange interaction with Malfoy. This was also a mistake. Before she hadn’t known something was wrong with him, perhaps there hadn’t been, and he was just weird. She also hadn’t told anyone about the interactions because she was embarrassed by her own choices.

“That’s—that’s not...it doesn’t work like that.”

“Oh, it does, Granger. You let me taste you, more than once. I marked you as mine.”

“Malfoy, you’re not an animal, that’s not—”

He cocked his head to the side. “Says who?”

“Do you think yourself an animal?”

He huffed with amusement. “True. I am a bit too refined for an animal, perhaps more of a monster. But you do bring out the worst in me...”

He trailed his claws down the side of her face. His pupils were dilated, the blackness eating all of the silver. Wait, claws? She tried to pull away, but he gripped her tighter and took a deep breath. His jaw clicked, the bones creaking near his ear.

“Mmmm, sticky toffee pudding. If you don’t stop, Granger, I’ll just have to eat you.” His eyes sparkled with amusement as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. It would have been sexy if she didn’t think part of him might be telling her the truth.

“I’m not yours,” she insisted.

“True, I can’t have you...But I won’t let anyone else have you either.” His canines had elongated and peeked out over his lip.

Hermione tried to quell her curiosity, but had no agency over her body and found herself reaching for Malfoy. Her fingertips drifted to his mouth, grazing over his longer tooth. He sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it. Her chest tightened as she combated lightheadedness. With painfully slow movements, she tugged her fingers toward her. He trapped it for a few seconds between his teeth painfully, but when she winced, he released her and stepped back, breaking their contact. Malfoy forced his eyes to the ground.

“What are you?” she asked just above the noise of the viaduct.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged.

“Malfoy, people don’t...they don’t act like that. They don’t. Not. Not to their enemies.”

His head snapped up. He gnashed his teeth and grabbed her arms. All of his teeth were sharpened, like a shark’s. “We aren’t enemies. We haven’t been enemies for a long time.”

She opened her mouth to debate that with him, but things had shifted since the Yule Ball, when he had indeed tasted her tears. Every time after that, if he directly interacted with her, bullied her, he would make a point of seeking her out after. He would always ask if she was alright, not quite with those words, but she could tell he was concerned. Every time, just before he’d stomp off, he would tell her she needed new friends.

“You didn’t show you were on our side until the end.”

“I’m not talking about the war.” His tongue rolled inside his mouth against his cheek.

“My blood?” she spat. Of course, it was about her blood status; it always was with him. He must be disgusted with himself for his actions towards her.

His hand slid under her hair and fisted a section at the back, forcing her chin up again. He dropped his warm lips to hers, not moving them, just touching, before his tongue slid along the seam of her lips. She gasped, opening her mouth. Malfoy wasted no time in taking advantage and slipped his tongue against hers. It twisted and tangled with hers, and his free hand caressed her neck and chin.

He tasted like minty apples. The two flavors shouldn’t have been enjoyable, but she found them refreshing. Malfoy tugged her bottom lip between his teeth. She felt a twinge of pain, but the sound that clawed its way out of his chest made her knees weak.

“Fuck! Just like shortcake with berries,” he mumbled at the corner of her mouth and then sucked on her lip again. His claws scraped the back of her scalp lightly as his grip loosened.

“Your blood is divine, a godsdamn miracle. It’s perfect. You taste perfect. You are perfect. If your mouth tastes this good, I have to have your cunt.” He nibbled the spot under her ear, laving his way down.

Hermione’s eyes flew open. Even in her alcoholic haze, that was too far. They weren’t friends; they weren’t anything. She pushed against his chest.

“Stop.”

He didn’t respond or appear to have heard her. A sharp sting made her arch her back and dig her nails into his chest. He moaned against her skin and thrust his hips forward.

“Malfoy, stop!” Her voice became shrill as she tried to knee him.

He pulled his teeth from her flesh and stumbled back. He appeared bewildered, shaking his head. Malfoy wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and then gawked at the red smear across it. His eyes flicked to her, and bugged when he saw her neck.

“Malfoy?”

He blinked and swallowed. “I didn’t mean to...” His voice sounded young, vulnerable. 

Hermione lifted her fingers to her neck, which stung from the wind moving across her skin. Something tickled her breast. She looked down as her fingers touched broken skin. She flinched as she stared at the trail of blood running into her shirt, staining it. Her head snapped up. Malfoy’s color had drained; the pallor of his skin was a sickly grey.

“You have to go to Pomfrey.” His tongue flicked out and across his lips as he panted. His jaw shifted and seemed to elongate. “Get away from me.”

Her feet moved, but stupidly they carried her toward him, not away. He would protect her, heal her. She slowed her steps. Those were idiotic thoughts. What was wrong with her? She wanted his bloodied lips back on hers, needed them to be.

“Have you gone mad? Get away from me!” He growled more than spoke at her.

The guttural deep tone made her stomach flutter, and goose bumps covered her body. She wanted to feed him, make him hers as much as she was his. Hermione put her palms on his chest, running them up to either side of his neck. Malfoy froze. The whites of his eyes tinted red as the rest of his silver was eclipsed by black. His sharp teeth punctured his lips as he gently wrapped his hands on her hips and pushed her back.

“Go,” he ground out.

“No, I want to taste you,” she insisted.

He balled his hands. The black talons that covered his fingers gouged into his palms. “Please,” he grunted. His tone did sound like pleading, but his expression didn’t. Despite the fearsome features and blood now running down his chin, he was begging her.

Drunk on power, no longer on alcohol, she wouldn’t leave. He was hers. She controlled him. It was obvious by how much he restrained himself. But that wasn’t what she desired; she wanted him to lose control. Hermione dragged her fingers over her still-bleeding neck, covering them in her blood before slipping them between her lips. Malfoy was on her before she could pull them from her mouth.

Her back hit the stones below them, but her head was cradled by his hand. His mouth closed over her wound and sucked at it, moaning against her skin. His hardness pressed against her core as she bucked up to meet him. Sharp pain lanced through her as inner walls contracted. She cried out and pressed his face to her throat.

Malfoy popped his teeth from her flesh and crashed his lips on hers again. His kiss was wet and coppery; she couldn’t get enough. She nipped at his still-bleeding bottom lip, sucking on it until she tasted his blood, far, far, sweeter than hers. The flavor reminded her of sweets.

“Malfoy,” she breathed out as his tongue found its way back to her aching wound. She lifted her hips to his and curled her fingers into the back of his hair. He snarled and tore into her throat. She screamed as her eyes rolled back, grinding her center against his length, desperate for him to fill her.

His chest rumbled and sent pleasurable waves over her skin. Her eyes slipped shut; she was floating. Malfoy would protect her. He needed her, couldn’t exist without her. He was her home. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she ascended into the air.

Chapter Text

September 1998          Draco

“Fuck! Granger, stay with me. I’m so fucking sorry. Please stay with me.” Draco choked out as he lifted her unconscious body. He cast a sloppy Disillusionment spell and ran through the corridors faster than any human. No, because he was a monster, meant to prey on people; he was faster than all of them. Luck was on his side as he brushed past a Slytherin who had just opened the dungeon door and hurried to his room.

He burst in and dropped to his knees in relief that Theo was in the room, reading on his bed. Theo flicked his wand at the door and nodded to him. Theo might not be able to see Draco, but they knew each other better than anyone else. They were brothers, perhaps not by blood, but in all ways that mattered.

“Healing kit,” Draco called out as he dropped the spell.

“Bloody hell, what the fuck happened?” Theo asked as he yanked his medical bag from his trunk.

Draco got to his feet and laid Granger on his bed, refusing to look at what he did to her. He couldn’t bear to see the grotesque wound. The taste of her blood had driven him mad. He couldn’t make himself stop. He’d known it was too dangerous to be around her, known what he would do. But he couldn’t resist the pull to her, to her sweet scent, her divine taste. Even now, knowing he might have killed her, the flavor still on his tongue made him weak in the knees.

“You’re lucky Ginny had practice tonight. I wouldn’t have been here otherwise. You should have told me you were going to be around Granger.” Theo chastised as he pulled out supplies.

Draco attempted to control his urge to shove Theo away from his witch. His witch? Fucking hell, he was off the trolley. He came to Theo for help, and she wasn’t his witch. He clenched his jaw. He wanted her to be.

“At least you only nipped her. Otherwise, this would have been a lot more complicated. Don’t think I can fully heal the scar, though,” Theo went on as he hovered over her.

Nipped her? No, he didn’t just nip her, he didn’t only bite her—he had torn a piece of her flesh from her neck and...ate it. His breaths hadn’t slowed, and he felt positively...euphoric. It was disgusting. His eyes latched onto her throat and found a scar. An obvious nasty bite mark, but it was healed over and pink. No missing sinew or tendons. Theo held his wand over her, finishing the incantation, but didn’t appear horrified.

Draco rubbed his chest. Had he truly lost the plot? No. His body was buzzing with energy and adrenaline. The delicious sweetness was still lingering in his mouth. He had swallowed her. Chewed and swallowed a piece of her.

Theo applied dittany over the tissue. “Does she know you lost control?”

He gave his attention to Theo. “I don’t know. All of that is...blurry in my head.” It was a half-truth.

Theo sighed and packed up his kit and sank to his mattress. “Draco, we need to figure out what is wrong with you. The one person you told me to keep you away from was Granger, for her own good.”

“I know that!” Draco barked at him.

“Then why were you around her?”

Draco ran his hand through his silver hair, shoving the fringe off his forehead. “I didn’t plan on it! It just...happened. I caught her scent, and she was upset,” he grumbled.

He was attempting to clear his head outside when he picked up on the scent of her sadness. It reminded him of red velvet cake. A subtle chocolatey aroma with a hint of creamy, tangy frosting. His mouth had watered as he sought her out.

“You’re still insisting you can smell her emotions?”

Draco glared at him. “I can taste them, of course, I’d know their scent.”

“But you can’t smell mine?”

He resisted rolling his eyes. “No. I explained this. I can only taste yours. She is the only one who that happens with.” Draco dropped his chin and gazed at her on his bed. With her eyes closed and her wild curls spread on his pillow, she appeared peaceful, content. That was where she belonged, in his bed.

“What do you remember that isn’t blurry?” Theo asked behind him.

“I followed her scent; she had gone to the viaduct bridge alone. She didn’t care about the danger to herself.” He started the freckles that brushed across her nose and cheeks.

“Well, we’ve both noticed she’s been a bit off since the start of term. You insisted it was because she saw what you did to your aunt. But I think this proves I was right, and it’s more than that. She seems sad and lonely like Potter. They are both moping around even though they are being hailed as heroes. Only Weasley seems to want the fame. He’s in the prophet all the time.”

“He’s a pathetic attention whore,” Draco snipped.

“I wonder if Potter came back to avoid all the reporters that stalked him all summer. McGonagall won’t let them anywhere near Hogwarts grounds.”

Draco had complained about being forced to attend Hogwarts, but returning had some benefits despite the other hardships it caused. There, the public couldn’t attack him. He knew it would only be months before he was forced to face the reality of the wizarding population’s hatred again, but it was probably the last break he would ever have. Unless he moved out of the county anyway.

“I don’t want to be here, but it is nice not to deal with death threats all the time. Mother said they aren’t as plentiful in France. Poppy says she burns most of the post nowadays, and not to worry about it.”

“What else?” Theo quirked an eyebrow.

Draco picked up his deep, bluish-purple potion and swished it around to mix it. The slight reflective sparkle indicated this batch had trace amounts of Unicorn hair tincture. Highly illegal, but it increased his self-control tenfold. Sweetness and then metallic flavors crossed his tongue as he tossed it back.

“I may have admitted to killing Bellatrix to protect her because she’s mine and then licked her,” he said sheepishly.

“Salazar’s tits, Draco! Did you propose at the same time?”

Draco jerked his head toward Theo and growled, snapping his jaws at him.

Theo threw his palms up. “Down boy! I’m just surprised you were so honest.”

He rolled his shoulders and shifted his jaw back into its proper place. Fuck he was losing control of that too often. When his jaw dislocated, it took on an odd, elongated form that allowed him to open his mouth much wider.

“I didn’t mean to be.” He hadn’t. When he went to Granger, he could not stop himself. She was too close to danger. He needed her away from the edge, in his arms. Safe. Except that as soon as he neared her, instinct took over. Hunger. Longing. It was agonizing not to touch her, taste her.

“I told her no one else could have her.” Draco didn’t add the bit about that he couldn’t have her, although it was true. She was in their room; he didn’t want Theo getting ideas. “She asked what I was. I told her the truth then, too. Then...”

Blurred images flashed in his mind, honey colored eyes. Her moans echoed in his ears. His body tingled from where she’d dug her nails into him. He gave Theo his back again as he grew hard from the incomplete memories. He was so fucked.

“I told her to get away from me, but she didn’t listen...” Or at least he hoped that was the truth. Otherwise, he wanted to throw himself off the viaduct bridge.

“When did you bite her?”

“I...” His dick twitched. He was vile. Gods, what person got off on hurting people like that?

She’d clung to him, smashing his face against her wound.

Sweat broke out on his skin. “I can’t remember.”

“Do you think she’ll remember? We can glamour her scar for almost sixteen hours, but she will eventually see it.”

Together, they had perfected Theo’s glamour charm that covered scars, increasing the time from less than six hours to more than double that. Theo had invented it to hide the horrible abuse he had suffered as a child, and taught it to Draco to hide his Dark Mark during sixth year.

Draco blew out and let his eyes rest on her again. He wanted to crawl into bed and coil around her. Wrap himself so tightly around her, she would never escape him.

“Yeah, I think she’ll remember, but she won’t say anything.” He did not doubt his words. His instincts told him she would never betray him, not now. Draco lifted his left hand to the side of his forehead and rubbed.

“Just like Bellatrix?”

“Exactly like Bellatrix.”

“Why?”

Draco tensed, pressing harder against his temple. “I don’t know.”

Flashback after the Yule Ball          Hermione

Hermione dashed down the hall, her long periwinkle blue dress fluttering behind her. Ron had ruined everything! He didn’t even see her as a girl. He’d never see her as someone he could be with. His cruel words still stabbed at her heart as she rounded a corner and dove into a shadowed alcove.

She pressed her back against the stone and heaved breaths into her lungs as tears ran down her cheeks. If she had believed she could make it to her room before her tears started, she would have continued. When Hermione realized she couldn’t hold them back anymore, she made a detour and slid into one of the alcoves she discovered at the beginning of the year.

Her eyes slipped closed as loneliness crept over her. It covered her, making her shiver. No one understood what it felt like to be her. Never fit in anywhere, no true acceptance for who she was as a person. Only what she could provide, how useful she was. She had to be the cleverest witch, abandoning everything about being a Muggle. But at the same time, defend her blood status.

When she was with her parents, they wanted her to leave everything magical at Hogwarts and be their “normal” daughter. Harry understood what it was like to be a Muggle, but because of the Dursleys, he wanted nothing to do with them. He embraced the magical world. Of course, a madman was trying to kill him, so perhaps he had no choice.

Ron didn’t understand Muggles and, unlike his father, had no interest in doing so. Because her parents were nervous about magic, she hadn’t even told them the truth about most of what happened at Hogwarts, so they had no idea she had ever been in danger. She had to hide pieces of herself from everyone she knew.

“Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open. She knew that posh lit anywhere. In the dim light, his silver blonde hair appeared almost luminous against the darkness that surrounded them.

“Go away.” She did not have the energy to fight him off. Tonight, she couldn’t bear his cruelty.

Malfoy did the opposite and swooped across the space, pressing his thin frame against hers. He was still in his formal robes. She squirmed against him. He responded by wrapping his hands around her wrists and leaning in to sniff her neck. Hermione froze, unsure of what to do. The tip of his nose traced her throat from her clavicle to just behind her ear.

“Malfoy, what—”

“You smell sweet. Sweet enough to eat,” he murmured on her skin.

She blinked her eyes as fresh tears sprang to her eyes. What was Malfoy going to do? She was furious that she hadn’t taken her wand to the Yule Ball. He lifted away from her neck and brought his lips to her cheek, pressing a soft kiss there. Hermione gasped. Her legs felt weak. Surely she was dreaming or had been cursed. There was no reality where Draco Malfoy, who was disgusted by the sight of her, would kiss her cheek willingly.

Something warm and wet brushed over the tender skin of her face. Malfoy groaned. The sound traveled straight to her core, and she arched against him. Her scalp tingled as his tongue moved from one cheek to the other. A palm slid over her lower back while the other traced over her side. She grabbed his arms, but instead of pushing him away, she clung to him.

“Trifle, fucking cream and custard,” he said as he pulled his head back. Her eyes fluttered open and gazed at his blown-out pupils.

“What?” she whispered.

He licked his lips while his eyes devoured her. “Sponge...” A crease formed between his brows as he tilted his head. “Who made you cry?”

The lustful haze that had blanketed her lifted. She shoved at him. He took one step back and broke contact. Hermione rubbed at her face to wipe off his saliva and tear remnants. It was bad enough that Malfoy caught her crying, but she had allowed him to touch her...to lick her. Her stomach clenched.

“None of your business.”

Malfoy crowded her, snatched her chin, and forced her head up. “Tell me.”

“No. Get off me.”

“I won’t say a word about this to anyone if you tell me who made you cry.”

“Why?” She was so confused. Nothing Malfoy had done since he stepped into the alcove made sense. Was it cursed somehow, and she hadn’t known it because she had always been here by herself?

“Because they’re the person who allowed me to taste your tears.”

“Rotter!”

Malfoy tightened his grip. “You liked it. You wanted me to touch you. Shoved your tits at me. If you don’t want me to let all my fellow Slytherins know how desperate you are for me, then tell me.”

Hermione raised her palm and struck him. His head snapped to the side. She reared back for another hit when he grabbed her wrists and slammed them against the stone beside her head.

“Stop being a stubborn bitch and tell me," he hissed.

“I can’t stand your touch.”

“Yours makes me sick, but I love the taste of your misery. Now tell me.”

“Fuck you.” Hermione could count the number of times she’d sworn in her life on her hands. Malfoy, as always, brought out the absolute worst in her.

“Don’t think I can stomach it, but...maybe if I have you screaming my name so we can be discovered so everyone can see us together...”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded. Had he lost his mind? He would sully his reputation and be seen shagging a Muggle just because she wouldn’t tell him who made her cry.

“I want to know, and I’ll do whatever it takes to find out.” Malfoy snapped his head forward and nipped at her neck.

She cried out. He responded by laving his tongue over the tender spot. Her eyes rolled back before they shut. Her limbs relaxed against him. Hermione breathed in a fresh scent that reminded her of apples, making her head lull.

“Tell me who hurt you,” he whispered in her ear.

He wanted to protect her; that was why he asked. Fingers entangled with hers and held her hands. He trusted her, as she trusted him.

“Ron.” Her voice was small. Hearing his name made her chest hurt, but it was difficult to hold onto the pain because Malfoy's lips were making a hot trail down her neck. Malfoy desired her as much as she—Malfoy?

“Get off me!” She brought her knee up. He grunted and released her as it hit its mark. “You’re vile! Disgusting! Stay away from me!” Hermione hurried out of the alcove and ran to the bathroom in the Gryffindor girls’ dorm as fast as she could.

Nasty emotions stormed through her. She wanted to say Malfoy had assaulted her, forced her to do something she didn’t want. She heaved breaths over a sink. Her arms trembled, bracing the sides. Ron was who she loved; he’d broken her heart. Malfoy had taken advantage of her because he knew Ron had...well, no, that wasn’t true. He hadn’t known about Ron until he forced her to tell him. Why had Malfoy been there? Had he followed her from the ball? No, that made no sense, but then how would he have known about the alcove unless he also used it?

Tell me who hurt you, his husky voice reverberated in her mind. Heat raced over her body, and she almost felt the moist strokes of his tongue.

Hermione lifted her head, blanching at her appearance. Her makeup was ruined, with smudged lipstick and mascara. Her hairstyle was undone and half down, thankfully. Because when she inspected herself closer, she saw the marks along her throat. His love bites. One in particular was much darker than the others. She wanted to throw up. Her mind was horrified, her body betrayed her as her nipples hardened at the sight, and her heart...she couldn’t bear the confusing torrent of emotions tearing through her.

 

September 1998          Hermione

Hermione bolted up and fisted the sheets. She scanned her bed, and all of her flaps were closed. The silence indicated she’d remembered to cast the charm before bed. Her hands shook as she held them against her heart. She was trying to piece together last night, after she saw Malfoy at the viaduct bridge.

The Yule Ball memory still close to the surface, she recalled Ron having a rough go for weeks after that. He was clumsy, forgetful, and had nightmares every night. Even after seeing Madame Pomfrey, they didn’t go away. Nothing got better until it was discovered that Ron had been cursed. From what Hermione was told, the curse was new and hadn’t been seen before, far beyond the skills of all but 7th years. There was a brief investigation, but nothing came of it. Hermione always wondered if Malfoy had cursed Ron because of their conversation, but eventually decided it was a coincidence.

Malfoy had acted as though nothing had happened and was as cruel as before. The only subtle difference was that he would...linger. Sometimes he would watch her, but they never spoke. That night in the alcove was the first time Malfoy had ever touched her. For Hermione, nothing was ever the same. His essence seemed to follow her, never allowing her to forget their encounter.

She couldn’t quite put it into words, but after the incident, something shifted inside her. Her goals hadn’t changed, nor her loyalty to Harry or Ron, but it was as though a tiny part of her had separated, locked itself off from the rest of her. That piece belonged to Malfoy. Regardless of how much she loved someone, she could never give them all of herself because she didn’t own all of herself. It sounded insane, and she was so ashamed of her actions that she couldn’t tell anyone.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands. If her past choices were deplorable, last night was far worse. She was desperate for Malfoy. Craved him like nothing she ever had before. Her abdomen tightened just from the fleeting thoughts of writhing against him. She dragged her fingers through her curls and down to either side of her neck, trying to figure out how she would face him now. Her face scrunched up at the rough texture of her skin.

She took out an earring and transfigured it into a mirror. Turning her head slightly, she peered at her image. Two rows of red marks in a crescent shape reflected at her, around what looked like over two dozen red holes of varying sizes on uneven, slightly lighter skin that reminded her of scar tissue. Hermione had plenty of scars she had collected over the war, but none there.

Malfoy’s arms were around her. Her cries of pain and pleasure overlapped one another until they were the same. His rumbling chest and sharp teeth.

Her core tightened and made her gasp, her fingers clutching the material of the nightshirt over her heart. She’d let him do that. No. She wanted him to do that. Oh Gods, she wanted him to bite her, to devour her. Hermione bent over, unable to catch her breath.

The curtain to her bed swished open. As it passed her line of sight, the red color faded into a dark green. Grey stone walls with an odd green glow appeared across from her. There was no sunlight. The bed across revealed Theodore Nott, Ginny’s sort of boyfriend, with a timid, almost smile. Malfoy loomed above her as she struggled to breathe.

“She can’t breathe,” Malfoy barked at Nott.

Nott frowned at him and approached the bed slowly. “Hi Hermione. Is it okay to call you Hermione? It’s what Ginevra calls you.”

She nodded. He had a kind face, and she knew he treated Ginny well. Her friend told her that he was shy and wasn’t ready to be around all of her friends yet. Hermione didn’t know Theodore, but she knew enough to understand he would never hurt her.

“Great. I’m Theo. It’s nice to meet you,” He offered a half smile. “Draco’s sorry for being such a prat. He wants to tell you he’s sorry.” Theo looked at Draco pointedly.

Hermione blinked. She had never heard or seen anyone talk to Malfoy like that. More interesting was that Malfoy’s face pinked slightly as he grumbled incoherently.

“Don’t think she caught that, mate,” Theo gestured toward her.

“I’m...sorry.”

Her eyes widened, and she slowly rose into a sitting position. At some point, her breathing regulated. Draco Malfoy had just apologized to her. She wasn’t quite sure for which awful thing, but that wasn’t the part she was stuck on. His sincerity had rendered her speechless because he meant his words.

“Good start. I’ll...leave you to sort this out. See you around, Hermione.” Theo’s eyes flicked to Malfoy. “Don’t forget.”

The door slid shut before glowing for a second, showing that Theo had locked it on his way out. She had been so floored by Malfoy’s apology that she didn’t stop Theo. Now she was alone with Malfoy, exactly where she didn’t want to be.

“Do you know what you did to me?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied in a scratchy voice.

“Why?”

Malfoy backed away to Theo’s bed. “I can’t...I can’t help it. You’re all I can taste, smell—everything else is ash. Repulsive. I can barely stand to be around any of these people. They make me want to vomit.” His words tumbled out in a rush.

“What do I taste like?” So many of their interactions, he mentioned her scent or taste. Every time they had been alone, he couldn’t stop himself from licking her. She wanted to understand.

“Every sweet that is worth eating. Your sweat tastes like hope, and your blood is divine, and I know your—” He stopped and averted his eyes, flexing his hands.

“You’re the only one who has ever said anything like that to me. What are you?” She repeated her question from last night.

“I told you the truth, I don’t know.”

“Are you cursed?”

“Maybe.”

“How long have you been like this?”

His eyes drifted back to her. “For as long as I can remember.”

“Do you mean you’ve...licked other people?” She attempted to keep her voice level, but it was an odd question, and she didn’t quite know what answer she wanted.

He shrugged. She crossed her arms over her chest and forced herself to focus on what she could control and not her failings for allowing this...whatever it was between them. Malfoy would tell her everything he knew about his condition, and she would find out what was wrong with him. Not only because she was a victim of him, but also because she had to protect others. Right?

“I’m certain you are aware of who you’ve put your tongue on. Regardless, now that you’ve involved me. Made me a part of this. If you want my silence, then you will let me help you.”

“Are you threatening me? Forcing me to accept your help?”

She huffed. “Exactly. Something is wrong, surely you know that. I will help figure out what it is so you can...fix it.”

He studied her. Hermione was certain that if she could discover what he was or what had cursed him, she would understand her reaction to him. Understand why she had allowed him to touch her, to bite her—why she wanted him to tear a piece of her off and digest it. Why she needed him to have a piece of her inside him, making him hers.

“So you’ll keep this a secret if you try to ‘fix‘ me?” he asked.

“Yes. And I want you to start by telling me everything. I need to know how all this came about, what seems to set off the...symptoms.” She tapped her lips, wondering if she charmed parchment to keep her writing hidden, would he be upset if she took notes? Already, her emotions felt more organized, and she was calmer.

“Now?”

“Perhaps after lunch. We can meet at the library.” Hermione felt weak. She wasn’t sure if it was from lack of food or her experience with Malfoy the night before.

“Alright, sorry I ruined your birthday,” he said quietly.

Her eyes widened. Malfoy knew last night was her nineteenth birthday? He was full of surprises. She slid out of his bed, trying not to think about the fact that she’d slept in it for most of the night.

“You didn’t ruin it,” she said softly as she eased out of his room.

Her eyes darted around; thankfully, only a few students were lounging there. She cast a quick Dillusionment spell and slowly snuck her way out.

Chapter Text

September 1998          Draco

They agreed to meet by the Black Lake. He didn’t completely trust himself alone with her yet. The potion was holding. He hadn’t lost focus once during their last conversation. The alluring scent of apple crumble teased at his control, but he held steady with only minimal Occlumency. Still, better outside than in some enclosed room where temptation would press against him, urging him to keep his mouth on her.

He drank her in as she strode toward him, shoulders back, curls spilling, eyes burning with intent. Her tits bounced with each step, and Salazar, they were a sight. His mouth watered. The sweet, heady aroma of Cauldron Cakes drifted over him as she drew closer. He licked his lips. She looked serious, but all he could think of was dragging his tongue over every inch of her skin.

“Malfoy.”

“Granger.” He gestured toward the bench he’d transfigured.

They sat at opposite ends. Too close. He cursed himself for not making it longer; their robes brushed when they shifted.

“So I went to the library and…” She trailed off.

“Of course you did. And from that hesitation, I’d wager you either found nothing, or you found something worse than expected.”

“Maybe both?” She shrugged. “The creatures with cannibalistic tendencies are well documented. You’re obviously not a troll, giant, kappa, or werewolf. I saw you on the sixth evening—you were human, so definitely not a werewolf. And your changes don’t line up with any of those anyway. So no, this isn’t because you’re some kind of creature.”

Draco hadn’t even considered those possibilities. Still, he wasn’t surprised she had chased down every lead.

“That pushed me back toward curses, which makes more sense. At first, I wondered if it was personal, just on you, But then you told me it’s been like this for as long as you remember. So I think it may be a bloodline curse.”

He chuckled at her enthusiasm. He didn’t hate the thought of her spending her morning obsessing over him. Over helping him.

“Prat.” The air thickened with the scent of carrot cake.

He laughed harder before clearing his throat. “I wasn’t laughing at you exactly.” He licked his lips, fuck, her irritation tasted good. “I just didn’t think you’d start so soon. Didn’t know you cared, Granger.”

Her eyes narrowed before she smacked his thigh. “How can you joke about this?”

The vibrations shot up his leg straight to his cock. He held his breath, stifling the sound that wanted to tear free. Her palm lingered warm on his leg, and for the life of him, he couldn’t follow what she said next. Something about a joke.

“I…I have to,” he muttered. “Otherwise I’ll want to Avada myself.”

Her lips parted, a crease deepening between her brows. She softened, fingers absently tracing circles against his leg. “I’m sorry. I was being insensitive. I’m just still reeling from last night. I’m scared, and I want to understand.”

He stiffened, pulling her hand from him. “You’re scared of me?”

“I…” She dropped her gaze.

Draco stood, stepping away. Of course, she was scared. He had ripped a piece of her flesh from her body and eaten it. The fact that she could even sit there, speaking to him, proved how impossibly brave she was. He was a fucking monster.

She moved to block him, chin tipped up to meet his eyes. “No. I’m not scared of you. And that’s what terrifies me. I should be. I should run.” Her palms pressed against his chest, sliding up to cup his neck. “But I can’t stay away.”

Goosebumps raced across his skin. Tingling heat spiked through his scalp. Her arousal wrapped around him, made his blood roar. He yanked her tight and crashed his mouth against hers. His sharp canines nicked her lips; she moaned into him.

“You’re so hot,” she whispered against his mouth.

He chuckled.

“No, your body. Your palms. Your tongue, especially.”

Draco dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, savoring blood and saliva. His body shuddered.

“My tongue? You want to feel it somewhere else, Princess?”

Her body melted in his arms, dazed, nodding. Alarms blared in his head. Something was off. Gently, he lowered her onto the grass beneath the shade of a few trees. His eyes darted around. Merlin, he’d just snogged Hermione Granger in full view of anyone at the lake. Thankfully, no one seemed to be there.

Time to test his theory.

“Hermione?”

She gazed up at him, dreamy, tender, and it made his stomach twist.

“Would you do anything I told you? Be my good girl?”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Yes. Anything. Please kiss me again.”

Fuck. It was him. It was always him.

Another thing that marked him as monstrous. His mind flicked through every dalliance he’d ever had with women, and a sickening question burned through him: had any of them been consensual? He had always assumed he simply had a way with them, a natural pull. But now…

“I can’t do that,” he rasped.

She pouted. “Please, I need you.”

His claws dug into his own palm as he clenched his fist. He muttered a Disillusionment Charm, then a Silencing Charm, then layered several repelling wards. When he finally looked up, she was already there, her fingers wrapped around his wand arm, hovering dangerously close to the Dark Mark.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he bit out.

“You’re wrong. I do.”

She pried his fingers from his wand until it slipped from his grasp and tumbled into the grass. Then, deliberate as sin, she drew his bloodied pointer finger to her mouth. Her tongue slid along it, careful of the claw.

His cock throbbed violently. Her tongue circled the next finger, and he panted, trying not to lose control and rut her into the dirt.

“You wouldn’t do this. Remember,” he choked.

“I do remember.” She shifted onto her knees and pressed closer. “I remember what it feels like to be yours. And I want you to be mine, too.”

He should have shoved her away. He should have stopped. Instead, he devoured her. His claws tangled in her curls as they fell to the ground, mouths colliding, hands feverishly mapping every line and hollow. His jaw clicked, dislocating, snapping him back. The reminder was sharp enough: slow down. Remember what he was.

With a surge of strength, he pushed her back, palms flat against her body to keep her away.

“No. No, you don’t. I can’t…” He blew out a ragged breath. “Listen to me. You have to stop. I can’t resist you, and I don’t want to hurt you. I need you to stop for now. Alright?”

Her expression crumpled, but she didn’t fight him.

“Yes, I understand. I’m sorry.”

He nearly apologized, nearly reached for her, but his self-control was a fraying thread. One thing was certain: when they kissed, she wasn’t herself. And that made him despise himself even more for last night.

He elongated the bench and directed her back to it. They sat with a gulf of wood between them. He waited silently until he saw the shift, the moment she came back to herself. Her posture straightened, her eyes grew sharper, scanning their surroundings.

“I think…” She rummaged in her bag, pulling out parchment and a small Muggle device that clicked faintly. She began making notes.

“Yes, I’m almost certain now.” Dark honey irises flicked up to him. “Your eyes are still tinged red—the sclerae, anyway. They were like that last night, too. At first, I thought maybe you could mesmerize like a vampire, but I don’t think that’s it. I think it’s your…saliva.” A flush crept up her cheeks.

A stone settled in his gut. Revulsion clawed up his throat. He dragged his claws through his hair, barely leashing himself. He could stomach being a monster. He had served under the Dark Lord, after all. But this? The thought that he might have taken advantage of women simply because they couldn’t resist him—it made him sick.

“Although…maybe that’s only part of it.” She cleared her throat, glancing away. “I find it difficult not to want to be near you, even when you don’t touch me. Even when you don’t…” Her voice dropped. “…lick me.”

“Are you saying that just to ease my conscience? You already know I’m despicable. I’m a Death Eater. This just…” He tilted his head back toward the clouds. “This just confirms I’m irredeemable.”

“You are not a Death Eater!”

Her voice cracked with fury.

“You fought with us!” She seized his clawed hand in hers. “You saved me from your aunt.” She paled but pressed on. “You made bad choices, but you didn’t know any better.”

His foolish, naive witch. Of course, he’d known. He knew exactly what he was doing when he let Death Eaters into the castle, when he cursed Rosmerta, and when he raised his wand against Dumbledore. He had been ready to spill blood, any blood, to protect his mother, save his father. Collateral damage. That’s all they had been.

“I’m not a good person, Granger. I’ll never be anything but the villain.”

She tore her hand free and grabbed his shirt, yanking him closer. Violent little thing. Fuck, that was hot.

“Do not say that. You protected me.” Her eyes swam with tears. “Do you remember what you said?” she whispered.

He shook his head. The night at the Manor was fractured, pieces missing. Every time he lost control, it was like someone flipped a switch, and he woke with holes in his memory.

“You said I was yours. You said no one could touch me, hurt me.” Her eyes glazed, voice softening to a tremor.

“I killed someone in front of you. It was…messy.”

“You touched me. Kissed me.” The words sounded torn from her, dragged from some deep, buried place.

“I touched you?”

She nodded. One hand slipped from his shirt, fingers brushing her lips. “Her blood was still on your mouth. You told me ‘for you’ and then you kissed me.”

His eyes widened. He had no memory of that. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why do you think I kept your secret? You killed her for torturing me. For me. A Mudblood.” Her voice shook. “You saved all of us that day. If not for you, we’d never have left the Manor alive. We would have lost the war and died there. Your parents let me go while you were…eating Bellatrix. They let me walk out.”

He frowned. His parents had never told him this. Why?

“I don’t know what curse this is,” she said, voice fierce now, “but I swear I’ll find it. I won’t stop until we do. I won’t abandon you because you didn’t abandon me. You fought for me that day. You fought for all of us at the battle. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of you. I want to help.”

“Granger, I can’t control myself around you. There’s something in my saliva that makes you obey me. And I don’t want…” He gagged down bile.

“It’s another symptom. That’s all. You aren’t doing it on purpose. You didn’t even know until today, right?”

He shook his head, shoulders curling inward.

She released his shirt, smoothing it down before calmly resuming her notes.

“So, your saliva has pacifying properties. It alleviates pain and stirs arousal. Your sclerae redden, your pupils dilate unnaturally wide. Your body temperature runs hot, and spikes higher when you’re agitated.”

“Agitated?”

“Yes. Anger, fear, frustration, it doesn’t seem to matter. It also explains why classrooms feel warmer sometimes. Are you irritated in class?” She tilted her head, device poised in her hand. Bloody adorable.

“Sometimes. Other times it’s because I catch your scent.”

Her brows shot up. “Only mine?”

“Yes. I told you everyone else smells awful.” He shuddered.

Her lips pursed as she tapped her mouth. “Is there no one else here who doesn’t offend your senses?”

Something in her tone made him wary. His answer mattered, though he didn’t know why.

“The Greengrass girl is...less foul. She smells faintly of rice pudding.” He shrugged.

“Rice pudding?”

He nodded. She twisted her lips but scribbled it down anyway.

“I’ve also noted your claws and teeth,” she said, nodding at the still-exposed points. “You clearly have some control over the physical changes, since you’ve hidden them for years. When did they manifest? All at once?”

Draco leaned back against the bench. “No. I think I was…normal when I was younger.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said,” he snapped. “I don’t remember anything before seven. My parents treated me differently after. There was an…incident when I was seven, and I’ve been like this ever since.”

Screams tore through his skull. He winced as blistering black smoke writhed under his ribs, searing his chest. Cinnamon-walnut rice pudding coated his tongue. His mind couldn’t recall it, but his body remembered. Someone had come before Bellatrix.

“My parents argued when I was ten. They knew I had a problem. They asked my godfather for a potion to control my cravings.”

His mother screeching at his father reverberated in his skull.

“Lucius, you know as well as I do. Nothing will rid him of these cravings! They’ll only grow stronger as he gets older. He’ll have no future. We have to ask for help.”

“Cissa, we cannot involve others. There is none we can trust with this. It must stay within our family.”

“You’d rather our son, your heir, remain trapped in the Manor like a beast for the rest of his days? We did this to him. We were selfish and wanted a child, knowing this might be the outcome. He did not ask for this.”

“None of our line have. We’ve always managed. We’ll find a way—”

“Do not condescend to me! They managed because the other parents did not fail their children.” Her voice cracked.

“Cissa,” his father said, softer than Draco had ever heard.

“If only we had kept him away from others, Lucius. We should never have left him unsupervised. No one else would have seen the signs. They wouldn’t understand. They didn’t understand!” His mother broke down in sobs.

Draco curled into a ball, trembling. Shame burned his face raw. His parents thought he was a burden, a monster.

“There’s still hope, my love. We can find his mate and—”

“The Miras are gone. That line is dead.” His mother’s tone left no room for hope. His father’s silence afterward chilled Draco’s blood.

“I’ll speak with Severus.”

“You will?” At last, his mother sounded hopeful.

“Yes. I’ll make an Unbreakable Vow with him. I promise you, Cissa, I’ll do everything in my power to give Draco the life he deserves. We will take care of him.”

Draco bent over, cradling his head. Granger’s hand rubbed circles across his back. He had attacked her last night, nearly killed her. How could she still touch him, comfort him, after he’d violated her with his Amortentia saliva?

“Breathe,” she said gently. “I know it’s hard, but we have to get a clear picture if we’re going to find the curse.”

His body heaved, dry and sick. Didn’t she understand? He’d been a monster since he was seven. Even if they found the counter-curse, how would anyone know if it could still be reversed? He’d eaten his aunt Bellatrix for fucks sake. Everything, even her bones. He retched again. Draco was fairly certain there was no “fixing” anything.

Red velvet cake hit his nose, and his mouth watered. He slammed Occlumency walls into place. Building one after another to aid the dulling effects of the potion. She was sad, that was why she smelled like red velvet cake. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth; he was fucking drooling.

He straightened suddenly, holding his palm out to keep her back. He turned away, gulping lungfuls of rancid lake air. The stench grounded him.

“Anyway,” he rasped, “I’m still on my potion. It helps, most of the time.”

“Except with me.”

“Except with you,” he echoed.

She scribbled on the parchment again. Her strange Muggle device. Quieter, steadier. Almost calming.

“It does make it easier to be around you. I can talk to you instead of trying to eat or fuck you all the time.”

The writing paused. “You wouldn’t be able to talk to me?”

Of all the questions, that was the one she asked.

“Not if I’m having a bad day. It’d be like…the other night.”

“And this doesn’t happen with anyone else? Just me?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough.

More scribbling. He didn’t turn; he didn’t trust himself yet.

“Do you think it’s because of the night after the Yule Ball?” Her voice was tentative.

Draco’s memory stabbed him. He’d followed her out, furious she dared look beautiful, as if she had the right. Spicy carrot cake when she argued with the Weasel. Red velvet when she stormed off. And then, in the alcove, trifle—sweet, layered fruit.

Instinct had driven him then, pushed him into the act that ruined everything. He’d tasted her misery and her skin. Her. He wanted to devour her, fuck her, kill himself. He wanted to chain her to him forever.

After that, nothing was the same. Food turned to ash. The smell of others grew rancid. But Granger...he’d become obsessed. Following her like a creep, praying for the wind to carry her scent. He touched or licked every surface she had, desperate for any residual traces of her. Drooling, wanking himself raw. He was a maniac for years. Only the Dark Lord’s shadow had broken the spiral.

“Yes.” His voice was heavy with self-loathing. If he hadn’t licked her, hadn’t lost control, she’d be free of him.

“Does anyone else know? Other than me?”

“Theo and Blaise. I made them take an Unbreakable Vow.”

“Good. We may need help. I’m brilliant, but I don’t have the same access the three of you do.”

Draco finally faced her. “You’re a war hero. Where would you not have access?”

She grimaced. “I’m still Muggle-born. There are places closed to me. And if you break into a highly secure vault, they don’t exactly invite you back.”

He frowned. “Some pureblood houses could be dangerous. I hadn’t thought about the wards against Muggles.”

“Exactly. Malfoy Manor’s library rivals Hogwarts, and Theo and Blaise probably have similar access to rare books.”

“The Malfoy library doesn’t rival Hogwarts,” he said coolly. “It equals it. Or, in my opinion, better, because there are no restricted texts.” His eyes narrowed. “And where did you break into?”

Color rose in her cheeks. “During the war. After escaping the Manor. We needed something from Bellatrix’s vault.”

“That was true?” He’d heard the stories of Potter, Weasel, and Granger breaking into Gringotts but never believed them.

“Yes. Even the dragon.” She said it almost lightly. “I think I prefer dragons to brooms.”

He leaned toward her. She had ridden a dragon. Despite her fear of heights. She’d broken into a bank and escaped on dragonback. She was fucking resplendent.

His mouth filled with drool. He wanted her to mount his dragon.

“Malfoy?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You were making weird purring noises at me.”

He sat back. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. But I have to make sure you know when you’re doing it. You can’t make noises like that in class; it will draw too much attention.”

“Why aren’t you more…upset about all of this? If I’d just left you alone, you wouldn’t have to deal with this mess. With me.”

She stopped writing. “I am upset. I’m upset you didn’t tell me in fourth year. If I’d understood then, I wouldn’t have been so confused, so conflicted, for years. If I’d known in sixth year, it would’ve changed a lot of things.”

He frowned. Changed what? Nothing would have changed for him. Her knowing wouldn’t have rewritten the curse in his blood.

“I would have stood by you,” she said simply. “You wouldn’t have been alone. Maybe…you would have made different choices.”

His mouth went dry. He knew his Amortentia-tainted saliva bent her feelings, but not like this. Not to the point of caring about his survival.

“I know the Yule Ball was when you became…focused on me,” she continued, “but I think for me, it started earlier.”

“What?”

She bit her lip, gaze dropping to her lap. “You were cruel to me those first two years. I hated you. Third year, you were worse, a complete prat. But I couldn’t get the memory of slapping you out of my head. And when fourth year started…I paid more attention to you. At first, just to remind myself why I thought you were awful. Only, it wasn’t completely true.”

She shifted on the bench. “I started noticing little things I’d missed before. How, when you thought no one was looking, your face changed. You seemed...lonely. Even in a crowd. Even with your Slytherins around. I began to wonder if all those times you were cruel…were really something else.”

“What are you on about?”

Draco had been lonely. None of his friends knew what he was until recently. He was meant to be the pinnacle of society—a perfect pure-blood heir—but he was nothing more than a monster masquerading as a wizard. Lower than even Muggle-borns, though he could never admit that. Not to anyone. Not to her. And yet his performance was flawless. There was no way she, of all people, had seen through it. Not even his housemates truly knew him. Only Theo, Blaise, and Pansy.

“It seemed like…well, like you were desperate for attention. Willing to do anything so people would see you, envy you, fear you. As if you didn’t know how else to be noticed. You only knew how to lash out, to act out. It made me…sad.”

Draco scoffed. Nonsense. He should leave. She was painting him as some pathetic sop. An attention-seeking whore. He was none of those things; he was the Slytherin Prince. He frowned. He used to be the Slytherin Prince. Now he was hated, marked, another kind of monster. Her words—fuck. The pain in his chest flared sharp and wide.

“I don’t pity you, if that’s what you think. I did then. I couldn’t help it. You just seemed like you were in so much pain, even when all you ever spat at me were insults.”

“I was a little arsehole then. I’m still an arsehole. I wasn’t lonely,” he snapped.

“You were.” She hesitated. “After the Yule Ball, I was sure of it. Do you remember that night in detail?”

“Yeah, well enough.” His mouth filled with saliva.

“Do you remember how you finally got me to tell you who made me cry?”

“Yeah.” He clenched his jaw, elbows braced on his knees, staring hard at the lake. His throat burned with the realization of what had really passed between them.

“You probably think it was you licking me, right?”

Something in her tone made him turn his head. Was she baiting him, or serious? He couldn’t tell, so he nodded cautiously.

“It wasn’t that. I was about to tell you. It was your…bite.” Her face flushed.

Draco bolted upright. “My bite?”

“Yes. Because you were marking me. You wanted to mark me.”

She wasn’t wrong. But nothing he said, none of his actions, revealed that.

“You did,” she whispered.

“How do you—” He broke off, heart pounding so hard it drowned out thought. He wanted to flee.

She shrugged. “I just do. That’s why I’m not afraid of you. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

Draco stood, claws raking through his hair. “Yes, I do. You’ve no idea how often I think about—” He cut himself off, refusing to give the words life.

“That’s not you. That’s the curse.”

He spun on her. “I am the curse. I’ve been the curse. You’ve seen what I’m capable of.”

“And I’ve seen you protect me. I’ve seen you calm enough, after being feral, to talk to me, to kiss me. I’ve seen you lose control and then rush me to medical help. I’ve seen you fight, every time, to restrain yourself for my sake. Don’t be so narrow-minded. You’re always there, even when you’re not.”

He swallowed, unable to answer.

“You were lonely, and still are, because no one understands you. You were a cruel boy, but you can choose to be a better man. Let me help you.”

She took his hands in hers. Custard tart bloomed on his tongue. Her compassion was exquisite. His claws withdrew, aching as they retracted. His teeth, too, returned to their human state.

“I am letting you help,” he murmured.

“But you think we’ve already failed. You don’t believe we’ll ever find the counter-curse.”

He blew out a harsh breath. “Don’t you think my parents would have reversed this if there were one? Especially after the Dark Lord returned. He knew something was off with me, but he never proved it. My existence put my family at risk.” The words tasted foul as soon as they left his mouth. He realized, too late, how much he sounded like a tosser. Her situation had been identical. The only difference was that he had hidden behind the shield of blood purity.

She tilted her head. “I hadn’t considered that, but you’re right.” She squeezed his hands, then rushed to her parchment to jot something down.

“How is that good news?”

“Because it means the curse is so rare even Voldemort didn’t recognize it. That rules out every text we know he studied, probably the entire Hogwarts library. It narrows our search and saves time. Not only that, he was a well-known Legilimens. ” Her eyes flicked to him, sharp.

“Which means you’re a skilled Occlumens, or he’d have discovered your secret the moment he suspected you.” She tapped her fingers against her lips.

Draco stared, awed by the sight of her mind in motion. No wonder the Order won with her on their side. If she’d fought with this kind of relentlessness, the Dark Lord never stood a chance. He had been a fool to underestimate Muggle-borns.

“Have you tried talking to your parents about it?”

His mouth twisted. He had, over and over. His mother swung between tears and empty reassurances, calling him special, claiming that under other circumstances, this might have been a gift. His father controlled the conversations, dropping hints, promising that once Draco came of age, all would be revealed. Then the war had come.

“Some. They weren’t helpful.” He hoped she’d let it drop.

“I find it hard to believe they don’t know more. With their resources and you being the sole heir, I’d imagine they scoured the world for a counter-curse.”

He shut his eyes. A dull ringing filled his head. His parents had searched. Every summer, new experts at the manor, new theories, new counter-curses. Endless pain. Endless failure. By now, he knew more counter-curses than most curse-breakers. And still...nothing.

“Yeah, they did. None of them worked.”

“At least this time will be different.”

“Why the fuck would it be?” he growled.

“Because, you prat, I’m involved. And I understand this better than anyone else, except you.”

He rolled his tongue in his cheek. “That right?”

She lifted her chin. “Yes. I’m what makes this different. The results won’t be the same.”

He let out a short laugh. “And people say I’m arrogant.”

“You are. But you can back it up.” Her smile turned dangerous. “So can I.”

Chapter Text

September 1998          Theo

After he greeted Myrtle, he hurried down the narrow steps. It was already past curfew, but that mattered little to him. He was bouncing with excitement. Even with his specialized potion and a calming draught, his frenetic energy thrummed just below the surface, the way it always did. Ever since the Battle of Hogwarts, when Draco had stripped away his fear, he’d struggled to stay calm, to keep his violence in check.

His Firebird was the only thing that kept him level most of the time. He grinned at her athletic body leaning against the wall. She had already opened the door to the Chamber of Secrets.

“Fireheart,” he greeted.

She gave him a weak smile, hurried to him, and grabbed his robes in her fists. They leaned close, only centimeters apart. It was their version of a hug.

“Theo.” His name came like a prayer, desperate and needy. Her bright brown eyes were darker than usual, and not because of the dim light down there.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, alarmed. His witch was nearly unshakable; nothing except the voice in her head unsettled her like this.

She tugged him as she walked backwards until they were in the chamber. The door slid shut. She pressed closer; her warm body heated him.

“Was it because he helped you open the door?”

She shook her head. “No, he likes it when we come here. He’s still talking about you being my minion.” Annoyance tightened her face.

“We don’t have to—”

“No, we do. I want to be alone with you, and with Harry being here...there aren’t many places we can go where he doesn’t see us together.”

Theo frowned. The Chosen One was a pain in his arse. They had broken up on amicable terms, but apparently Potter had only dated his witch to get closer to his best mate—because it was Ron he wanted all along. No matter how hard he tried, Theo couldn’t see the appeal of Ronald Weasley. Especially when this resplendent woman was his. Potter was a fool.

“I know he’s being difficult, but give him time. He’s just being protective. He knows you were on our side at the battle. He’s trying to move past his prejudices about Slytherins.”

Theo’s hands drifted over the sides of her robes, the fabric sliding beneath his palms. For the thousandth time, he hated how broken he was. He craved his Phoenix constantly, dreamed every night of her skin against his, yet they had never kissed.

“Is he the reason you’re upset?”

“No,” she said, averting her eyes and fidgeting with the fabric in her hands.

“Tell me.”

“I...I didn’t want you to know this. You accept me the way I am. You don’t think I’m ruined or mad.”

“Fireheart, I would never think that. I worship you,” he said reverently. Finally gathering his courage, he pressed his palms to her sides, resting at the small of her waist. With the layers of fabric between them, he hoped he could keep them there until she opened up to him. He knew his witch needed his comfort, his touch.

Ginny raised her watery eyes to his. The torment in them gutted him, carved him hollow. The pain was almost physical inside him. He couldn’t bear to see her hurt like this.

“Keep breathing,” he whispered.

Tears slid down her cheeks. “I don’t want you to think differently about me.”

“Ginevra Weasley, there is nothing you could tell me, nothing you could do, that would ever make me think or feel differently about you. You are the best piece of me.”

“That rotter loves that you feel that way. He keeps telling me that you won’t mind if I want...if I want to make him bleed.”

Theo tilted his head as he studied her trembling lips, her cinnamon freckles stark against pale skin.

“Who?”

Theo knew Riddle whispered to her incessantly, pushing her to hurt people, driving her violent tendencies. But his Firebird was strong. Most of the time, she beat him back, forced him to cower, only letting him surface when they hunted together.

“I...I knew he was here; a lot of people came back for their 8th year. But after everything that happened because of the war, I thought he’d just...moved on.”

Theo’s scalp tingled as nerves set his skin aflame. “Who?”

Ginny released him and stepped back, turning her back to him. She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t bear to look at you when I tell you. Please don’t think poorly of me.”

His stomach bottomed out. Insidious dark thoughts clouded his mind. Whoever this was had hurt his witch, made her doubt herself. That was unforgivable.

“In my fifth year, after I broke up with Michael and before Dean and I were together, I was up late in the common room. Everyone else had gone to bed, and...” Her back shook as she cried.

Theo couldn’t take it anymore and willed himself to move. He wrapped his arms around her and held her. His arms immediately felt as if they were burning, so hot his skin threatened to blister and peel. He reminded himself over and over that it wasn’t real. Only in his head. Her body jumped in surprise before she relaxed against him.

“Tell me. Please,” he whispered into her ear.

She shivered from his nearness. “I had lied to Ron and Harry and drank some of the Firewhisky Seamus snuck in. I fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t think...”

Theo was surprised when she tried to pull away again. He released her but stepped in front of her before she could distance herself. His mind raced with every possible thing she might say, searching for a solution, a way to fix this for her.

Her eyes stayed glued to the stone beneath them. “I swear I don’t think I led him on the way he said, but...I can’t remember exactly and I—”

“Who?” he growled.

Her head snapped up, lips parting. She stared at him as though she’d never seen him before. His voice hadn’t even sounded like his own; it had sounded like his father’s. He didn’t care. Whoever this was would die slowly and painfully.

“C—Cormac. He s—said I wanted it, that I had given him all the signals, but I—”

“What did he do to you?”

Her hand flew to her throat as she blinked rapidly. “Dean...he wasn’t my first.” Her voice cracked.

Theo’s mind flooded with every dark spell he knew, trying to decide the order in which he would torture McLaggen.

“Theo...” Ginny hovered her hand over his heart.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Her eyes widened. “No! You’ll go to Azkaban. He has too much family in the Ministry.”

“He hurt you, Fireheart. He violated you.”

“No...I was flirting with him before that night. I might have—”

“No!” Theo’s hands gripped her arms before he knew what he was doing. “Did you tell him to stop?”

She bit her lip and nodded. “We were snogging, but when he started pulling at my clothes, I wasn’t ready to go further. I tried to make him listen, but I was so dizzy and I couldn’t find my wand.”

Theo’s heart shattered. His brave, beautiful witch had her innocence stolen, ripped from her. Somehow, she had survived and hadn’t allowed it to destroy her. Gods, she was the strongest person he knew.

“He never bothered me after that, and I just moved on. I didn’t have a choice. Riddle has been after his blood every day since. He tells me I need to bleed him slowly, and I’ve managed to deal with it, but today Cormac spoke to me and...”

Theo’s fingers dug into her robes, clutching her arms. “For once, Riddle and I are aligned. He will bleed, Firebird. And you will set him ablaze once we’re done with him. He will learn the meaning of consent, and learn he has none himself.”

“You don’t think it was my fault? I kissed him and flirted, and I didn’t fight him enough. I’m strong and I didn’t fight—”

“None of that is your fault.” He pulled her against his chest, ignoring the tremors overtaking his form.

Her face buried in his chest, her fingers reached for the kiss of fire she had gifted him, marking him as hers.

“I thought it was over, but he made a joke and I can’t tell if he’s serious. He knows I’m with you and he doesn’t care.”

“He will not touch you. I’ll take care of it.”

His shaking hand lifted her chin, tilting her face up, then dropped as the trembling grew uncontrollable. She tried to back away, but he wrapped his arm tighter, praying he wasn’t vibrating her to death.

“It was not your fault. He assaulted you. You are a warrior goddess, the bravest person I know. Being scared doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human. I’ve lived most of my life in fear. Being attacked and afraid doesn’t take away your strength.”

She shook her head. “You’re never afraid.”

He couldn’t tell her about his curse or that it was only because of Draco that he could even talk to her. That, without it, he was nothing but raw anxiety and fear.

“I’m shaking so badly you’re shaking with me. That is my idiotic fear of touch.” His voice wavered, but he wouldn’t let go. His heart pounded like it would burst from his chest, but he couldn’t release her now.

“That’s different, Theo. Your father...he did this to you. You are brave.”

“No, Fireheart. Not like you. You’ve carried so many burdens, so many people have tried to destroy you. You’ve had no help, and yet, not only did you survive, you thrived. You became this magnificent woman in front of me. You truly are a Phoenix.”

“Don’t let go of me,” she whispered.

Theo dipped his head so his lips hovered over hers, breathing her in. This was how they kissed unless they were in the forest. He was nearly at his breaking point. His nerves screamed, his breath came short, and exhaustion made him dizzy.

“Never,” he rasped.

Her tongue flicked against his lips. He moaned, eyes fluttering. The faintest brush of her lips made his chest tighten. He loved her so much, his twin soul, his reason for existing. Without thinking, he pressed his mouth to hers. The soft heat of her lips made him moan into her mouth.

Ginny’s hands slid to his burned arm and the scar over his heart. Need raced through his veins. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out sound. He lost sensation in his limbs; his mind swam. If he didn’t pull away soon, he would pass out from overstimulation. But he couldn’t.

Her scent, smoke, and cinnamon enveloped him, washing away the chamber’s musk. Her fingers dug into his scars, and he groaned, hips tilting toward her. The feel of her against his hardness blinded him in white light. His knees buckled. She caught him and lowered him gently to the cold stone.

“You alright?” She broke contact but stayed close.

He panted, shaking, trying to catch his breath. What a failure of a boyfriend he was. He hadn’t even guessed she’d been violated by McLaggen. Couldn’t hold her properly as she broke.

Like a brick to the head, he realized what a rotter he was. Their first kiss, and he ruined it. Destroyed it. She had just confessed her assault, and there—in the chamber where her autonomy had been stolen—his selfish arse had decided to get over his fear and snog her. Bile rose in his throat.

“Theo.”

He flicked his eyes to her. He couldn’t speak. Only begging for forgiveness would do.

“Don’t do that. Stop.” She scooted until they were inches apart. “You did nothing wrong, Theo.”

He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Listen to me!” she snapped. “I have been waiting for over a year for that kiss. Don’t you dare ruin it by telling me it was a mistake.” Her voice cracked.

“No!” he croaked. “It wasn’t a mistake. I just...shouldn’t have done it here, not after you told me about that bastard.”

“I don’t care where it happened. That kiss means you meant your words. You don’t think I did anything wrong. You still want me.”

“Of course, I don’t! Ginevra Weasley, I want you in every way possible. Mind, body, and soul. Nothing will ever change that. It’s just...this isn’t how I imagined our first kiss.”

“Theodore Nott.” She used the assertive tone he adored. “You are my twin soul, my everything. We could shag here, and it wouldn’t make a difference to me. Don’t you get it? You’re the first person I’ve wanted like this in forever, because I trust you.” She scooted until their knees brushed.

“Dean was...I needed to prove to myself I wasn’t broken. That Cormac didn’t destroy any chance I had at love or relationships. But you...Theo, I’ve never wanted anyone like this. You nearly passed out just to kiss me. Do you really think I care where or when it happened? That was the best snog of my life.”

“Don’t let go of me,” he whispered. He didn’t deserve her. He would never be good enough for her.

“Never.”

October 5, 1998 (Full Moon) Hermione

Hermione yawned and rubbed her eyes. So many nights had been spent staying up late with Malfoy doing research. She was introduced to Blaise and found him quite charming. She finally understood where he got his reputation from. She was surprised that Theo accompanied them most nights, whether at the library, on the grounds, or even occasionally in the Slytherin common room. Hermione never imagined herself spending time there, but it made sense since the three main people she was working with were Slytherins.

There had been discussions of putting all of the returning 8th years into a separate dorm area, but they were one person over capacity to do that, so they were still in their separate areas. However, in the spirit of unity, all 8th years were permitted to enter any house’s common rooms.

Malfoy was sucking on another lolly. He always seemed to have one of those close at hand or some treat his mother sent him, claiming they cut down on his cravings.

“Theo,” Malfoy aimed his red lolly at his friend. “Don’t be a reckless twat. I mean it. Contact me if there’s a problem.”

Their eyes were locked, having a silent conversation between them that she wasn’t privy to. Malfoy’s tone was also different, more commanding but in a quiet way. Theo’s face relaxed before he grinned and saluted.

“Don’t wait up for me.” He winked at Hermione before he adjusted his robes and sauntered out of the common room with more confidence than she’d ever witnessed with him.

“Where is he going? I thought he had a date with Gin.”

Malfoy grumbled and resituated closer to her on the couch, subtly breathing her in. “He does.”

“Then why would there be a problem?”

Malfoy raked his hair back, but his fringe just fell across his forehead again. “Because he took his silver knife.”

Her brows pinched, and she leaned closer to him. “Why does he need that?”

He took the opportunity she presented and leaned over her, burying his face in her hair, speaking in her ear. “Protection, I’d assume.”

“From what?” she said a little too loudly and scanned the room. Given the late hour, most of the students were either preoccupied or already in their rooms.

“All the bad things that want to eat us,” he said with a laugh. “Course, I suppose I’m far worse than them since I can pass as a Wizard.”

“What are you talking about?” she whisper-yelled at him.

His lolly dropped in her lap as his hand cupped her chin. His hot tongue made long strokes against her neck.

“I’m so fucking hungry,” his voice was gravelly in her ear.

Her limbs relaxed, her grip on the book in her lap failing.

“Even the sweets aren’t helping as much. I need to taste you.”

Her mind was quickly getting fuzzy; she had to concentrate to speak. “Your room. We have to go to your room.”

The grip on her face tightened before it relaxed and released her.

“Are you with him now?” a Slytherin female Hermione had never met asked.

Mortification blanketed her. If she had witnessed what this student had, she also would have assumed they were about to snog. If Malfoy’s control wavered, hers had to be steady.

“What’s it to you if she is?” Malfoy snapped. “Fuck off, fifth year.” He snatched her hand in his, barely giving her time to grab their things before he dragged her down the hall to his room.

If she had thought about it, she wouldn’t have allowed him to take her to his room while visible; she was going to sneak in. The fifth year stared at her as she was pushed inside.

“Malfoy! Now everyone is going to think we are together!” She smacked his chest several times.

He pushed her against the door. “Good. Then people will stay away.”

“I’m not supposed to be in your room. The rules—”

“Fuck the rules.” His mouth slammed on hers in a consuming kiss that made her melt.

The books in her arm fell to the floor. He deepened the kiss, sucking on her tongue. His crisp, minty apple taste coated the inside of her mouth. Her nails dug into his arms as she tilted her hips towards his. He groaned and moved his thigh between her legs. The feel of his claws gently scratching her scalp made her lightheaded.

Suddenly, her mouth was full. Too full. An odd metallic taste crossed her taste buds. She choked as he drove his tongue into the back of her throat. She shoved against his chest, not enough air getting through. His only response was a rumble in his chest and rubbing his thigh against her core, which felt wonderful—if she could breathe.

She shoved again, but it only made him more amorous. No choice, she brought her knee up. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she needed air. He released her and stumbled back.

“What the fuck?” His tongue swept out of his mouth to collect the red-tinged saliva on his chin.

His exceptionally long tongue that was now...forked.

“Your tongue...” She said and pointed.

Malfoy rubbed his thumb over his lower lip before his tongue snaked out and licked it. The end, now in two halves, wrapped his thumb. That seemed to jar him.

“Has it done that before?”

“No.” He hurried to his mirror and stuck out his tongue. It hung past his chin, at least two and a half inches. His face was concentrated as he moved the two separate pieces.

“What are you doing?” Hermione picked up her papers and books, sitting on his bed to make a note about this new occurrence.

“Seeing if I can control both sides separately.”

“Aren’t you concerned by this new development?”

He sighed and faced her. “Yeah, I am. But I’m trying to be positive. My tongue could be...useful in the right circumstance.”

Her face heated at the implication of his words. “While that may be true. We’re supposed to be doing research, and now we’re in your room, and everyone out there saw you drag me in here.”

“I don’t see the problem.” He deadpanned.

“Malfoy!”

He chuckled and sat next to her. “I’m losing my bloody mind, Granger. My potion is only so effective right now. I’m fucking starving, and all I think about is what your cunt would taste like, how refreshing your blood would be...” his eyes closed as he panted. “I’m trying to find the humor in this so I don’t lose it. I don’t think this development is a positive thing. It probably means I’m losing my control.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I don’t agree with all of your actions tonight, but I understand. Maybe snogging isn’t enough. It did seem to help initially.” She tapped her fingers against her lips. “I wonder if as the need becomes stronger, you need more...substance?”

Before she could continue, Malfoy was on her. Her back was on the bed with him hovering over her, his eyes dilated and his fangs peeking out. Drool leaked from the corner of his mouth before he lapped it up.

“Please tell me this means I can eat you out.” The hope in his eyes was so sincere, so unabashed.

“Do you think that would help?” she asked in a meek voice.

“Fuck yes, it would help. The taste of your arousal is...” he closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, and licked his lips. “Divine.”

“Really?”

“Why do you think I’m drooling like an animal all the time?”

Gazing at him now, Malfoy didn’t quite look human. His sharpened teeth with protruding fangs, his strange red sclerae, the black claws, blown out pupils, and now a lengthy forked tongue. For some reason, it didn’t bother Hermione at all. In fact, she was disturbed to find she quite liked it. He was always handsome, but now he was otherworldly too.

“A—alright, but this won’t be all the time.”

Malfoy didn’t answer. He flipped up her skirt and dragged her tights and knickers down in one smooth motion. A drop of saliva slid from his extended tongue onto her hipbone before he pulled it back into his mouth.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, eyes glazed, gaze roaming from her face to the slick heat between her thighs.

One claw traced lightly over her pelvis, pausing above her trimmed curls. “How long’s it been since someone touched you here?”

She turned her head, cheeks burning. “I’ve only had sex once. It was...a mistake. They didn’t...” Her voice faltered.

He dropped to his knees beside the bed and spread her legs open, inhaling deeply. She twitched, reflexively trying to close them, but he held her firm. A low groan rumbled from his chest before his tongue swept up her seam.

“Ohhh...” Goosebumps rippled down her arms.

He glanced up, smirking. “They didn’t take care of you, Princess. I will.”

His fingers slid lightly over her slit, gathering her wetness.

“Already dripping for me?” His voice was husky, wrecked. He lifted his hand, a pearlescent thread of her arousal stretching between his fingers, and brought it to his lips. He sucked them clean, his long tongue curling around each digit, making her core clench at the sight.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he groaned.

Before she could reply, he buried his face in her pussy. Gentle, teasing licks opened her to him. She fisted the duvet before he caught one of her hands and tugged it into his hair. She threaded trembling fingers through his soft strands, marveling at the sensation. He growled against her in response, encouraging her.

He lapped at her clit, sliding two fingers inside her. His claws were gone again. She gasped, arching when the forked tip of his tongue curled around her clit, tugging and flicking in tandem with his fingers.

Her body locked, and the world detonated. Pleasure burst white-hot behind her eyes, stealing her breath, arching her spine.

“Draco!” she cried as the climax tore through her. He pleasured her through the tremors, pressing kisses to her curls, her hips, her thighs, until she sagged into the mattress.

“You alright?” he rasped. His face was slick with her, but his expression was infuriatingly composed.

“Yes,” she breathed, dazed.

His mouth curved. “Good. Round two.”

“What?” She tried to sit, but his palm pressed flat against her stomach, pinning her easily.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, slow, deliberate, tongue dragging higher.

“You didn’t think I was finished, did you?” His eyes glinted with hunger.

“I...of course not,” she stammered, trying to sound confident. Maybe it was normal to go again.

“Good girl.” His smirk widened as he lowered his head once more. “Now relax. I’m not stopping until you’ve soaked me again.”

***************

He held his hand out. “Stay.”

“I...” Hermione didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t a relationship, regardless of whatever rumors would now be circulating in Hogwarts come tomorrow. This was...well, she didn’t know what was between them. Neither of them labeled it nor spoke of feelings, other than ownership.

“O—only if we keep reading.”

“Alright.” He tugged her back to the bed.

They climbed in so they were propped up against the headboard side by side. He picked up a book as she opened hers. She didn’t want to admit it, but this was comfortable.

Hours passed, and her eyelids grew heavy. Her head was propped on Malfoy’s shoulder as she flipped the page. They were now on the books Malfoy sent for from his library. Her current read was a children’s book of tales.

The Sweetling and the Hungry Man

There once was a girl whose laughter was like bells and whose blood was as sweet as honey. She was called the Sweetling, for wherever she walked, joy followed her, and even the shadows seemed softer in her light.

But there also lived a Hungry Man, cursed with endless hunger. No matter what he ate or drank, he was never satisfied. He wandered the earth, hollow-eyed and sorrowful, for he feared one day he would become a monster.

When the Hungry Man met the Sweetling, his hunger stilled for the first time in his life. He asked her for nothing, but she gave him kindness. She shared her laughter, her company, and even a drop of her blood.

Day after day, he returned to her. At first, he asked for nothing and only listened to her songs. But soon he begged for her touch, her kiss, her breath, and the Sweetling, who loved him, gave all.

But the more she gave, the weaker she grew, until her light began to fade. Seeing this, the Hungry Man was stricken with grief. He knew if he took more, he would destroy her, but if he took nothing, he would lose himself to hunger.

So he kissed her hand, marked her as his own, and vanished into the dark forest, never to be seen again. Some say his hunger turned him into a beast. Others believe her love gilded his soul, and he became a man once more.

As for the Sweetling, some say she waits still, singing her songs to guide him home.

Hermione bolted upright. “Malfoy! This tale, The Sweetling and the Hungry Man—have you heard of it?”

He leaned to peer over her shoulder. “No.” He picked up the cover and tilted it to see the title. “Why did Poppy send this?”

“We asked her for any book with rare curses or creatures.”

“These are children’s tales.”

“Shut up and listen.” She barked at him and then read the tale. “This is the closest thing we have found so far.”

“Granger, it’s something parents read to children at bedtime.”

“Stop! The Deathly Hallows were real, and that was in a children’s book.”

He backed up to look at her. “They were?”

“Bugger,” she mumbled. While news of the Elder Wand eventually got out, most people didn’t know about the other two hallows.

“How do you know that?”

“I can’t...Well, I can’t tell you the details, but yes, they were real and Voldemort knew it too. They’ve been destroyed for the most part because of the war, but trust me, they were very real.”

“Did the Dark Lord have one? Potter?”

“Yes, but the Elder Wand is gone now, Harry destroyed it.”

Malfoy looked offended at the destruction of the powerful wand. She wanted to roll her eyes. That was exactly why Harry snapped it. Too many people were ambitious and would be corrupted by the power.

“The point is that we found out about the Deathly Hallows because of The Tales of Beddle the Bard, so this could be a real lead.”

“Well, even if it is, the story didn’t end well for the Hungry Man.”

“No, but perhaps we can find out something about the Sweetling. If she appears in any other texts or others like her, they might also include more Hungry Ones.”

“Yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

“You’re not excited about this.” Her elation died down a bit.

“I’m excited you’re here.” He trailed kisses up her neck to her earlobe, sucking it into his mouth.

“You’re incorrigible.”

He gently turned her face to his. “Stay.”

The vulnerability in his gaze made her chest hurt. Her heart didn’t even allow her mind to think before she answered.

“Alright.”

He dropped his mouth to hers. It was slow and sensual, none of the regular fever she was used to. One of his hands rested on her neck, his thumb massaging her pulse as the other tightened on her waist. This felt like he was making a promise, sweet and enduring.

He gently broke their kiss. “What if there is no counter curse? What if this is what I am for the rest of my life?” His voice had a slight tremble, almost imperceivable.

“Then we’ll figure it out. I’ll stay.”

“Not just for tonight?” he whispered.

She put his hand over her heart, which was racing in her chest. “No. You’re mine too.”

Chapter Text

October 1998          Hermione

“Do you really think it’s a good idea to be spending so much time with the snakes?” Harry asked. His tone wasn’t condescending, exactly, more cautious.

He still carried his old suspicions, but even he couldn’t deny that the Slytherins who returned had fought beside them at Hogwarts. They’d chosen a side, and it hadn’t been blood purity.

“They’re my friends now, Harry. We’re supposed to promote inter-house unity this year, remember? I’m just doing my part.”

He frowned. “But you haven’t spent much time with anyone else.”

Hermione sighed. “Because I was already friendly with everyone else. You know as well as I do everyone looks down on the Slytherins now, especially Malfoy. I thought it might help if I were seen with them. It would help more if you were, too.”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re defending him. I know, I know—he helped at the battle and at the Manor. That’s why I testified for him. But it doesn’t erase years of him being awful to you. With me and Ron, it made sense we’d hate him. But you...” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “He attacked you for your blood status.”

“I’m aware.” She tossed her curls over her shoulder. “And I’m positive he’s over it.” She fought a smirk.

A quick glance showed Malfoy balling his fist on the table, his stare burning into her. The intensity was…invigorating. Maybe she was mad, taunting him like this, but she liked it—the way she owned him. She, a Mudblood, commanded him in the way Death Eaters once sneered she never could. He would do almost anything for her, as long as she let him close.

Of course, she was playing a dangerous game because everything was balanced on his self-control. If he lost it, he could kill her as easily. He would devour her the same as his aunt, but at the same time, she knew he wouldn’t. Not intentionally.

“It’s creepy, the way he watches you,” Harry muttered.

She shrugged. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Well, I have. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was having…er…inappropriate thoughts about you.”

She bit back a laugh. If only Harry knew. “Are you suggesting he fancies me?”

Harry shuddered. “Guess so. Never thought the war would change him like that.”

“I told you, he saved us.”

“I know. I just don’t understand why he fought with us at the Battle of Hogwarts. His father was furious.”

“Maybe he found something worth fighting for,” she said lightly, taking another bite.

Harry’s voice dropped. “Ron hasn’t answered my owl.”

Hermione set her hand on his arm. “He’s adjusting. He’ll answer.”

“He told me he wasn’t sure if we could be friends anymore.”

“He doesn’t mean it. He loves you, Harry—just not the way you wanted. Give him time.”

Harry grimaced. “It’s been months.”

“I know. But we all changed after the war. Not everyone’s on the same timeline.”

“I should’ve gone to the Academy,” he grumbled.

“You’re not even sure you want to be an Auror anymore. You’re exactly where you should be. I’m glad you’re here.” She squeezed his arm.

A sudden clatter drew her eyes. Malfoy was standing, chest heaving, jaw tight, glaring at them. Heat rose in her chest. His silver eyes burned. She let go of Harry and picked up her fork.

“Mr. Malfoy!” a professor snapped.

“Barmy, he is,” Harry muttered.

Then the Great Hall filled with floating jack-o’-lanterns, grinning, cackling, forming a wall that muffled the professors’ voices.

Theo and Blaise, wands out, shared a nod. Theo tugged Malfoy toward the doors. He never stopped staring at her. The message was clear: meet him. Butterflies stirred in her stomach at his possessiveness.

The pumpkins vanished. Blaise strolled over, dimples flashing. “And how are we this fine afternoon?”

The professors’ voices barked in the background. Blaise’s eyes twinkled.

“What’s wrong with Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“He’s dramatic,” Blaise said smoothly. “Always been a dramatic prat.”

Harry snorted agreement.

“So, are you coming to the dungeons tonight? We do love your company.”

Ah. Malfoy had sent him to confirm. She wondered if that was before or after the display.

“Again? I thought we were going to hang out with Gin.” Harry complained.

“No, Ginny wants a couple of hours of practice on the pitch. She didn’t mention it?”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “No. Probably thought best not to.”

In his depression over his estranged relationship with Ron, Harry hadn’t joined the Quidditch team and had been regretting it since.

“I was surprised you wouldn’t play, Potter,” Blaise commented.

Harry flushed. “Didn’t want to make people uncomfortable.”

“You mean how you and Hermione are the heroes that saved the Wizarding World?” Blaise asked cheekily.

Harry’s face reddened. “I don’t really like it when people call me that. I just did what needed to be done.”

“The mark of a true hero is the one who isn’t looking for accolades,” Blaise’s voice softened. “Maybe you did only what you had to, but not everyone would have. Most would have sought a way out, or done the things that only benefited themselves.”

Harry looked up at him. “You saying this because you’re a Slytherin?”

Blaise shook his head. “No, I’m saying this because I’m human. Not everyone is brave, Gryffindor or not. Good, supposedly brave people, do bad or cowardly things all the time. And they’re adults, not kids.” Blaise sat back, studying Harry. “Don’t be offended. I’m only acknowledging you stood up to a no-nosed red-eyed monster with an inferiority complex when the rest of us coward.”

“I wasn’t the only one.”

“No, but unlike the others, you were specifically targeted. That takes bollocks. Far more than I have,” he chuckled.

Harry blinked. “First proper conversation we’ve ever had.”

“Other than brief ones, yeah,” Blaise agreed.

Hermione watched with interest. Yes, Blaise was here for Malfoy, but this, with Harry, was something else.

“I should use the loo,” she announced. Malfoy would be furious if she delayed longer.

Harry winced. “Alright. I’ll be here.”

“No worries, I got this, Hermione. I’ll keep Potter company until you get back. You should use the loo down the right hallway, heard the other needs tidying.”

She nodded.

The moment she turned the corner, Malfoy pulled her into an alcove. Theo gave a mock salute and left. Malfoy pressed her to the wall, tongue sliding over her throat. She arched into him.

“You touched him,” he growled.

“He’s my friend. You don’t dictate that.”

He snarled, teeth scraping her neck. She whimpered.

“Is this a game to you?”

Her fingers tangled in his hair. His hands skimmed her body, grazing the swell of her breasts.

“No. I’m here, as promised. You’ve nothing to be jealous over.”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped, inhaling her scent.

“So Harry can hug me later?”

His hand closed around her throat, pressing her to the stone. “Not if you want him to walk.”

“Admit you’re jealous, and I’ll kiss you.”

He rolled his tongue in his cheek. “You don’t decide that, I do.”

“Sometimes. But if you try now, I won’t respond.”

“You can’t deny me.”

“Watch me.”

Their glares locked until his grip eased.

“You’re mine. Not Potter’s. No one’s. I marked you.”

She cupped his face. “I know. That’s why you’re jealous, isn’t it?”

He gnashed his teeth. His fingers trembled. “Fine. Yes. Stop touching others. They pollute your scent, your taste.”

He grabbed her hand and licked her palm and every finger. His face twisted in disgust until he exhaled in relief.

“Better. You’ve no idea what I’ve had to taste just to get a hint of you. Don’t do it again.”

“Because you’ll clean me?” she asked softly.

“Yes. And I don’t fancy tasting Potter’s foul lingering taste of rot.”

“Rot?”

“Fragments of what the Dark Lord did. I have a similar flavor.”

“You can taste dark magic? Or traces of it?”

He nodded. “Sometimes smell it. But I can taste everyone’s magic to an extent. On objects too sometimes.”

“That’s…actually useful.”

“It’s quite disgusting.”

“Both can be true. Even though it might be unpleasant, you could use that ability to uncover—”

“I don’t care. I only want to taste you.” His mouth found hers.

Odd, she thought, even after licking her throat and palm, he still tasted fresh, minty as he always did. Something in his saliva must keep it that way.

He broke the kiss, tilting her chin. “Stop thinking. I don’t want Cauldron Cakes. I want apple crumble.”

His mouth crashed back onto hers, hands cupping her breasts. Every thought fled.

October 1998          Theo

Theo was still giddy from that morning. His knee bounced as his fingertips tapped out a rhythm on the table. He was the one who’d suggested the library, hoping he could get over himself and sneak into the back stacks to snog his witch. They’d managed a five-second kiss this morning, slowly working up from the quick pecks he was almost used to.

Even with his potion and a calming draught, it was hard to focus. His thoughts ricocheted, snogging his witch, the craving to disappear into the Forbidden Forest and burn off some energy, murderous fantasies starring McLaggen. As furious as he was, he wasn’t Draco. Without a plan, lashing out would ruin his life with his Fireheart. Draco would more likely react first and clean up the mess later. Theo was a strategist. All he needed was patience.

Ginny rubbed her forehead again and slumped over her books. Riddle was irritating her, louder than ever since her confession. From what she’d told him, Riddle was constant now. Relentless. He even asked her to speak for him to Theo, to plan. Theo was ashamed to admit he’d caved and let his witch briefly speak to Riddle. Only long enough to get a few nasty spell names, but still. He hated himself for it. She swore he hadn’t forced her, but he couldn’t shake the guilt.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d asked Draco to order him to stop obsessing over loopholes—ways to hurt himself without technically breaking the rules. Draco’s conditions had forbidden intentional self-harm, but…if Theo just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, was that really intent? If he sat too close to the Quidditch pitch and a Bludger struck him, was that his fault?

“Is he bothering you again?” Theo asked.

“He’s being an arsehole. He knows we’re waiting for All Hallows’ Eve.”

“I thought he was usually patient.”

She grumbled. “Well, he also doesn’t like that we snog now.”

Theo straightened. “Is Riddle jealous?”

Her head snapped toward him, and she started laughing. “That’s barmy. He’s riled up now.”

Theo smirked and pressed his mouth to hers. Proud of himself, he lingered six whole seconds. Take that, tosser.

“Bet he’s more upset now,” he said, grinning.

“He is. He’s raging.” Her bright brown eyes sparkled before she winced and rubbed her forehead.

At that moment, Blaise sauntered to their table, dimples flashing as he grinned. He was thrilled about Theo and Ginny. After all, he’d spent three years watching his dormmate pine after her.

“Afternoon, friends.” He slid into the seat across from them.

“You nervous about the upcoming match?” his witch teased.

Blaise smiled, showing his even white teeth. “You offering to give me some tips, Weasley?”

Ginny barked a laugh. “Fat chance. I’m a better Chaser than you.”

“Which is exactly why I need your advice.” He winked, then immediately glanced at Theo with an apologetic look.

Theo gave him a withering glare but let it slide. Everyone knew Blaise was a shameless flirt. It came naturally; he meant nothing by it. Beside him, his witch beamed.

She’d told him Dean had smothered her in their relationship, so Theo tried to tamp down his jealous streak. But for some reason, his Phoenix loved when he was clingy. She adored his possessiveness. He didn’t understand it, but he was glad. He couldn’t be any other way. He needed her like air.

Blaise cleared his throat. “So, McLaggen’s keeping to routine, but getting frustrated that he can’t get Gin alone. Draco and I will make sure he’s out of the match. Tomorrow.”

Theo knew Blaise didn’t know why McLaggen had been targeted. But it wasn’t unlike their sixth year when they tormented the bastard simply because Draco asked. In that, they were always aligned. Slytherins knew when to ask questions, when to support, and when to keep quiet. He missed Pansy. She’d been brilliant at luring people into their schemes, but she was happy now living her dreams with Longbottom, of all people.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

Blaise nodded. “We’ll make sure the injury’s enough to keep him from the first match. You can decide the next step after.”

Theo inclined his head.

“Are you sure he won’t tell?” his witch asked.

Theo chuckled. His Firebird still wasn’t used to how they handled things. They’d only been together just over a month, though in his mind it had been far longer.

“Trust us. We’ve got this,” Blaise said with another wink.

She turned to Theo. He gave her a reassuring look. “He’ll get the message.”

For a second, her vulnerability shone through her eyes, something close to love, before she shuttered it, flashing her trademark fake smile at Blaise. Theo didn’t care. Her real smiles belonged to him.

“We’re still on for your last class?” Blaise asked.

“Of course. Maybe you can convince me to give you at least one pointer.” She laughed.

Blaise, Theo, and Draco kept her under constant watch now, never letting McLaggen near her since she’d confessed what he’d done. Dark curses clawed at Theo’s mind. Thanks to his father, he knew which were survivable and which weren’t. And with a Death Eater father and a former one for a best friend, he was more than versed in curses, hexes, every foul spell imaginable.

Theo carried an arsenal of tortures just under the surface. Tempting images of how he could dismantle the bastard, piece by piece, danced in his mind.

“Could you…put in a good word for me? Potter’s a bit untrusting—some might say paranoid,” Blaise said.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “And why would I do that? What are your intentions?”

Blaise raised his palms. “Calm down, you gorgeous lion. I come in peace.” He laughed. “I dunno…all my closest friends seem quite taken with Gryffindors. I thought I’d give it a shot.” He shrugged.

Leaning forward, Blaise cupped his mouth. “I’ve never believed in the house rivalry as much as them,” he whisper-yelled.

Ginny giggled at his antics, but then her face turned serious. “As a friend? Or more than a friend?”

Blaise’s dark brow arched, his eyes twinkling. “I think I’m interested in whatever the Chosen One has to offer.”

Her gaze sharpened. Theo could practically hear the gears turning in her head. She flicked her thick, blood colored hair over her shoulder.

“Listen up, Zabini.” She leaned forward. “Harry’s been through a lot. I know you helped in the war, and I know you’re not a bad bloke. Otherwise, Theo wouldn’t let you near me. But if you hurt him, you won’t be playing Quidditch again. You won’t be breathing. Clear?”

Blaise’s eyes bugged for a second before his cheeks pinked, and an almost dreamy look spread across his face. “Gods, you’re fierce. Just like a lion. No wonder Theo’s so enamored with you. I want Potter, but I’ll never understand why he let you go.”

“Maybe because…he wasn’t interested in females that way?” She winked.

A huge smile spread across Blaise’s face. It was like she’d handed him an Order of Merlin. Not many people knew Harry wasn’t interested in women. Theo only knew because of his Phoenix.

Blaise’s eyes flicked to him. “You never have to ask me to do anything for this fiery witch again. Assume my answer is always yes, no matter what. I’ve got her back.”

October 1998          Draco

Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose. The stench of his housemates gnawed at his skull, forcing him outside with the books he’d been trying, and failing, to read. Occlumency could only do so much. It distanced him, but the problem remained.

Evening had already swallowed the sky. The chill air was bracing, cleaner than the suffocating reek of his peers.

But hunger gnawed deeper.

Granger had been generous enough to let him between her thighs every few days, and it steadied him. Yesterday wasn’t far gone, but already he craved her again. He licked his lips. Her cunt tasted like Eton mess—meringue, cream, berries, layered decadence. Of all her flavors, that one undid him fastest.

She wasn’t due for another hour, and still, he couldn’t focus. When she was absent, he starved for her. When she was near, her nearness clouded him just as much. She was his addiction and clarity both.

He cracked his neck and forced his eyes to the page. If he hadn’t read something by the time she arrived, she’d scold him, and he wasn’t in the mood for carrot cake.

The ancient book reeked of decay, vellum pages crumbling under his touch. A Malfoy library relic, though one he didn’t remember seeing before. Its title prickled recognition.

On the Lamiae and Their Doom by Thaddeus Mortberg.

He scanned the faded date, which was sometime in the fifteenth century. The first pages were water-warped and blackened with age and spell-burn, useless. He flipped deeper, heart hitching when faint ink emerged.

“…in those days of pestilence, when men did bargain with daemons for health, a line was marked, cursed by hunger beyond mortal need. They were called…”

He turned the page, pulse quickening.

“…Lamiae by the Latins, though others named them Vorren, the Hungry Ones. Not beasts, but not wholly men. Their thirst was for the living essence, and only the blood of the Mira could steady them.”

Draco stilled. Vorren. Hungry Ones. His breath caught.

Further down the ruined folio, he uncovered more:

“A Mira was rare. Rarer still the Nata Dulcis, whom we name Sweetling. Born but once in many lifetimes, their soul shone like flame, their blood sweeter than honey, and in them the Lamiae found both torment and salvation.”

Mira—his mother had used that word. His throat tightened.

The Miras are gone. That line is dead.

Those had been her exact words. That had to be a specific bloodline or group of people, and she knew of them but believed it was a lost cause.

His witch. It was too close to how he felt about her to be a coincidence. He flipped again, devouring scraps of faded text:

“Of Seraphine, the last, many tales are told. Some say she perished in the plague year, her body given to the wasting to spare her village. Others record betrayal, slain by her beloved when his hunger overcame him. Still more whisper she was not lost, but marked and bound, vanishing into shadow. Thus ended the age of the Sweetlings…”

Sweetlings. His chest lurched. Granger had been right. The “silly story” was no mere fable. Myths hidden in children’s tales. How else would creatures preserve their history forbidden to print? They would never be able to create a book for the masses. Creatures weren’t people and didn’t have the same rights.

Then the dread struck. Was he cursed? Or was he a creature? If no counter-curse existed, if this was his nature, then there was no reprieve. No cure. He truly would be a monster.

The air shifted. Custard tart sweetness curled into his lungs. He lifted his gaze. She stood watching, brow furrowed in concern.

“You didn’t answer when I called.”

“Sorry. I think I found something.” He lowered the book.

She dropped beside him at once, eyes scanning the vellum. His mouth watered as her scent filled his nose.

“Sweetlings!”

“Wait, let me show you.” He guided her back to the earlier passage.

“This has to be related,” she breathed.

“Not necessarily. Just because the words match—”

“No. Here.” She jabbed the page. “It says, ‘marked and bound, vanishing into shadow.’ In the fable—look—” She tore her notes free of her bag. “‘He kissed her hand, marked her as his own, and vanished into the dark forest, never to be seen again.’”

“Similar,” he allowed, though the denial was weak.

“Not just similar. Identical terms: Sweetling, Hungry Ones. Both mention blood sweeter than honey. This text says the soul shines like flame, the fable says shadows softened in her light. This is the same story.”

Her delight lit her face like starlight. The noise she made, small, bubbling joy, made his chest ache.

“Draco, this is it! A real lead!” She threw her arms around him.

Her cherry-pie scent engulfed him. His tongue slid along her throat before he could stop himself, craving more of her joy. But then, the shock hit him; she had called him by name.

“You said my name.”

Her blush flared. “I…well, it is your name.”

“Indeed it is, Hermione.”

She trembled in his arms. “So we’re using first names now?”

“It appears so.” He brushed her cheek.

Her voice wavered. “Does that mean we’re…?”

He caught her chin, turning her face to his. “You are mine. And I am yours.”

“So we’re…together?”

“There is certainly no one else I’m interested in.”

“So you’re my…boyfriend?” she whispered.

“I’ll be whatever you call me, as long as you’re mine.”

She laced their fingers. “Then we are together.”

Draco lifted their joined hands, kissed the back, and then licked her skin. Her eyelids fluttered.

“I’m starving,” he rasped.

Her flush deepened. “But we just…yesterday.”

She was still shy about it. Endearing, considering how often he’d knelt between her legs. If he had his way, it would be daily. Maybe since they were official, she would let him now.

He turned her wrist, tongue sweeping where her pulse fluttered. Shortcake. The memory of her blood haunted him, dim and blurred by hunger haze. He wanted it again.

“I want to try something,” she breathed.

Her wand was in hand before he could protest.

“Try to maintain control,” she whispered.

She warded the space, Disillusioned them, cast Muffliato, then drew her wand across her arm, leaving a shallow four-inch cut. Blood welled.

His jaw clicked. Claws tore through his fingertips. His teeth sharpened, his tongue elongating until blood pooled where it sliced itself against their edges. He jerked his head away.

“Why would you—” He choked out.

“Do you remember the taste?” she murmured, creeping closer.

He staggered back. “Well enough. Heal it. Now.”

“Just a taste, to see if it’s sweeter than honey.”

Drool spilled down his chin. He braced to push her away, then the scent hit. Shortcake. Fuck. His tongue unfurled, sweeping over her wound before he could stop it. A groan tore from his chest.

Suddenly, they were on the ground, his body grinding into hers as he drank. His jaw unhinged, wrapping her arm, sucking her blood as if parched from years of drought. She writhed beneath him, hips bucking, moaning his name.

The craving clawed deeper. Not just blood—flesh. He wanted to bite, tear, and ingest her. Apple crumble filled the space between them. His teeth sank into her skin, and she cried out, pulling him closer.

“Draco…”

Her breathy moan jolted him. He fought to wrench his teeth free, but his tongue resisted, desperate to stay connected to her honeyed blood. He shook, forcing himself to release her arm.

With a dazed look, she stared at him with doe eyes. “Don’t stop,” she begged.

He clawed at his memories, focusing on the last time he was tortured by the Dark Lord. Pain white-hot until he soiled himself. He dragged himself back through agony until the haze thinned.

“Sweeter than honey?” she panted.

“Fuck yes. Shortcake with fresh berries.” Blood slicked his lips as he kissed her, careful with his teeth.

“You’ll be my Sweetling, Princess?”

“Yes.” She bit his lip until it bled, sucking the taste with a moan.

Draco drove his claws into the earth to keep himself from grabbing her and fucking her into the ground.

She broke their kiss and ran her thumb over his lip. She licked his blood from her thumb, eyes heavy. “You’re sweet too. Like dessert.”

His cock twitched hard. “Maybe I’m not the only Hungry One.”

Her smile curved sharply.