A/N: My update pace is comparable to that of a snail so thank you for bearing with me! I've been obsessed with Bonnie and Clyde lately and that coupled with some Lana Del Rey songs I've been listening to has produced this third chapter. I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think!

Thank you to my alphas SlytherinPrincessNurse1994 & Sandra-Sempra C: and thanks so much to MrBenzedrine for Beta'ing this piece C:

Thanks to those that followed&&favorites&&the reviewers! SlytherinPrincessNurse1994, Sandra-Sempra, corief, gracelessglory, Nelly983, Pierrej92, Flightglow32, Annamonk, marzipan4, Eternity511, oslca35, msmiamalfoy29, creepymacaroni, Kyonomiko, ACupples, xchloee, Potterhead105, JenniseiBlack, LeanaM, Nantai, Brittney, Rgbeeiii, LdeWolfe, unofivesix, and the guests.

Hopefully the next update will be sooner! XxX

~oOo*oOo~

Her hands were clammy as she tried to keep them from slipping off of her skirt, walking briskly down the white hall.

The wand - with a Thestral blood core - hung heavily by her side, as if it weighed a ton. She tried not to think about the reason why he'd asked for a wand more susceptible to dark wizards. Obviously, he was a wizard with much practice in the Dark Arts; it stood to reason that would be the wand he would select.

She felt physically sick to her stomach.

Was this to be her decision, then? It was clear that if she stepped into that cell with one extra wand by her side she was making a decision. There would be no pleading innocence after that. She would become liable. Did she really hope Malfoy would hold to his word and somehow not implicate her - blame the fortunate arrival of a spare wand on one of the many other visitors he entertained on a daily basis? Fat chance of that!

If she did this, it would mean she was with him. No matter what turn the situation took, she would have to see this through. It would be up to her to make sure the situation didn't spiral out of control. There was a purpose to all of this - the Death Eater activity: that was the end game after all.

Except, that wasn't the only thing that drove her when it so glaringly should have been.

There was also the small matter of how desperate, how sick she was to learn all that Malfoy had teased in front of her. She wanted badly to know all of his secrets! The scholar inside of her craved the information as if it was life-saving sweet air to breathe. She was so effectively torn between her well-meaning intentions and her selfish desires.

Sweat began to culminate on the back of her neck.

Dear God, what was she doing?

She should turn back now—she shouldn't even think about it. She should go to her office and ask for a transfer—move to a different city and pretend this never happened.

But he'd asked it of her.

She caught her lips between her teeth. Sweet Morgana, when he asked her to do something, she was bloody helpless to deny him. There was something about him...something charismatic and electrifying that wouldn't let her say no. It was quite worrisome that he should have such an effect on her, but he did, and now what was she to do?

If she was caught, it could mean The Kiss, not only for her but for him as well.

She should turn around while there was still time.

Her feet wouldn't stop moving until they reached the end of the hall.

This was crazy! She was actually doing this, and it felt very much like betrayal. Yet, when the faces of her friends flashed before her eyes, it wasn't enough to cause her to change her mind. If anything, it made her somehow strengthened her resolve.

Very good, Hermione. You're already a monster.

~oOo*oOo~

Draco sat against the wall, his shirt discarded on his cot. His head was bowed to his lap, resting against his interlocked fingers as he waited patiently.

It had been so long since he'd been out of captivity. There were things about the world he could no longer recall, like the feel of the sun on his back or the savory scent of an expensive meal. He'd waited, and he'd bided his time, but now it appeared he may finally have an out. Granger would come through for him like a good little Mudblood, and he would be free of this place.

His patience was wearing thin.

She should have been here by now. Was she getting cold feet? What would Draco do if she failed him? There was no way he could suffer more years here; he'd beg for death, and a Malfoy never begged. She simply had to come—he simply had to get out of here. It was a crime to keep him caged off from his magic. His magic needed to be flexed - pity the wizard that stood between him and reclaiming his magic.

His heart soared when he heard familiar footsteps clicking across the marble floor.

Granger had come like she promised.

When she waved her wand to make the doorway she used to step through to his cell appear, he was struck by how petrified she looked. Her eyes immediately found him, and she momentarily paled, her eyes moving slowly down his head and his chest before climbing slowly back up, this time measurably hooded.

She swallowed convulsively before taking a step towards him and bending down to the floor, hovering above her ankles as she placed his new wand just a few feet in front of him. He could not help eyeing her legs as her skirt rode up to her mid thigh. Oh how he would enjoy his little, obedient Mudblood.

The sound of the wood hitting the floor seemed to startle her, and she jumped up as if struck before backing towards the door. She didn't say anything as she turned around and fled through the opening, neglecting to close it behind her.

Draco smirked. She was probably running to seal herself up in her office as he'd instructed to do. She was such a good listener. She hadn't uttered one word to him, but that was alright—there would be plenty of time for words later.

His eyes slowly drew down to the pale, ash wand that lay on the white surface. It was calling to him. With inquisitive fingers, he reached for it and raised it in the air, testing. His long-oppressed magic surged through him in an almost overwhelming way. But it was bound, and there was something blocking—in the way of him summoning it to the surface. Draco pushed against the invisible, stringent bindings and willed his magic to break through the barrier, smiling with glee when he felt the rush of his magic flood through him.

He let it roll off of him in dark, chaotic waves, relishing in the familiar comfort of power.

It unfurled around him, inquiring and probing and angry to have been so effectively cut off. It was almost arduous to wield, the force of his power causing him to stagger backwards. He needed to channel it somewhere, or else he would explode in his efforts to contain it—it was that riled up!

Clenching his jaw, he forced the brunt of his power to attack the wards on the entire floor, allowing his magic to rush through the corridor in its enthusiastic efforts to obey him. The strong tide of magic ripped through St. Mungos security measures as if they were childsplay, rendering them ineffective and thrillingly obsolete.

Then, he replaced them.

It would never do to have Aurors suddenly capable of Apparating in one by one and attempting to stop him. No, he erected wards of his own so that only he, and those he decided, could pass through them.

It was all ridiculously easy.

Granger had really gotten him an impressive wand. That, and he was a rather impressive wizard.

Not bothering to put on his tunic, he stepped out into the glaringly white ward for the first time in years. As he expected, no remnant of the boundaries that caged him were left. Pleased with his actions, he cut his wand sharply through the air, summoning a red ball of energy that buzzed and vibrated in front of him.

"The wards in St. Mungos are down," he intoned to the magical force. "Come to me."

With another flick of his wand, the ball was gone in an instant flash of white light to deliver his message.

Soon, his followers would arrive, and then the fun could begin.

~oOo*oOo~

Hermione heard the ruckus.

She heard the clash of curses and could taste the terror in the air as the few workers who had offices on Ward C fought frantically to get away.

She should get help.

Even though she was all alone in her office and had the benefit of not being swept up into the surprise attack. But it had been her that had started the surprise attack - that had orchestrated it - and because of that, she was paralyzed where she sat.

The promise of inside information on newly surfacing Death Eater activity had been appealing. She told herself that was what had moved her to acting so rashly in the first place, but when that argument failed, it was another that swayed her.

Hermione wanted to know - she wanted desperately! - she craved the inside information on how to wield such power more than she had anything. It was almost drugging. Really, that should have been enough to alarm her alone, but again, she was helpless but to give into temptation.

How long was the battle going to rage for?

Perhaps it had been going hours, or minutes. Surely Malfoy should have been outnumbered by now and surrendering. She was torn in rushing outside to lend her magical capability to the orderlies, and equally to rush to Malfoy's defense against them. How terrible was she? Malfoy had done something to her, and now she was paralyzed into submission, heartlessly curious to see how it all played out.

Truthfully, she was getting a bit bored. Oh—how bad! She should be so...hurting right now. And if she was smart than she would be igniting the Floo and getting the fuck out of St. Mungos. The shame that she was doing this - that she was just sitting there - it was a new low and definitely something she should be angered by.

But a sadistic part of her wanted to be there for everything, refused to miss a single thing. That she should be so divided in her desire was a sign in itself: a sign that she should commit herself to Ward A of St. Mungos and not ever see the light of day again.

Never in her wildest dreams would she have fathomed sitting through something like this - a damned attack! - and doing nothing. Perhaps she was losing it. Maybe if he was crazy, then so was she. Sane people made deals that were sanctioned; they didn't just break the law to see something happen they are sworn to fight against.

The sound of curses had ceased...and then came the moaning and the pleading and the begging.

Hermione could not make out the words, muffled behind the door, but she recognized them for what they were. Inexplicably, Malfoy was winning. And if she thought him attractive before, he was tenfold more so now. That he could overwhelm professionals trained to guard him...it was far too difficult to believe.

She should leave.

Shakily, she got to her feet and walked robotically to the Floo.

And just where would she Floo too? It would become so obviously apparent what she had done. The fact that he had not instantly left proved that he was lying about revealing the Death Eaters—didn't it? If his intentions were truly noble, then he would have left to procure the information he was Hell-bent on showing her. This proved that he had lied, and so she should leave.

When she scooped the Floo powder in her hand, she hesitated before throwing it in the pit. The other part of her, the one that had rallied for this, was straining against her, begging her to stay—for educational purposes.

I'm mental, she thought in exasperation. When did I become bloody mental?

Even if she would have changed her mind again, at this point, it was too late.

The door burst open with all the vengeance of a dragon scorned.

She froze where she stood, her eyes quickly seeing past the wreckage and to where the figure of Malfoy stood, seeking her out. Her reluctance had cost her, her debating had cost her, and now he was here, and there would be no escaping. Whatever Malfoy's true intentions were, she would soon find out.

~oOo*oOo~

She was leaving him.

So clearly was she caught in the act of escaping, Draco could not help but let his magic flare up in righteous anger. He'd expected it, of course, but to see it happen before his eyes was another thing.

Perhaps she would have made a good dark witch - if trained at a young age - but now that she was older and stuck in her ways, and the dreamy scales had been removed from her eyes, it would be almost impossible to manipulate her. One did not stand a respectable chance against intelligence. As much as he would have preferred she be in his control, she was above his influence and therefore simply an obstacle in his way.

Draco knew well how to handle obstacles.

He had years of practice on his side.

If Granger needed to be disposed of so that he could advance his plans, so be it.

He had wanted to play with the witch - the idea had intrigued him! - but welcoming her into the folds along with those whom had been trained up at a young age and were undoubtedly loyal to the cause was out of the question. She might be smart and powerful and thirsty for the knowledge, but her deeply rooted morals would always interfere.

~oOo*oOo~

Pain.

Such blood-curdling, agony-inducing, terrible pain slammed through her body.

She had been under the Cruciatus before, but never like this.

Her skin was tearing, and her nails were ripping. Her organs were filling with blood and then were bursting. Her eyelids were peeled back in terror, but all they saw was white, hot light. Insects burrowed in her chest, worming their way to vital organs already filled and stretched to capacity. They were crawling and scratching, and it bloody wouldn't cease! She was being stretched, and soon she would be severed, she was sure. That she was helpless made it all the more terrible. Because it was so real, the feelings and the pain, and she was useless to stop it.

A little Cruciatus is good for you every once in awhile...keeps you on alert.

His words - Merlin! - the words of her tormentor.

Something couldn't be right with the person who could evoke such aching discomfort and do so again and again. It was monstrous. Yet, it was effective. She could feel little bits of pieces of herself splintering and then shattering, never to be heard from again! What if they were important pieces—pieces that mattered and were crucial to her very essence?

Is this what had happened to the Longbottoms? Were they tortured so close to the brink of insanity that they had finally catapulted themselves into the abyss? Hermione felt like she could see the ledge coming...suppose she jumped it? Then the turmoil of pain would stop, and there would be peace, however tragic a price it came by.

When the curse lifted, she felt empty and void. She fought to hold onto some emotion, but she came up disturbingly short. Her throat was raw, indicating she had probably been screaming nonstop, and she swallowed convulsively to keep from choking.

"Well done, Goyle," Malfoy's words of approval confused her. How could he condone her torture?

She glanced back to see his form approaching her until he was just shy of her head, towering over her supinated body. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and that shouldn't have been at the forefront of her mind, but it somehow was.

He was lean and muscular, elegant and sinuform. It was quite fascinating, actually, because she liked to watch the ripples of his muscles as he moved. She liked to hear the sound of his voice as he addressed his minions or followers or whatever they were. In a sea of never ending turmoil, ironically, it was his voice that grounded her, even if it wasn't exactly addressed to her—it made no difference.

"Crabbe," he spoke once more in a voice that commanded respect. "How about you try?"

It wasn't long before she was screaming and twisting under the agony that was Crabbe's curse. Tiny, but sharp, blades peeled at her, dissected her, unfolding her like layers of tropical fruit. It was so remarkably horrendous, and in that moment she would do anything to make it stop. She would promise and she would beg and she would mean it.

The pain was so unbearable, and her only focus was for it to end.

She would say anything for it to stop, for the curse to finally be lifted. Merlin, but she was appalled by the things she would do! Those parts of her, those noble and gallant parts of her had all been shattered, and she was helpless but to say anything she could to change her fate.

After what felt like centuries, the curse halted until it lifted completely, but that did nothing for the after-effects which were quite painful.

"Please, make it stop," she begged.

His form, towering over her and inciting fear from the power he wielded alone, provoked no other action but submission. "Do not ever proceed to make demands of me," he warned. "I am not yours to rule over, Little Mudblood."

"Begging," she rasped. "I'm begging...I'll do anything to make it stop."

Everything hurt, and that was perhaps why it was so easy to say what she needed to say, what should have been impossible to say.

His expression tightened but, somehow, remained peaceful, which Hermione found all the more insane. Terror blossomed through her, but she was beginning to feel numb from it.

"Your pleas are useless." Grey eyes with a devil-may-care glint met hers. "You were preparing to leave, and that constitutes betrayal."

"I hesitated," she cried, arching her back against her desk as she tried for the hundredth time to break her binds. "I didn't want to leave...I was frightened."

"There is no room for that, Granger."

Hermione knew he was right. Malfoy would not respond to begging out of fear. Somehow, she knew he wanted something else entirely, even if he may not yet know himself. The provocative idea gave her a sense of power she hadn't felt since her torture began. What if she could appeal to him another way?

"You promised me you would show me...you said you would teach me." She struggled to gulp for air in her aching throat. "I did everything I promised. I got you out," she stressed. "Are Dark Wizards prone to reneging on their word?"

It was hard to deliver the words, let alone to say them clearly, but the remnants of her sanity relied on it.

Her gaze was transfixed on his, and she felt like she was spiraling, seeing him upside down as she was. For a brief moment, the manic look in his eyes gave way to something faintly sorrowful.

"I'm sorry, Granger, but I do think it's too late. One needs to study the Dark Arts whilst they are still impressionable, and you, I fear, are not."

She rallied against the statement. No! She wouldn't let him decide for it. Something foreign and feeling very much like her magic shimmered through her, angry and completely enraged.

"No," she promised, her perplexed magic unfurling across her body and testing the limits of her bindings. "I won't accept that...you can't go back on your word!"

Her magic stretched before snapping in a fury, simultaneously severing her bindings and causing her to rear up from the solid wood surface.

Dizziness surged in her head as she attempted to regain her composure. She felt wobbly and oddly drunk, the after effects of the Cruciatus occasionally causing a tremor. She turned on her spot, focusing squarely on the liar she had made the mistake of helping, but inwardly, she knew he was not lying about the way of the Dark Arts.

Gripping both sides of the desk to keep from falling, she skewered Malfoy with her gaze, his eyes widening in surprise by her display of magic even after laboring under the Cruciatus.

"You will teach me," she declared hotly, closing her eyes briefly against the stabbing ache in her head and sudden roil in her stomach. "You will tell me all you promised to."

He blinked and refocused, dawning acceptance flooding his features. "Do you really think you can make the switch, at this point?"

"I'm not geriatric, Malfoy." Her pulse throbbed at her temples. "As you've told me before—I'm a competent witch."

It would have been better if she could have said so whilst still keeping the tremors at bay, but the Crucios had affected her, and she was helpless but to tremble every now and again.

"Prove it," he said, stepping around the desk to where he was facing her on eye level. "Show me you can wield dark curses and that you can inflict pain."

She swallowed audibly.

It was one thing to make a promise with words, but another thing altogether to back it with actions. Flicking her gaze between his challenging expression and his knowing smirk, she reached her hand out. "My wand, please."

Of all things, he handed her his wand, the one she had only recently procured for him. "Granger, I think you'll find that this wand will suit your purposes much better."

Hermione fingered the unfamiliar wood - learning it - discerning if she would truly be able to use it as a tool. Merlin, but her life depended on it, and she wasn't clueless to what he was asking. He wanted her to call on Dark Magic - magic that would cause her blood to boil, that would tear at her soul. It was what she asked for, but did she have the courage to see it through?

Her eyes drew to Goyle whose smirk suddenly dropped, only just realizing the danger he was in. Yes, she thought. He will be first. He relished far too much in my pain.

She glanced at Malfoy once more for something, maybe even permission, before finding in his eyes the consent to continue.

She was so angry and she hadn't even called upon dark magic. It would be almost a simple task to aim an Unforgivable at the former Slytherin. If all that was required was rage and meaning, she had that in abundance!

Adrenaline exploding through her chest, she called on every ounce of power she possessed, channeling it into the strongest Cruciatus she could manage and aiming it at Goyle.

The powerful spurt of magic lurched from the borrowed wand jaggedly, piercing her target with rough precision and causing the wizard to fall to his knees in pain. It was a lot of work to hold such a steady stream of power, but she forced herself to do so—her life depended on it. Better him than me.

"That's not exactly right, lovely." Malfoy lightly placed his hand on her wrist. "You shouldn't force it...only will it...then you can better guide it, and it will not be so difficult."

Eyes strangely empty, she balled her free hand into a fist and tightened her fingers around the holly wand. I want to, she persuaded herself. She jerked in surprise as the magic intensified, protruding from her wand in a steady stream of sickly, light green, assaulting her target and causing screams to rip from his throat. She felt the lingering touch of Malfoy's fingers on her wrist and derived confidence from his presence.

Power sparked through her as she intensified the curse.

It was...something magical.

The power that surged through her was like anything else, like something she only ever felt when performing particularly strong magic, yet so much stronger than even that. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the amazing rush of magic flooding through her, made so much better when coupled with her will and desire. It was too much to focus on one single person. Pressing and coaxing the magic until it was obedient to her will, she focused the hot beam of power on her other tormentor, Crabbe, and held it instead on him whilst she relished in the intoxicating rush.

It was really quite like nothing else she had ever experienced.

Before, it had been quite taxing for her to wrench such forceful magic from her wand. But this type of power was almost self-sustaining; it gave her such high levels of energy and made her feel like a mere beacon that magic passed through. The more she held it, the easier it became, until it crossed the thresholds of something close to addicting. The feeling of oblivion she felt far surpassed any other feelings that might have briefly flickered across her brain.

It was so much better to be powerful than always so powerless.

"Enough," Malfoy demanded.

With much reluctance, she let her wand drop, satisfied when she saw both of her victims lying unmoving on the floor. A part of her hoped they were dead. If they were dead, they couldn't curse her anymore, and they certainly couldn't compete for Malfoy's attention.

"Perhaps you have some skill after all," he admitted.

She felt a chill sweep through her as his grey eyes became focused on her, and she didn't need to feign the tremble that passed through her. He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time - as if weighing her strengths and weaknesses - and Hermione wished desperately not to come up short.

"You called upon too much."

As if on cue, she fell on her side before rolling to her back on the elegant birch desk. She was quite tired and so very weakened. She hadn't even noticed the strain expelling so much magic was putting on her. He walked back to his prior position, stopping in front of her so she had to peer at him upside down. It was quite disconcerting.

"Do you think you are a monster?" His hands drew to her aching temples, massaging them. "As soon as you do not fit into the position of normalcy they carve for you, you definitely become a monster in their eyes."

His words rang true. She couldn't explain it, but even before the traumatic events of the evening, she had always felt that way. She had never fit into the slot she was supposed to neatly fold herself in, and it was time she admitted it.

His grip on her head grew tighter. "I told you - and I meant it - that you would make a powerful Dark Witch." Guilt whispered down her spine, but with it came impossible joy. "That you have proven today." His eyes roved down her body, unhinged and slightly hungry. "But tell me, Granger, why should I instruct you?"

A moan permeated the air to their left, but Malfoy ignored it, so she did also.

Her knackered mind struggled to produce a suitable reason for joining him. "Because I want to learn...to become your prodigy...because I want to be with you."

Panic clouded her thoughts at the inherent truth of her words, but she squeezed her eyes shut rapidly against the storm and quelled her inner turmoil. Tendrils of fear shot down her back as he stared at her, his hot metal gaze causing her to grow groggy. She was hardpressed to keep her eyes open. She didn't particularly trust him, and from the way he looked at her, it was clear he didn't particularly trust her, or at least was unsure of what to make of her.

Profound relief flooded through her when he neglected to reach for his wand. Being with him felt good, even if it signified putting her very head in the dragon's mouth.

His hand tangled rather ferociously in her completely ruined hair. He fisted and then he pulled, but Hermione did not so much as squeak. "Don't promise me this thoughtlessly," he warned. "If you choose to go this route, you do so completely aware of what you're sacrificing."

Lost for words, she merely nodded.

"And what would you be giving up?"

"Everything," she breathed. "I would give up everything."

Now that she made her decision, nowhere was safe. Her life had shifted so completely and it would never be the same.

~oOo*oOo~

Hermione was a paradox.

So sweet and so helpful and so stubborn.

It was actually kind of appealing.

It wasn't just her stunning beauty that captured his interest, but her intelligence. There was something pure...something honest about the way she approached life...approached her magic. He found so much about her attractive that he could not simply ruin her as he had planned. Perhaps she was prodigy material; perhaps she possessed enough wit to learn and adapt.

She had something more, and he was drawn to it like a niffler to gold. Hermione was a puzzle, and unfolding her many layers would be half the fun.

~oOo*oOo~

The Patronus purged the immediate darkness of Harry's dimly lit office.

Trouble at St. Mungos, it told him simply.

His stomach clenched sharply. St. Mungos...Hermione was there! Or at least he expected her to be. It had been a while since he had spoken to her. Truthfully, he was not a hundred percent sure of what her shift was anymore - it had been a while since they spoke - but there was a good chance she was there.

And even if she wasn't, it was his duty to respond regardless.

Reaching for his wand, he swished it through the air and Apparated himself swiftly to the entryway of St. Mungos.

He instantly felt a dark and menacing presence assault him. He tightened his hold on his wand and searched for the threat, but he came up with nothing. Whatever the disturbance was, it wasn't immediately visible. Harry felt dread flare up in his chest.

He shouldn't have let things sit and fester between him and Hermione. It had been far too long since they had spoken, and it was abundantly clear she was avoiding them. He really should have been more persistent in seeking her out. What if she was in danger, and he'd failed to take the time to talk to her? The eternal pessimist that he was grew worried he may have missed an opportunity. Damn Ginny and Ron and their insufferable need to throw shit out into the universe. He wouldn't forgive them if this caused a rift between him and Hermione he was unable to bridge.

He heard several more pops alerting him that his fellow Aurors had joined him. He tread carefully to the elevator lift.

"This way," Harry motioned to his team.

Together, they headed to the lift and then continued up the floors. When they stopped at Ward C, Harry knew instinctively that this was the place where the disturbance was caused. For some reason, his pulse throbbed sporadically the closer he got. Why would Ward C cause his heart to race so?

And then it hit him.

Ward C was only occupied by offices and one single person.

One Draco Malfoy.

Sodding Hell. His feet couldn't take him down the Ward fast enough.

~oOo*oOo~