Written for the Triwizard Tournament Fest with the amazing MykEsprit. Thank you so much to the amazing admins of Dramione Fanfiction Writers for putting this fest together! We had so much fun writing Round Two!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter doesn't belong to us - boo.

Disclaimer 2: MykEsprit and I are both posting this same story, no nefarious stealing is going on here.

I am the end. I am the dread that creeps down your spine. I am the curdle of your stomach and the thief of your breath.

Your last thoughts won't be filled with your loved ones. You will not see flashes of your short, pitiful life. You will look into my dark, eternal face, and burn.

Because I am the end.

And I am here for you.

His heart grew ten times heavier when he boarded the train.

For the last time, he thought. Each step away from the castle weighed him down, filling his limbs with lead.

He never guessed his heart would ache to leave Hogwarts. Only two years prior, he loathed the school—his assignment. His prison. His coffin, and his own personal hell. Somehow, he found salvation between its walls; and after Voldemort's defeat, it became his sanctuary.

Leaving it sank his heart to his soles.

"Oh!"

His eyes flicked up at the sound, and he dodged to the right, avoiding the collision by a hair's breadth. The witch danced on the balls of her feet, arms flailing to regain balance.

Without a second thought, Draco reached out, his fingers wrapping around her upper arms.

Her hands landed on the crook of his elbows, and her feet planted firmly on the floor. "Oh, thanks, I didn't see you—" Brown eyes lifted to his face and widened when they took him in. "Draco," she whispered.

"Granger," he said stiffly. Acutely aware of the warmth of her arms and the faint strawberry scent of her shampoo, he released her and took a solid step back.

Hermione cleared her throat. "Ready to go home?" A corner of her lips twitched, as though—despite great effort—a smile refused to make an appearance.

Draco bit back the snark that had been building in his chest the entire cursed morning. "Ready or not. It's not like we have a choice."

"No," she murmured, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I suppose not."

A deep frown marred her pretty face, and the sight of it made him...uncomfortable. His feet shuffled restlessly as his hands slid into his pockets. "We all have to leave Hogwarts sometime." He grasped for something—anything—to say that might erase her dejected expression. "Although, if I were you, I'd stay at Hogwarts."

"Oh?" Her shoulders sagged.

Draco tutted. "Of course! Hogwarts is full of books and learning. Out there,"—he gestured out the window where tardy students rushed towards the train—"we're overrun with world-saving wankers and worse...Weasleys." His face twisted in mock disgust.

Hermione gave him a reproachful look, but beneath the thin layer of admonishment, her eyes sparked. The stiffness at the base of his neck eased.

"Harry and Ron are busy with Auror training," she said, glossing over his jibe. "So I won't be seeing them for a few weeks longer."

He opened his mouth to ask her where she was headed. Their friendship—or whatever it was between them—confused him at the best of times. Were they the type of friends that are privy to future plans? To social calendars? Another look at her countenance—friendly and warm, but decidedly cautious—snapped his jaws shut before the question could come out. Instead, he gave her a terse nod.

Movement caught at the corner of his eye; he turned his head.

"Excuse me." A young Hufflepuff glanced at them expectantly, the trunk he dragged behind nearly dwarfing him.

Hermione gave him a broad smile. "Sorry about that." She turned her smile on Draco and shrugged. "We should keep the corridor clear. Train's about to leave."

"Of course." Draco stepped aside, gesturing for the witch to pass him. "I'll see you around, Granger."

She stared at him a moment longer, the depth of her gaze drawing him in. Then, she nodded once and swept down the corridor.

He ducked his head into the nearest compartment, finding it empty. Sparing Hermione a final glance—she disappeared into a compartment at the other end—he stepped inside and settled in.

As the train whistled a final warning, he tried to keep his mind off the bewildering witch.

Rain streaked across the window as sunlight struggled against the steel clouds. He was too lost in Anna Karenina to bother with the weather, but after an hour of reading in low light, pain throbbed behind his eyes. Without lifting his gaze from the book, he pointed his wand before him and summoned a small flame.

He was halfway down the page when the sound pulled him out of his head.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

The door shuddered with each knock as if whoever was on the other side was throwing their weight into their swing.

Draco snapped the heavy tome closed and marched to the door. Whoever it was, they were about to get chewed for being so blatantly rude. His fingers curled around the handle, and he slid the door open, a snarl ready on the tip of his tongue—

And found no one. He stepped out, looking up and down the length of the carriage. Not a single student lingered in the passageway.

With an irritated sigh, Draco stomped back into his lonely compartment and slammed the door. It was likely those blasted Gryffindors—a rowdy group of second- and third-year boys who made it their mission to be a thorn in everyone's side. Especially for Slytherins.

"Well," Draco muttered as he settled back onto the bench. "That's one thing I'm not going to miss."

For the most part, those boys left him alone. Everyone did—even the students in his House. As the only Slytherin to return for an 'eighth year,' they gave him a wide berth, either out of respect or enmity.

All except one.

Before he could dwell for too long—thoughts of Hermione Granger always came with a mixed bag of emotions—he picked up his book, eager to jump back into Tolstoy's captivating prose.

He had scanned three lines on the page before he noticed it.

The flame he had conjured still hovered five feet above the floor—blue like the ocean and as small as a thumbnail. Its light had erased the shadows that had been growing under the benches and above the shelves.

So when the shadow at the corner of his eye moved, breath hitched in his chest.

Draco froze, fingers clutching the hardcover and legs splayed out in front of him. His wand—tucked inside his robe. A vulnerable position, and whatever that was—a looming darkness in the periphery of his vision, expanding and contracting like it was breathing—panting—growing bigger—

Something deep inside him twinged. Not his heart, thundering inside his ribcage. Not his lungs, burning for oxygen. Something deeper still.

His soul. It knew what that thing was. And it screamed for him to run.

After they passed through the tunnel out of Hogsmeade, Hermione fell asleep. She had found an empty compartment, and, miraculously, was left undisturbed by boisterous younger students.

It was an empty kind of sleep—like falling into a void. Lonely, quiet. And blessedly dreamless.

A rare and welcome occurrence.

She was floating in the tranquil darkness when it happened.

A flash of ice—covering her entire body, burning through her skin, spearing through her bones.

And then she was yanked out of her slumber with such force that she fell forward onto her hands and knees. Her breath came in shuddering gasps as she stared, unseeing, at the scuffed floor.

It was here.

It was here.

"No-no-no," she whispered. Cold sweat sprouted on her forehead. "Please, no." Her muscles clenched as if the frost in her nightmare clung to her limbs.

She peeked through the curtain of curls hanging over her face. The compartment was empty, save for her bag on the opposite bench and her trunk on the overhanging shelf. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and forced her breathing.

A trembling breath in. A shaky breath out.

In. There's nothing here. There's nothing here.

Out. Safe. Safe. I'm safe.

Her eyes blinked open and, like a mouse coming out of hiding, she warily glanced around. There was a stillness inside the compartment; yet she assessed every innocuous shadow. By the time she rose to her feet, her heart rate slowed to a less troubling pace.

That feeling, though—that burning cold, like a call to her soul…

Something was here. But not for her.

Before her mind caught up, she had already thrown the door open and was racing down the corridor. Halfway down the carriage, a dull thud resounded from a compartment on the other end.

Her heart stuttered. Draco.

Hermione raced down the narrow path, her feet barely touching the worn carpet as she ran.

She reached the door she spied him entering earlier and pounded on the frosted glass window. "Draco!"

Hermione grasped the handle and jerked the door open. There, on the faded green floor, lay Draco Malfoy. And poised over his prone body—

Hermione raised her wand and screamed.

It was as easy as falling asleep.

One moment, he was sitting, every nerve in his body blaring as danger loomed. And, then…

Nothing. His limbs felt weightless, and his senses dulled, as though he were submerged in deep water.

He felt a tug on his soul, urging him along the current. Bit by bit, he let go to follow that gentle but insistent pull.

In the distance, there was a pattering sound, like a woodpecker on a tree trunk. An incessant tapping. Just as it stopped, a hazy figure stepped in his line of vision. A familiar shape; and he halted his progress out of his body to wonder at the sight.

It raised its arm. A beam of light shot out.

Sparks crashed into the darkness surrounding him—and the darkness shivered. As it recoiled from him, taking the merciful numbness with it, Draco felt it—

The vice around his heart. The fire in his lungs. The rawness of his skin, like he was being flayed alive.

"Draco!"

Hands wrapped around his forearms, and he screamed from the pain of his overwrought nerves. He was dragged across the floor, the top half of his body hanging out into the empty corridor.

"Damn it!" she hissed. Hermione.

Air whooshed underneath him, and he floated. Her nails dug into his skin as she continued to pull him.

"Gra—" he moaned, the back of his throat galled as if he had swallowed glass shards. "Granger."

She ignored him, hauling him into the next carriage.

"Granger," he said, his voice gaining strength the more distance they put between them and…it.

"What?!" They were halfway down the carriage, and if the determined set of Hermione's shoulders were any indication, they were not stopping anytime soon.

"Let me down."

She glanced over her shoulder and glared at him. "You're bloody kidding me."

He peeked down his legs and over his toes. The door through which they came was closed; he pondered briefly if he had missed her put a locking spell on it.

"We'll move faster if you don't have to drag me along." His eyes flicked up to her again. The corners of her lips were gouged in a frown. "I promise," he said.

As they reached the end of the corridor, she nodded stiffly and released the Levicorpus spell.

"Thank you," he murmured as he picked himself up from the floor.

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't thank me yet." Her long fingers gripped his wrist, and together, they ran into another carriage. "There's bound to be an empty one—please let there be an empty one—"

Near the end, a door stood slightly ajar. They rushed for it; peeked inside.

"Thank Merlin," Hermione whispered, shutting the door behind them quietly. As Draco stumbled to a bench, clutching his sides, she waved her wand over the door, muttering.

When the wards were in place, she shuffled to the opposite seat and lowered herself down. Her face was pale despite their run, and her wide eyes fixed on him.

Draco met her gaze unflinchingly. "What," he growled, "the hell was that ?"

03 September 1998

Eighth year was supposed to be a time for learning and a time for putting the past behind them. An actual education. Who would have thought? Not Hermione Granger, not even as she attended the Sorting Ceremony for the younger years and every new teacher announced for the year was someone she trusted. Not even as she made it through the first two weeks without a single, solitary event that demanded her to research ways to destroy some nefarious magical artifact or a maniacal Dark Lord. Her first night in the library, she breathed in the musty scent of old books and sighed to herself as she opened a textbook, an actual learning tool, and set to write out her first homework assignment for NEWT Arithmancy.

Just as her quill pressed into fresh parchment, a rucksack slammed down onto the table next to her. Her lips formed a tight line. Bloody typical. She set down her quill and gripped the old, wooden table with curled fingers as she brought her narrowed gaze to the source of her disruption. A shock of platinum hair hovered next to her. His stare bore into hers through nervous, tight gray eyes. She swallowed. The last time she'd been so near to him, his deranged aunt had sliced Mudblood into her skin. Hermione scratched at the scar.

"Granger." He ducked his chin as if greeting her was an afterthought.

"Malfoy." She followed his lead, though quieter with a slight bite that dared him to taunt her.

He reached a hand up to his forehead and smoothed his hair back. A nervous tic, she realized as she watched his hand fall back down to his side and ball into a loose fist. She heard him breathe sharply through his nose and it looked like he might be about to bolt from the library at any moment. Instead of encouraging him to leave, she grabbed the back of the chair next to her and pulled it out, silently offering him a seat.

"Right." He sat down and dropped his eyes to the table. "Listen, Granger, I –"

"We don't have to do this," she told him kindly as her gaze followed his to the table. "It is what it is and there's nothing that can change it."

She heard the way his throat constricted around a lump and pulled her lips between her teeth. He was going to do it, she thought. He was working his way up to something – something big. Hermione wasn't sure she wanted to hear it. Not now, possibly not ever.

"We do – I do." Malfoy dragged his eyes from the table to hers. His lips tugged down and his pallor flashed pink. "I… appreciate –"

Hermione scoffed, the noise tearing its way from her throat before she could stop it.

He rolled his eyes. Irritated and doing a poor job of hiding it. But still, he pressed on.

" – I appreciate what you did for me, for my family." He stole a heavy breath. "After everything."

Hermione shook her head, a sadness filled her eyes and pulled her lips down at the corners.

"You shouldn't thank me, Malfoy." She started packing up. There was no way for her to finish her homework now. "I haven't done anything worthy of thanks."

"A hellhound."

In the dim light, Draco's fair complexion turned a sickly shade of gray. "A hellhound," he echoed roughly. His fingers clawed through his hair. "Fuck."

"It's here to—"

"I know," he snapped. His throat bobbed, and then, much more gently, whispered, "I know."

Hermione hugged her arms over her abdomen, hands bunched into the fabric of her robe. "I'm sorry."

For a few breaths, there was silence between them, heavy with remorse and regret.

"I'm not ready to go yet."

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. She shook her head once. "I'm sorry," she repeated, a rare feeling of uselessness overcoming her.

Draco bent forward, cradling his temples between his hands. "Is there anything…" He sighed. "Is there anything I can do to stop it? Can I kill it?"

Pain seared through her like a fiery talon scraping the inside of her sternum. A warning. "Draco…"

"Can it be killed?" When she didn't respond, he leaned further into the space between them, pinning her with a sharp, hopeful look. "I know I can't outrun it forever. I just,"—he cleared his throat—"I want to see my parents one more time. To say goodbye."

She lowered her eyes, fighting the agony in her chest.

"Please."

Slowly, her gaze dragged back to his face—desperate and dire, just like they were one cold, winter night. "I don't know," she breathed. "I don't know if it can be killed. But it can be stopped. Long enough for you to get away."

His shoulders relaxed minutely.

"At least, I think so. From what I've read...and there's not much written on them, not many have seen a hellhound and lived to tell about it,"—she grimaced—"magic won't affect a hellhound for long. It can shake off a curse or a hex within minutes."

"So, how do we take it down?"

Hermione gave him a tight smile. "Do you know the Labours of Hercules?"

"I shouldn't have said anything. This is a bad idea."

They crept down the corridor, Hermione a step behind him. She had one hand clutched over her breastbone, while the other gripped her wand.

"Yes," he muttered. "But it's the only one we've got."

As they reached the end of the carriage, she waved her wand over them. Draco glimpsed her over his shoulder.

She blinked. "Invisibility charm and a Muffliato," she stated matter-of-factly.

His eyebrow inched up his forehead.

"Just because magic is useless against it doesn't mean we can't use magic on ourselves." She shrugged one shoulder. "Plus, it's better if no one else sees us. Who knows what the hellhound will do if others get in its way."

"Right," he whispered, turning back to the door and easing it open. They crossed to the next carriage, the passage thankfully deserted. "Do you think it shook off your Stupefy by now?"

"It did."

Draco paused mid-step. Slowly, he faced her, his grey eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"

She pressed her knuckles harder against her chest, her lips contorted in pain. "Because I can feel it. It feels just like...him."

18 June 1996

The world around her was unfocused. Blurred around the edges and framed in black as she swam in and out of consciousness. A purple jet of light struck her, that's the last thing she remembered. They'd been running through the Department of Mysteries. The Order showed up. Spells were everywhere. Dolohov approached her with a menacing growl, lifted his wand — she silenced him. And then she was laid out flat on the ground. She probably hit her head, too. Someone needed to heal her and quickly. Hermione tried to call out for help, but no words would come to her lips. She watched her peripheral vision disappear and could only hear the shouts and spell casting as it went on around her.

Her insides burned. Someone set a fire inside of her, internal organs charred as the spell blazed its way through her body. She wanted to cry, but she was dried out. Harry would save her, he always did. She waited for what felt like an eternity and nothing. No Harry, no healer, no hope. She closed her eyes and faded out again.

"You are going to die."

Hermione's eyes snapped open. The voice was right above her and yet, no one was there. She opened her mouth to ask who was there, but couldn't speak.

"Your brain is dying. How ironic…"

She forced her head to turn. No one. Exhaustion crept into the fringe of her mind. Just go to sleep, Hermione, she told herself.

"If you fall asleep, you will die quicker."

She whimpered and barely registered that there was no spellfire, no shouting, or scuffling feet. They'd forgotten her and she was going to die in the bowels of the Ministry — cold and alone.

"It doesn't have to be this way, Hermione Granger."

Her muscles were taut as she tried to lift herself. She failed and rolled onto her side. A sharp stab tore at her body from hip to shoulder. God, she wanted it to stop. Her cry echoed through the cement room she was trapped in.

"I can save you."

Hermione's eyes squeezed shut. Her throat was on fire. Her nerves lit up like they had been separated from her body with a blunt knife. A sharp breath blew snot out of her nose. When she dragged in a ragged breath, it rattled like death was right around the corner.

"I can spare your life."

Oh, God, please… she pleaded silently. Something pressed on top of her. Her eyes snapped open and a shadow loomed over top of her. It was menacing even in its abstract darkness. It was not corporeal, or perhaps she was imagining it altogether. Her thoughts weren't coherent as she tried to flex her fingers to reach up and touch the space it occupied above her.

"You have to say the words out loud."

She didn't know what words it wanted her to say. All she knew was that she wanted this pain — this torturous death — to end. Her toes curled. A muscle spasm forced her body to coil. A raw scream fell from her lips and it was the first noise she'd been able to make. Tears soaked her cheeks and she was sure that if she'd eaten anything that day, she'd be lying in a puddle of her own vomit.

"Let me save you, Hermione Granger."

She faded out again, the black spots in her vision engulfed every thought in her head. When she came to, the voice laughed in her ears.

"You have less than a minute."

Pain shot through her from head to toe. The site of the spell that hit her erupted with agonizing pain. She eased out of it again. In and out, in quick succession.

"Do we have a deal?"

She whimpered. Yes. God, please make it s-stop.

"You must speak the words!"

She wasn't sure how long it was before she came to. She stretched her body and sat up, Hermione's head spun and she squeezed her eyes closed. Bloody hell, she'd nearly died. Whatever curse Dolohov used was wretched. There was a stinging sensation in the center of her sternum. She tugged at the fabric lying over it and then pulled it down to look.

Hermione gasped. Three jagged lines, horizontal from each other and stacked a finger's distance apart, stared back at her. She pressed her fingers to the marks – which looked as if sharp fingernails had been scratched against her chest – and the pink scars were iron hot to the touch.

"Hermione?"

Neville's face popped into the room from behind a thick door. Hermione jumped and dropped her shirt back into place. The markings stung but as she pushed herself from the floor to join Neville, Hermione shoved the thoughts from her mind.

Clearly, she was still hallucinating from Dolohov's spell.

"Draco," Hermione hissed as they entered the carriage where the creature attacked. "It's near." Her breathing became ragged.

He reached his right hand behind him, fingers unfurling. She grasped it, her hand cold and clammy. He gave it a reassuring squeeze. "We've got this, Granger. All you've got to do is knock the bastard off his feet, and then I'll take care of the rest."

Hermione huffed a mirthless laugh. "Sure. You'll just wrap your hands around the mythical monster's neck and strangle it unconscious or—and this is a slim chance—kill it. Easy."

"Are you saying I'm not as good as Hercules?"

She scoffed at his feeble attempt at a joke. "I know you think you're a god…" she murmured.

Draco sighed. "Well, it's this, or I let it drag me to Hell." He turned on his heel, studying her. There was fear in the set of her lips, worry in the furrow of her brows, but in her eyes…

Guilt.

"Granger," he said softly. "You don't have to do this. This isn't your fight."

She winced as though he struck her. "You know it is," she whispered. She rubbed a fist over her chest. "It wouldn't be coming after you if it weren't for me."

After glancing over his shoulder to make sure the corridor was clear, he took her other hand. "You did what you had to do. And so did I." His gaze fell to their clasped hands; he rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs. "Granger, I—"

He heard the rumbling growl behind him a split second before Hermione pulled him forward. In the next blink, she shoved him behind her, pointing her wand down the corridor.

"Where?" He scanned the passage. The storm had rolled on top of them, blanketing them in shadows. Thunder clapped overhead, nearly drowning out his words. "Where is it?"

"Lumos Maxima!" Light flew from the tip of Hermione's wand, illuminating the entire corridor—

Except for the dark mass skulking towards them.

"Impedimenta!" she screamed, her wand steady and level before her. "Filipendo! Stupefy! "

The creature darted out of the way, bouncing off the wall with its powerful hind legs. It ran straight for them.

Draco took a determined step forward. "Reducto! Confringo! "

Blue light shot into the center of its mass. It staggered against a door with a heavy thump.

"Go!" Hermione yelled.

Draco ran for the lurching creature. He jumped up, planting a heel on the handrail, and launched onto its back. His fingers gripped fur as dark as night as he climbed.

Hermione aimed for the hellhound's legs. " Incarcerous! "

Its legs buckled as ropes wrapped around it; and then it fell against a compartment wall.

A door squeaked open, and a third year poked his head out, confusion written on his face. With a flicker of her wand, Hermione knocked him back into the compartment and locked the door. She waved her arm along the corridor, securing all the locks in the carriage to make sure no one else came out.

"Granger!" Draco dangled from the hellhound's neck as it bucked wildly. It threw Draco off.

He landed on his back. The creature pressed a wide paw over his chest.

"Sectumsempra! "

The spell whizzed through the air and met its mark. The hellhound released a piercing shriek and stumbled away from Draco. As it fell back, it scraped a clawed paw across his chest.

"Aaargh!" Draco curled to his side, clutching his torso.

"Draco!" Hermione snapped her wand back, summoning Draco to her. He slid across the short-haired carpet; she pulled him to his feet. "Come on!"

The hellhound teetered, crashing from wall to wall, as they retreated to safety.

31 December 1996

There was a gloomy atmosphere that surrounded the castle. It was filled with the haunting suspicion that something terrible was around the corner. She hadn't slept properly since she stopped taking ten potions a day to cure her of Dolohov's curse and it was making sixth year even more difficult. Whenever she closed her eyes, Hermione would hear a disembodied voice calling out to her. It started with just her name and then escalated into demands. Problem was, she had no idea what it wanted her to do. Then, she'd wake and the brightness of the day would cast the shadows away.

The scar on her chest was still hot to the touch. It felt like it was turning itself inward, tugging on her heart and drawing her closer to… something. Probably a side effect of the curse, Madam Pomfrey told her.

Most of her classmates were gone for the holidays but Hermione stayed behind. She was supposed to visit her mum and dad but a sick grandparent ruined those plans. She didn't want to go to The Burrow because she was still furious with Ronald and his snogging sessions with Lavender Brown. So, she stayed at Hogwarts and promised the others that she'd keep an eye on Draco Malfoy – even though it was pointless; there was no way he was a death eater, as she'd tried to explain to Harry countless times.

When she first heard the voice while awake, it was Christmas Day.

"It's time to pay up, Hermione Granger."

She decided that she simply wasn't getting enough sleep. Hermione scratched at the marks on her chest. They were irritated and she assumed it had to do with the wool of her jumper. However, even after she changed several times, the hot marks still stung.

"You owe me."

Hermione shook off the voice, though she couldn't escape it. It grew more insistent as the days passed. Between Christmas and New Year's, Hermione found herself in the library with a pass for the Restricted Section and flung through many old and dangerous tomes. She searched everything from hearing voices to dark, purple curses.

Nothing explained what was happening to her nor the urge she had to actually follow the voice's instructions.

It wasn't until she discovered a small, black book bound in leather that she found her answer. Whispers in the Dark: Witch Trials and the Devil's Mark. She'd of course researched witch trials since getting her Hogwarts letter, thinking it important to know the history of her kind. However, she'd never read the darker versions. The book in front of her told stories about witches who were tortured after being found with marks of the Devil. As she flipped through the pages, various images flitted through her vision. She stopped, held her breath, when she found a mark that looked exactly like hers.

"Oh, bugger," she whispered as she read the small caption beneath the photo. "Witches afflicted with the Claw of the Beast, otherwise known as the Devil's Mark, were regarded as the most sinister of all those who claimed to speak to the Devil. These witches were discovered to be demons. Those with the Devil's Mark were responsible for… oh, no!"

Hermione gasped and dropped the book onto the ground. She jumped up and clasped her hand over her mouth as she felt the urge to vomit. No, she thought desperately, no, that can't be true.

"You owe me one soul, Hermione Granger." The voice confirmed her very worst fears.

"I am not a demon!" Hermione argued uselessly. Her hand flew to the top of her head just in case she'd sprouted horns. "I will not!"

"A soul for your life. You struck a deal."

"No! I am not a demon. I will not –" Hermione shook from head to toe. Even as the voice commanded her, she felt it tugging at her soul. A warning. A threat.

"We. Had. A. Deal."

The thread around her soul pulled sharply and she gasped against the pressure. With the book still on the floor, Hermione fled the library and didn't stop until she reached her dormitory. Even as she burrowed herself under the blankets and pillows, the voice still purred in her ear.

"A soul for your life. You owe me. I do not forget, Hermione Granger."

Hermione walked around the school feeling like a hollow shell for the following two days. It wasn't until New Year's Eve that she finally sat in the Great Hall with the rest of her classmates. She was thankful that so many were on holiday because she didn't think she could stand Harry or Ron bothering her about the state of mind she was in. At any moment, she'd glance behind herself to ensure there was no tail with a spade at the end. The Devil's Mark on her chest ached terribly. She hadn't slept in days. And the voice — oh, that voice — wouldn't leave her alone.

"Hey, Hermione!" Seamus waved her over to the other end of the table where he was sitting with Dean. She met eyes with them and paled. Could she possibly take a soul from Seamus or Dean? They hadn't done anything wrong, not ever. Even as she thought it, the presence within her urged her to do it. Hermione snapped her head away from her two friends and pushed away from the table.

Her feet couldn't carry her fast enough from the hall. She rounded corner after corner and climbed staircase after staircase until she found somewhere she could be truly alone. Prefect's Bathroom. All of the others were gone, she could stay here until everyone went to bed. Hermione slammed the door behind her and sagged against the door.

"Granger?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to the far end of the room, across the swimming pool-sized bath. He stood in long, black slacks and a white button down shirt that was — she gulped — unbuttoned. He'd obviously just dressed from the bath because his hair was still plastered to his head, wet and dripping down his face.

"Malfoy!" Hermione squeaked. She straightened herself out. "What are you – how did you get in here?"

A smirk curled his lip but she thought, perhaps, he barely meant it as vindictively as normal. "Parkinson. She's a good friend."

"Y-you shouldn't be in here." As he stepped closer, she stepped away. She didn't trust herself. She didn't trust him, either.

"Can we just pretend this never happened?" There was something in his voice, a plea, exhaustion, nerves, that knocked her off kilter. She'd never heard anything apart from snarky arrogance from the blonde in front of her. "Granger, I'm not in the habit of saying 'please'."

"What's going on with you this year?" She tilted her head as she appraised him. Malfoy was more disheveled than she'd ever known him to be. Untucked shirt, hair messily lying about his head, trousers falling off his hips because he hadn't yet tightened his belt. "Harry thinks –"

"Yes, tell me, what does your precious Potter think?" He was vicious again, a sneer wrapped his lips around the words.

"He thinks you've accepted the Dark Mark." She didn't sugar coat it. Something inside of her was egging her on, gently directing her moves.

Draco paled considerably and that's when she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the way the skin around his cheeks appeared waxy and sallow. Hermione stepped toward him. She felt something twinge inside of her, right behind the Devil's Mark. It itched and she resisted the urge to scratch it.

"Don't come near me."

"I can help you." The words didn't even sound like her voice as they left her. Softer, almost, enticing. Her eyes widened as she grew closer to him still. "I – I can… help."

"I don't need your help, Granger!" Draco shouted. "The Order can't do anything for me, okay. Just fucking leave. Go run back to Scarhead and Weaslebee and just fucking leave. me. alone."

"I'm not talking about the Order!" Hermione jumped toward him as he neared the door. He was so close that she had to crane her neck to look into his eyes. "The Order can't help you, Malfoy. But, I can."

He scoffed. "Right. How's that?"

"I –"

The string around her soul tightened, guided her words. She absently itched the mark on her chest. For some reason, without consciously deciding to, Hermione tugged down the fabric covering her mark and showed Draco. She watched his eyes widen a fraction, his lips pulled into a strict line.

"You've made a deal with the devil?" His eyebrows are perched high on his forehead.

Tears sprang to her eyes, the corners stinging as she tried to push them away.

"Wouldn't you?" She asked him harshly. "Would… you?"

She put the fabric back over the mark and Malfoy's eyes found hers again. She watched the knot in his throat bob once and when he tried to speak it took a moment for the hoarseness in his voice to allow it.

"I would," he said resolutely with a short nod. Water dripped down his cheek and Hermione wondered if it was leftover bath water or tears. "Is that how you can help? My soul for the safety of me and my family?"

Her scar throbbed as she nodded. "I promise that no harm will come to your family if you will agree to forfeit your soul in exchange."

Draco eyed her and she felt completely exposed as his gaze flickered from her eyes to the mark not once, but three times. He swallowed and she watched the way he wet his lips and pressed them tight. His hand shot out between them and Hermione's eyes widened.

"Deal," he whispered and if she didn't know any better, she'd say he was eager.

"Deal."

She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. The voice inside her head sang with sweet laughter.

Draco hissed as she lifted his tattered shirt away from his injuries. She glanced over the marks on his chest—four gouges spanning from under his right collarbone to the left side of his ribcage.

She swallowed the bile rising to her throat at the sight of the pooling blood. "Just a flesh wound," she said weakly, schooling her features.

"Oh, good," Draco breathed, eyes blinking lethargically. "That's exactly what it feels like. Minor injury." He tried to prop himself on a shaky elbow.

Gently, Hermione held his shoulder down. "Don't. At least let me patch you up before we do something stupid again."

With a sigh, Draco settled down. Hermione muttered a healing charm over the gashes on his torso, stealing glances at the door from the corner of her eye. They were back in the compartment in which they hid earlier, and the wards had stayed intact. But it was only a matter of time before the powerful creature recovered and decided to hunt them down.

She took a fortifying breath and focused on the task in front of her. She swept her wand across the wounds, stopping the gush of blood—a temporary solution. Frayed muscle fibers and stark bone peeked through the fluid. He would need to go to a healer when he gets off the train.

When he gets off the train, Hermione repeated in her head. She bit the insides of her lips, working faster to seal the wounds.

As she charmed the last gash, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Her eyes flicked to his face—drawn and pale. Deathly pale.

"Granger." Though his voice was feeble, his grey eyes were sharp and urgent. "I want you to tell my parents—"

"No." She wrenched her arm from his grasp. His hand slid off without resistance, and she continued to heal him.

"Granger—"

"I said, 'no,'" Hermione growled. "I said I would buy you time to see your parents. So you'll see them." She bent down and worked on his injuries, ignoring his pointed stare.

He shook his head slowly. "It won't work. It's too strong."

"Not yet," she muttered. "I won't let it take you. Not yet."

Slowly, he sat up on the bench, facing her. He ducked his head to catch her eye. "It's what I signed up for. Remember?"

Hermione turned her face away. "I'm so sorry—"

He cupped her cheek. "My parents are safe. They're alive, and they're safe, just as I wanted." Tears sprung from her eyes, and he wiped them away as they rolled down her cheek. "And I've got you to thank for that, Hermione Granger." His thumb trailed the side of her face, over her jaw, and traced her bottom lip. She tasted her tears on him. "Wherever I am—whatever existence I'll have for the rest of eternity—I'll always be grateful for you."

Hermione raised her hand—covered in crimson—and wrapped it over his. She turned her face into his caress and pressed a kiss against his palm.

With a nod, he threaded their fingers together. His hand was drenched with her tears; her hand was soaked in his blood. "I'm ready."

The gravity in his voice stole her breath. "I'm not." She willed steel into her spine as she gazed at him. "There's one thing we can do to stop this. To stop all of it." She squeezed his fingers. "But—it's irreversible."

He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. "Tell me."

01 June 1999

Nearing the end of term, Hermione found herself with a lot of free time. Most NEWT students were studying in the library or cramming in various alcoves. Hermione, however, discovered that she was able to study when everyone was away from the dormitories and then could roam the halls when everyone came back to sleep. That's how she found herself in the fifth floor corridor at the cusp of curfew.

She was going to miss these halls, the paintings, and all of the magic that surrounded her daily. She knew it was part of growing up, but the thought of leaving Hogwarts for a second time made her emotional. There were so many good times, even with the innumerable bad times.

One of the more surprising elements of eighth year was watching Draco Malfoy change from an arrogant bastard to a helpful, almost kind… friend.

As she rounded a corner on her way to a moving staircase, Hermione saw him. The Draco Malfoy she'd known as early as the year prior was all but gone. He ducked down to help a first year Hufflepuff who was clearly upset. The little girl had tears in her eyes and as she explained to Malfoy what was wrong, she sniffed and rubbed her runny nose all over the sleeve of her cloak. Malfoy didn't so much as grimace at the sight of the little girl making a snotty mess everywhere. Hermione smiled.

"It's easy to get turned around in these corridors," Draco soothed her and squatted down in front of her. "Hufflepuff common room is down near the kitchens and you're on the fifth floor."

Draco used his hands to show the little girl where to go, and Hermione smiled as he gave her directions down each of the moving staircases, what to wait for, which portraits to speak to, and then he handed her a little slip of paper and sent her on her way.

Hermione approached Draco as he stood straight. He watched the little Hufflepuff descend the first staircase.

"You know, I never thought I'd see the day that Draco Malfoy would willingly help a Hufflepuff." Hermione chuckled when he startled.

"I stopped thinking of people in terms of their houses a while ago, Granger." He knocked shoulders with her and before she knew it, they were roaming the corridors side-by-side. Aimless.

"Are you going to miss it?" She asked as they reached the corridor leading to the dungeons. They both paused and Draco leaned against the wall with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He stared down at the shine of his dragonhide boots.

He nodded, tucking his chin with a small smile. "Yes. I haven't felt quite as safe anywhere else."

"I know exactly what you mean." Hermione matched his smile and put her back to the wall right beside him. "I will definitely miss it."

"You're not going to cry on me, are you, Granger?" He was teasing her, a playful lilt in his voice.

"Probably not." She rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder against him much like he'd done to her earlier.

They stared at one another for several quiet moments. She couldn't believe all that had changed over the past year. He was someone she'd grown to appreciate and knew that whatever friendship they had cultivated this year was going to last — for as long as he was alive. His voice was soft when he bid her goodnight and it took Hermione several moments to push herself from the wall and head back to the common room. Something nagged at her the entire way.

Draco's soul was unquestionably damned to Hell. It was her fault, her weakness that did it. Of course, he'd been desperate and she took advantage of it, but at the time she truly felt as if he deserved it for all of his crimes during the war. Now… Hermione sighed as she passed the library. She walked backward and stared at the door. Her hand reached out and turned the knob.

She wondered if there was a way to negate the deal that Draco made with her. If she could save him eternal damnation. Maybe once upon a time, he'd deserved to burn in Hell for his sins. But not anymore — certainly not at her hand.

Hermione pushed the door open and set to work in the restricted section. There had to be something —anything — to help her save Draco Malfoy's soul.

"It's called 'The Belonging,'" Hermione whispered. "I found it in a book I…borrowed from the Headmistress' private library after I turned out empty-handed in the Restricted Section."

Draco suppressed a smile at the evidence of guilt on her cheeks.

"It's rumored to be the spell that bound the first House Elves with wizardkind." A cloud passed over her features. "It binds two beings together. Irrevocably."

Draco frowned. "How?"

"From what I could decipher of the ancient text, it allows the witch or wizard to take full ownership of the other's soul. Their essences, their fates—all intertwined."

"But our souls already belong to others," Draco said bitterly. "Yours to the devil, and mine to Hell."

Hermione shook her head. "This spell—if it works, it will erase all other claims on the soul. We'll be free of them. Free of our obligations."

"Only to belong to each other." He held her hand between his. "Are you sure about this? Granger—Hermione—this is going to be forever. Are you sure you won't rather be tied to the devil himself?"

She reached over, tracing his cheekbone with the tips of her fingers. His skin tingled at her touch. "What's the old saying?" she murmured. "'Better the devil you know?'" She gave him a watery smile. "What about you? Do you want to do this? Bind yourself to me?"

He held her gaze as he brought her hand to his lips, a ghost of a kiss on her knuckles. "It will be my honor," he said roughly.

The smile on her face grew brighter, and hope swelled in his chest.

"Let's do this," he said, "before that mangy mutt comes bursting through the door."

Her face fell. "About that…"

There was no sneaking around that time. No ambush; no taking the hellhound by surprise. They ran to Hermione's compartment with two goals: find the book lying at the bottom of her trunk, and recite the incantation before either of them gets killed or reaped.

"This was a bad idea!" Hermione yelled as they tore down the corridor. The hellhound, which had been prowling down the train, hunting them, nipped at their heels.

"Almost there," Draco huffed. He pedaled his legs faster, dragging her behind him.

They reached her long-abandoned compartment, and he slammed the door as soon as she cleared the threshold. The hellhound crashed against it in the next instant.

"Hurry," Draco said as he flicked his wand over the door. He threw up ward after ward, hoping that they would hold fast.

Hermione climbed a bench and pulled her trunk down from the shelf. She popped it open and shoveled through her clothes, pulling out a scuffed leather book. "I got it!"

Draco scrambled away from the door and knelt beside her. She shuffled through the yellowed pages. Draco bent forward, squinting at the nearly faded writing. "What the fuck? It's not even Latin!"

The door trembled as though the hellhound threw its immense body against it. It filled the compartment with heart-stopping growls.

"No," she muttered as she flipped through the pages. "It's Sumerian."

He pulled back, staring at her in awe. "You can read Sumerian?"

Hermione flashed him an irritated look. "I was bored!" With a grunt, she focused on the pages. "Are you going to let me work, or are you—ah! Here it is!" She spread the book open on the floor, pointing to the passage written in cuneiform.

As if the hellhound knew what they were doing, it released a vicious snarl and battered the door. A crack splintered along the hinges.

"We have to do it together. Are you ready?" she asked.

Draco nodded, reaching for her hand, steadying her trembling fingers.

"Repeat after me," she whispered. "Nadanu shi-ani…"

He echoed her, phrase after phrase. Although he did not understand the words, his soul knew the truth in the incantation.

Give your soul to me freely.

Bind yourself to me wholly.

Belong to me forevermore.

With each syllable from his lips, he felt coiling in his chest, like a snake readying to strike.

And as that feeling compressed and tightened, the pounding at the door grew more violent. The hellhound howled, hammering the entire wall with its body.

"—simtum darisam!"

The coil in his chest sprung with such force that it knocked the wind from his lungs. He doubled over; in the periphery of his vision, Hermione had also fallen forward, her forehead pressed to the floor.

Outside, the hellhound released a long, sorrowful whine.

And then, there was silence.

After an agonizing moment, his chest sucked in air. He coughed, his throat raw. "Are you all right?"

"I—yes, I think so." Hermione sat back on her heels, gulping in air. "You?"

He nodded, eyes cutting to the still and silent doorway. "Is it gone?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, brows furrowed in concentration. "I think so," she murmured. "I can't feel it anymore. I can only feel—" Her eyes snapped open.

He met her gaze squarely. He felt it, too. Like a taut line from his frantically beating heart to hers. Briefly, he closed his eyes and reached for that connection, strong and bright and eternal. "I guess it worked," he said in awe.

Draco held out a palm; waited.

After a heartbeat, her hand slid into his grasp.

The train arrived at King's Cross on time.

Students flitted about excitedly, passing gossip from cluster to cluster—of how those Gryffindor troublemakers pulled a final prank, locking the students inside the compartments for the duration of the trip as they made a ruckus out in the corridors.

Nearly destroyed a compartment, too.

Hermione stood side-by-side with Draco as they gazed at the Hogwarts Express.

"As train rides go," Draco mused, "I've had better."

Her lips quirked up into a small grin. "Believe it or not, I've had worse."

He glanced at her sidelong, cocking an eyebrow.

"Dementors," she said by way of explanation.

"Ah. The perks of being Boy Lightning's friend." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Off to see him and the Weasel, then?"

She poked him with her elbow as she faced him. "I'm due at my parents'. But I will be seeing them soon." Uneasiness settled on her shoulders, making her fidget. "Though, perhaps, you should come with me when I do."

He stilled, his face carefully blank.

She took a deep breath. "We should probably explain to them sooner rather than later that I'm your…" She glanced at the sky, trying to find the right word. Soulmate? Bonded? Those terms felt both overwhelming and inadequate at the same time.

He stared at her, unblinking.

"Yours," she said, the word feeling right on her tongue.

A shy smile bloomed on his face. He nodded. "Just tell me when, and I'll be there."

Her shoulders sagged with relief.

"Draco!" Near the entrance, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy waved to their son.

He nudged his chin towards them. "I guess I should go for now."

Hermione bit her lip, nodding once.

Draco stared at her a moment longer before taking a step backwards. "I'll see you, Granger."

She released her lip. "Yeah. See you."

With a nod farewell, he turned around and sauntered to where his parents waited. And as space grew between them, the invisible line connecting them stretched and stretched, familiar and agonizing in its own way. She watched him greet his parents—shared a warm embrace with his father and bent down to receive a tender kiss on the temple from his mother.

His carefree smile filled her heart with happiness. He glanced back at her as though he felt it, too.

Her bonded.

Her soulmate.

Hers. Forever.

She pressed a palm over her chest, where he tugged at her heart. "So it begins."