Hi, I know it's been a while, and I'm super sorry! I hope you'll read and enjoy, but please read this warning just super quick. This is seriously fucked up for me, I think. I'm sure there way darker fics, but when I sat down to write this today, I was not expecting what came from my fingers. This is torture, murder, creating a Horcrux, some fucked up smut (not non-con) and I would just read with caution in case any of that is a potential trigger, or not read at all.

She knows that there's a manic look about her. Her hair is wild, her curls twining together, and Malfoy's gaze drops from her face to her wand back to her face, and interestingly settles on her lips. A smirk curves her lips, a smug little smile as she crosses and uncrosses her legs. "Who sent you?"

His reply is instant, rolling off the tip of his tongue and she likes that he hadn't hesitated even a second. "Shacklebolt."

Hermione laughs. "Oh, Kingsley? Tell me, how long did it take him to realise it was me leaving a trail of bodies." His face pales, and she continues while crossing her legs, still comfortably sitting in the armchair. "Really, Malfoy, I'm only curious. It's impolite to keep a lady waiting."

He swallows, his hand falling to his side, and God, does he think he's inconspicuous as he reaches for his wand? Malfoy's wand sails from his hand as she flicks her own, rolling across the old wood floor. "You're admitting it then?"

She shrugs, tabling her wand. "I don't think there is anything to admit. I've made myself rather clear, haven't I? The Order is terrified, Death Eaters are terrified—"

"Granger, you're fucking insane." He spits the words out, and regret instantly crosses over his face. "To answer your question, it didn't take very long. Not for me, anyway. No one else wanted to believe it." He takes a step toward her, his footsteps heavy as if they're weighed down by lead. "You were their golden girl, Brightest Witch of the Age; you ripped Potter's heart out."

Hermione's kept tabs on Harry. She knows how he is, how broken and grief-stricken he is by her sudden departure and subsequent betrayal. She pretends to swallow a lump in her throat, too delighted by Malfoy's jumpiness.

He thinks I'm going to kill him.

I doubt I will, but perhaps it would be beneficial to keep a tiny bit of his fear alive.

"I know I did," Hermione says, her voice thick while she taps her fingers casually against the armrest. "You were the first to figure it out, weren't you?"

He's a tiny bit smug, and he has no control over how it flashes across his face. "It's only because I discovered Aunt Bella's body. Once I saw the next body, it was only a well-educated guess."

Hermione's drawn to the terrible gaze that adorns his face. It's a terrible thing to be subjected to Fenrir Greyback. The scars are old now, but she wonders… Hermione stands from her seat, pitying the way he flinches and looks for his wand in a panic. "I'm not going to kill you." Her voice is soft as she comes to stand in front of him.

He stares down at her—a full head taller and then some—incredulously. "You expect me to believe that?"

She reaches up, and he catches her wrist. "Stop." Hermione whispers. "I want to help you."

His laugh is harsh and cruel, and she's overcome by the fact that she wants to hear it again. "How the fuck are you going to help me? I'm not going to throw my lot in with another psychopath after I've finally gotten away from another."

Hermione rolls her eyes. "I'm not a psychopath, Malfoy. I have a plan. Once I'm done," she shrugs. "Then I'm done."

He jerks away from her. "What the fuck does that mean?" Panic must be crawling up inside of him because she sees the way his body goes completely rigid. "Both sides are searching for you. You've really gone around the bin if you think you can just leave." His hand is still gripping her wrist. "You're better off if you return to the Order."

She arches an eyebrow. "I thought you said I was inherently dangerous, far too dangerous to ever be allowed back into the Order?" As his face drains of colour, his hand slips, and Hermione gingerly reaches up to trace the scar that had split his face open.

"How do you know—what are you doing?" He doesn't make a move to stop her, and he shivers below her touch. "Granger, I'm not sure what sort of fucking freak you've turned out to be, but get your hands off of me."

Neither of them is surprised when she doesn't let her hand fall away. "Did he punish you by allowing Greyback to maul you?" She thinks that it's the moment where Malfoy is going to strike her, and she'll have no choice but to retaliate.

There's still a taboo on the name, and most people are still too frightened to even think the name, but she's delighted to find Malfoy doesn't care. "Voldemort punished my father for his repeated failures." Or perhaps, he does still care considering the way his head whips around.

"There isn't a Death Eater besides Voldemort himself that could tear down my wards. Scream his name if you like."

"Since when did you have time to put up wards?" He hisses, taking a harsh step toward her.

The backs of her knees meet the edge of the bed. "I've been following you." She admits, her stomach turning as he silently questions the fact. "It was humorous to watch you search for me while I was just behind you. The second you stepped out, I entered this room. As I said, it's impolite to keep a lady waiting, and you did just that."

He grips her shoulders, his nails digging into her skin through the thin jumper she wore. "As I said, you're not much of a lady anymore, if you ever were."

Hermione blinks, her eyes dropping toward the scar. She can help if he'll let her. "Yes, I'm a murderer. Might we move past that now? I want to heal that scar."

Malfoy comedically stumbles away from her, his eyes widening. "You'd probably kill me if you got me under your wand. Not bloody likely, Granger."

She takes a seat on the bed, the blankets soft below her palms. "Dittany couldn't heal it."

He shakes his head.

"But I could."

He doesn't ask for an explanation.

He must know she's going to give one anyway. "There's a spell for it." She trails off. "It's dark in nature, I suppose, since it eats away the effects of dark curses. Werewolves are typically considered dark creatures." Except for Remus, she thinks, who had always been kind to her. "It would probably work."

Malfoy scoffs.

The room is silent around them. After realising she wasn't going to leave, for reasons she certainly didn't disclose to Malfoy, he stayed awake until he couldn't anymore.

Hermione wakes the second the bed dips blow her, and she wants to sigh. He's going to try and disarm her, incapacitate her so he can haul her back to the Order so they can use her as a personal dog of war. She rolls quickly onto her side, grinning at the shock crossing his face as she pins him. "I'm not going back to the Order. I thought that was obvious." She mutters.

His wand falls from his hand, clattering to the floor while she holds his hands over his head. "I don't give a shite what you want. You're coming back."

She shakes her head. "I'm not, and neither should you. They're using you. Surely you know that. You're expendable to them, Malfoy, a little boy who just wants to prove himself."

He slams his forehead against her chin, busting her lip.

A gasp tears free of her throat when he gathers her wrists in one hand and holds them down so roughly that it might leave bruises across her skin. "Fuck you," he growls. "I have nothing to prove to the Order."

She doesn't move. She doesn't need to. It's not as if he's going to murder her, and she's sure she can turn this in her favour. "You're right," Hermione says. "That was callous, and I just wanted to get under your skin. Clearly, it worked."

He either muttered 'witch' or 'bitch'.

"Did Kingsley threaten your mother?" She asks. It's a whisper, and she's not worried about pushing him too far, but still, it won't help her to anger him. "It's something he would do. I'm sorry if he did."

Malfoy sighs. "Yes, it's the only reason I'm here."

"I could help."

"You keep saying that, but I'm not sure you have any idea what that means." He let her go, leaning back on his haunches as he still straddled her waist. "Out of curiosity, how are you sure you can help?"

Hermione tilts her head to the side. "It wouldn't be impossible to hide Narcissa. She's as safe with the Order as she is out in the open. You say you don't want to leave Voldemort to end up with the same, but you already have. The Order is threatening your mother if you fail. How is that any different?"

His throat bobs as he swallows. There it is!

"I'm not sure why I care, Malfoy," Hermione admits. "But they don't give a damn about you, or Narcissa. They didn't give a damn about me either when I woke up, and suddenly everything had shifted two feet to the right, and I didn't fit so neatly into their plans anymore."

He bit his lower hip, and Hermione thinks it can't be this easy, but it is. He's been on the cusp of something for months, something darker and twisted, and all he'd needed was a miniscule push to send him right over the edge. "I'm not risking her unless we can get her out first."

That's the easy part. As far as Hermione is concerned, convincing Malfoy to come to her side had been the hard part.

Breaking into Order headquarters isn't exactly easy, Hermione is forced to admit.

So they don't.

Hermione agrees to pretend he's taking her in like a ridiculous prize, but only if he agrees to an Unbreakable Vow. She insists that she can't be too cautious when he's offended. She acts as their bonder since she's not making a single promise to him. In the middle of the forest on the outer rim just beyond the wards, Draco Malfoy swears he'll never turn her over to the Order.

"You're sure about this?" He looks at her, his lips a deep red from his constant chewing. "There's going to be a lot of them, Granger. Can you get us out?"

She rolls her shoulders. "Get yourself and your mother out. Let me worry about myself." Hermione gathers her cloak around her. "You remember the rendezvous point after you get her to safety?"

He nods as he glares at her. "I'm not leaving without you."

"Careful, you might think you truly care."

Narcissa Malfoy is dead.

Draco is going to rip the Order out of the ground, root and stem.

These are both things that Hermione knows within the half hour he leads her into the building. There are several members there to watch her, but Harry isn't among them.

The brutal revelation comes within moments as she sits inside the cell while waiting for a signal to fight her way out. In truth, Hermione would only attach the dark artifact she'd stowed in the pocket of her cloak to a wall and then she would escape through the hole in caused.

Draco slams the door open, kicking it shut behind him. "Shacklebolt is dead. We need to go before they bring the building down on our heads."

She doesn't ask if there are other casualties. She knows there are, and Hermione knows that she likely doesn't care who's died anyway. He grabs the artifact from her pocket, slamming it against the wall so harshly she thinks it might crack in his hands.

Hermione taps her wand to it as he casts a protective shield around them.

It's lucky that the Apparition wards haven't been disabled before he grabs her arm and rips her out of the scenery.

Inevitably, the news spreads. Narcissa had been killed in an Order raid, in which Kingsley used the woman as bait. Branded a traitor from the Death Eaters, it made for easy bait. She wasn't supposed to die, the Order said, but the wind carried away their flippant excuses.

Hotels didn't serve them anymore, not when the Order was actively hunting them both. Draco brings them from Malfoy property to another until one just outside of Sussex strikes something in Hermione. The wards are strong, inter-woven by combined magic, and it'll hold, Hermione thinks.

She gives him space for several days, days that turn into two weeks, and Hermione passes the time by reading ancient books she's never found in the Malfoy library. There are several darker texts, and she smooths down the page on Horcruxes while sunlight pours through the window.

Draco leans on the back of her chair, his finger idly twisting a loose curl around it. Chills spread across her neck as he pulls on the strand. He's pulled too harshly for it to be a mistake. "Horcruxes?" He murmurs, his hand sliding over her shoulder, pulling her jumper to the side as he rubs slow circles into her skin. "You already know all about those."

Hermione tilts her head back, hopeful he won't remove his hand. "Oh, yes,"

He bends down, his breath fanning across her ear. Draco lifts the necklace hanging from her neck. "You wouldn't, wouldn't you?" He's smirking as he lets it fall back to her chest, his fingers drifting up to trace her clavicle. "Who did you murder for it?" Before she can answer, Draco circles the chair, taking her hand in his before leading her to the sofa.

Hermione sits next to him. "Skeeter."

He chuckles before pulling her into his lap. "I thought so. Her body positively reeked of dark magic."

She shivers as his fingers slide up her sides. "You left that book out for me to find."

Draco dips his head down, his lips skimming her jaw, and she desperately wants to turn her head and meet his lips with hers, but he keeps her in place by roughly gripping her jaw. "I did." He admits, and she's certain she's going to catch fire while seated in his lap. "Have you put together why yet?"

Hermione had her suspicions. "You—" A moan left her as he bit down at the hollow of her throat, his hands gripping her hips so fucking roughly that she was sure to feel it later. She grinds her hips down on him, eager for him to rid her of any clothing she wore, and fuck her into the sofa. Distracted by her thoughts, she's only brought down by him pinching her nipple through her shirt, through her bra, and she whines.

His eyes are dark as he peers up at her. "I asked you a question." The last word is accented by him cupping her breast through her shirt, and she's so close to vanishing their clothes herself.

It's been weeks of barely there touches. She's walked in on him while he's in the shower, leaned against the wall while his hair sticks to his forehead and his hand is gripping his thick cock.

"You want to make a Horcrux," Hermione replies, tangling her fingers in his hair. "I just haven't put together why." She assumes it's because dark magic is seductive, but there's a small—much weaker—part of her that hopes if he does create one, they might find something.

His hand presses to her cunt through the denim of her jeans, and she's suddenly furious she hadn't worn a skirt today. "Have you ever belonged to someone?"

She gasps, grinding down on his hand as his fingers wrap around her throat. Hermione holds his gaze, as dark as it is, and she pressed his hand harder to her throat. "I thought I did once." It's a lifetime ago, the Chamber of Secrets with Ron, the way he hated her after she woke up. "I was wrong. I've never belonged to anyone."

It's enthralling—dizzying—intoxicating the way he smiles at her. If it were directed at anyone but her, it would be cruel, but she's addicted to the soft curve of his lips, and she wants them pressed to every inch of her body. "You're mine." Draco's fingers leave her gasping as they close around her throat, and her head falls back as she revels in the lack of oxygen. "You're fucking mine, Hermione."

His hand leaves her throat, and she lunges at him. It's scratching her nails down his back as she tears his shirt over his head. She bites his lip until he rips her head back by burying his fingers in her unruly hair, and his cock is hard, pressed against her inner thigh while she's begging for him to fuck her into the cushions.

Draco laughs, and murmurs, "Not yet."

She wants to argue but decides to climb off his lap instead. Hermione sinks to her knees in front of him, caged in by his legs on either side of her. Her fingers delicately fumble with his trousers as she preens below him. "Have you thought about who you'd like to use? You only have your first time once."

Draco might have laughed at her, had he not been watching her take his cock into her hand. She's unable to wrap her hand all the way around it. "Yes." His voice is garbled. "My father." He mutters.

Hermione strokes him slowly, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "Do you know where he is?"

"Malfoy Manor," Draco growls. "Will you watch?" His fingers curl into her hair, wrapping the strands around his fist several times.

She nods, leaning forward. Hermione relishes in the long groan that leaves him her tongue swipes across the tip. She takes him into her mouth, rolling her tongue against the underside of his thick cock, until it hits the back of her throat.

"Fucking hell," Draco rasps. "Such a good girl for me." He hisses.

Hermione moans around his cock, swallowing while taking him to the back of her throat until her eyes water. He's telling her how pretty she is on her knees while deep throating his cock like she's so fucking greedy for it.

And she is.

"Will you let me fuck your throat, Hermione?"

She pulls away, wiping her mouth before he can tell her not to. Hermione swallows. "I don't want you to ask." It's a whisper.

His fingers tighten and he yanks her head forward. Hermione takes his cock eagerly. "Play with your cunt." He orders, and she's relieved to unzip her jeans so she can slip her hand inside. "Good fucking girl. That's it. Ride your fingers while you wish my cock was splitting you open."

He says he'll let her come when he does. Hermione's frantic to come all over her fingers, eager to swallow him as he fills her mouth, and she's never wanted someone so badly in her life.

Hermione tips over the edge, sinking two fingers inside of herself while the heel of her palm rubs against her clit.

Draco is smirking when she swallows his come. He leans forward and wipes his come from the side of her mouth and watches darkly as she takes the finger into her mouth, sucking it clean.

She thinks Lucius Malfoy is an absolute fucking fool for not finding a way to remove Draco from the wards that protect Malfoy Manor. Still, Draco is a Malfoy, and they're only blood wards. He holds her hands as the world begins to spin and it spits them out in the drawing room. She recognises it, and the hair on her arms stand on end.

His lips brush the shell of her ear. "I'm going to torture him here." Draco murmurs. "He'll go through everything you were forced to." She swallows, her heart pounding in a vicious delight. His hand slides up her back, cupping her neck. "Wait on the sofa."

Hermione is reminded of the words constant vigilance as she sits there, her wand tightly clutched in her grip. One could not be too careful, she supposes. Hermione hadn't like the plan of Draco leaving her, not when he truly didn't know who else might be inside the manor.

She's relieved when he re-enters the room, Lucius' body floating behind him, and it's clear he's been knocked unconscious. The lock clicks into place behind them, the sound flooding her ears as her heartbeat is terribly loud.

Draco deposits Lucius in the middle of the floor, just where she had been the year previously. "Renervate." Staring down the end of Draco's wand, the man doesn't make a single movement.

Hermione waves her wand. "Incarcerous." Ropes wrench out of the floor, binding the man in place by his wrists and ankles. She plans to stay perfectly in place, as this is Draco's moment, and he nods to her before the first spell leaves him. Her wand lays in her lap, and she brushes the hair from her face.

"Crucio," Draco hisses, tearing his wand through the movements.

Lucius' body seizes under the effects of the curse. He's already so broken, his eyes sunken into his skull, and he's sallow, what colour he might have had already had left him. And Merlin, he screams. She doesn't expect for him to, not when he's likely been put under the curse several times before by the Dark Lord himself.

She knows how it feels for your blood to burn inside of you, for how it feels to have your very soul attempting to claw its way out of your grossly broken body. Hermione watches, biting down on her lip, as Draco summons a familiar knife.

Bile rises in her throat as the memory bubbles up. True, she could have healed her scars, those from Bellatrix and Dolohov, and the rest of the war, but she'd left them. Draco's left his, waving off her offer to attempt healing.

Lucius strains against the the ropes, begging for Draco to stop. Only, his words are slurred together so badly that neither Hermione nor Draco know what he's saying. Until Draco recognises one word, "Mudblood."

The dagger digs into Lucius' arm, dipping just below the skin, and blood begins to openly flow down his arm. Hermione doesn't know what Draco's carving, or if he's carving anything at all. While she'd carved a replica of her own scar into Bellatrix, she has no idea what Draco's planned.

It becomes clear over the next hour, as Draco heals the wounds before cracking them open once more, that there is no word, not at all. She sinks to the floor, wanting to go to Draco's side as the flood below him is drenched in blood.

Lucius begs for death, and he gurgles for it when Draco splits his mouth open, remarking that he truly does look like his father.

He dies too early for Draco's liking, but the Horcrux is made nonetheless, and Draco slides his signet ring onto his finger.

Draco cleans the blood from his hands before joining her in their bedroom. Shortly after their time on the sofa, Draco had asked her to sleep at his side, and she'd never left.

She sits in the middle of the bed in only her knickers and a shirt of his that he'd left hanging over the chair. Still sitting on her knees, Hermione watches as he towel dries his hair, water running down his chest. "How do you feel?" She calls.

The bed dips below his knee and Draco sits on his knees just before her. "Powerful." He murmurs, reaching up to cup her face. "Addicted."

She knew. "No more than one," Hermione whispers.

He nods. Draco reaches down, gripping the hem of her shirt as he pulls it over her head. He stares at her bare breasts, nudging her to lay back across the bed. "Good girl."

She shivers when he presses his lips to the hem of her knickers, slowly kissing up her belly. Her fingers clutch the blankets below her as he nears her breasts. Draco kisses the space between her breasts, moving to take her right nipple into his mouth while he pinches the other. His knee presses between her legs, rubbing against her cunt through her knickers.

"Oh, fuck," she slides her fingers through his still wet hair, her back arching. "Draco, you're teasing."

He shakes his head, water droplets dripping to her collarbone. "I'm enjoying you." His words are muffled by her skin, but she's jarred when he suddenly freezes. "What is this from?" He traces a path of her scar earned in the Department of Mysteries. "Hermione, who did this to you?"

She gulps, nerves flooding her. "Dolohov," Hermione whispers. She moves to cover her chest. She's not ashamed of her scars, but she's—fuck, she's scared he might find it horrifying. Which is ridiculous. "In the Department of Mysteries, there was a battle, and I was hit by an unknown curse. If Neville hadn't silenced him…" She didn't need to say it.

He pulls her arm from her chest, lowering his head and he kisses every inch of the terrible, waxy scar. "I'm going to kill him." Draco murmurs. "I'll split him in half."

She's trembling, wrapping her arms around him. "His name is the last one on the list," Hermione whispers into his neck. "I just want him dead."

Last on the list, she repeats to herself.

The matter isn't forgotten, but Draco tears her knickers from her, slipping his hand between her legs. His fingers find her clit first, rubbing slowly as he watches her eyes flutter shut and she writhes below him. "Fuck." He rasps. Draco bites her lower lip as he kisses her, his fingers tracing her slick folds before pumping two fingers inside of her, and the heel of his palm repeatedly rubbing the sensitive nub.

Her legs fall open as he settles between them, and she urges him forward by wrapping her legs around his waist. "Please, Draco, please." Hermione finds that she doesn't want to wait, not for a second longer.

The head of his cock presses to her entrance, and then he slides into her in a hard movement.

She can hardly complain considering it was what she wanted. Hermione shrieks, throwing her head back and her eyes screwing shut as her walls flutter around him. She pants his name as he stills, giving her a moment, and she digs her heels into the bottom of his back. "Please fuck me."

Hermione doesn't have to ask twice. He sets a punishing pace as she quivers, gasping and digging her hands into her hair while he moves her legs to rest over his shoulders.

He whispers in her ear that her cunt is so tight around him, that he likes the way her tits bounce with each thrust, and Hermione knows that she's going to fall apart any second. She drags his hand to her throat, pleading without saying a word.

Draco's fingers wrap around her throat, and she's gone.

In the early morning hours of Christmas, they decide what to do once her list is finished. Hermione is draped across his chest, still nude from their early morning fuck, and she's already rubbing herself against him for another.

"I don't want to stay here. There's nothing here." Hermione says. There's light streaming through the window, cutting across her back. "It's too risky for us to stay here while the Wizarding World is still in the middle of a war."

Draco brushes hair from her shoulders, dragging his tongue across the bruises that have formed on her shoulder. "Do these hurt?"

She shakes her head. "My arse however.."

He massages the skin there. "I agree. There's nothing here for us, but we'll be considered fugitives no matter where we go."

She's thought of that. Hermione had thought of it immediately after Lucius died, and it painted the headlines. "We'll probably spend the rest of our lives on the run," Hermione admits. "We'll never be able to have true careers no matter where we go, but...what if we were hit wizards? Not here, of course."

Draco's fingers dance along her spine. "Where do you have in mind?"

"America." She swallows a moan as his fingers slip between their bodies and find her sore clit. "Their communications with Great Britain are strained right now due to the war. They believe we're falling apart."

"They are," Draco says, clearly planning to bring her off on his fingers while she's talking. "You've thought about this."

"It's the best option. Eventually, the war will end, and they will patch their relationship, but that's possibly years away. We'll need to assume new identities, but… Oh!" Draco flips her onto her back and slides down her body.

Two fingers pump into her, and his tongue slides across her clit, tracing it until she shatters above him. "America then?" He smirks.

She nods, catching her breath as she straddles him. "We'll need to get our affairs in order." Hermione murmurs, sinking down on his cock.

"Later," he manages.

Originally, there was a scene where they torture Dolohov, and there is some seriously fucked up smut amidst the torture. I made the decision to end it this way because it was what I wanted to do, but since it's alluded to in this last part, I wanted to explain myself. There we are, the end of my first dark fic and Hermione and Draco are off to be hit wizards. Would this have ever happened in canon? No, but it was certainly fun to play with.

I'd really love to hear what you thought!