┗|｀O′|┛

You have to fix everything, Miss Granger: his every move and word. We need to know everything about him.

Fix.

Everything.

Miss Granger.

These words stuck in Hermione's head and buzzed no worse than an annoying swarm of bees. Minerva insistently asked her to follow Malfoy, who had already been interning at Durmstrang for six months, because she was simply afraid of any possible problems with the Ministry. McGonagall's appointment as headmaster was undoubtedly the right decision, but if the children of the Death Eaters make a mess at their home school for Christmas, she is unlikely to get off with a simple reprimand. Who would have thought that the chair of the head of the British school of magic would become such an attractive trophy.

After the war, the surrounding world, in principle, has undergone quite strong changes. And not all of them were for the better. Of course, nothing compares to the widespread oppression of Muggle-borns last year, but the measures of current officials against those who were somehow connected with Voldemort were sometimes striking in their cruelty. Everyone wanted blood and circuses, and no one wanted to listen to each other. One of such stupid consequences was the strange decision of the Wizengamot regarding the children of Death Eaters.

For one year they were sent to other magic schools for a kind of re-education. For many of them, for example Draco Malfoy, this course was the last one at all. Hermione found such maneuvers very suspicious. It was as if the court was looking for ways to delay the decision on their rehabilitation and send the problem literally far away. But not the total cold of the North, not the remote areas of France, and especially not the progressive States are not able to eviscerate from these people all the rage accumulated towards the magical world.

It will be Christmas in a week, but all Granger should care about now is the condition of some blond ferret. No matter how much Hermione wants to fix something, she is part of an imperfect, but still a system, and she needs to fulfill certain requirements to keep this leaky ship afloat. After all, the girl didn't come back to school to complain in vain. All evening, as always, she intends to sit in the library preparing for the TOAD - right after she calculates the location of Malfoy and sends him to spend the night in the dormitory.

***

They sent him here for Christmas. To Hogwarts. To the fucking school. Because some poor court decided so. Content with worthless rules, he is going to consider him under a magnifying glass, like another laboratory rat. Funny. As if a few months in Durmstrang would really change him. They would expose all the problems and heal every unhealed wound. If they really think so, then they should enroll in Mungo — and it's better to go straight to complex therapy.

To their great happiness, he still changed a little, but only outwardly. The red uniform, which now replaced the usual emerald shades, contrasted vividly with his pale skin, creating the illusion of healthy pinkish reflections on his face. It was a perfect visual deception, capable of depriving him of the image of a beaten guy for a while. As if he cared. He completely stopped caring about manners and other stupid ethics and did not allow himself to remove even a slight unshaven. Salazar, someday he should grow a beard no worse than Merlin's, and then he will be able to successfully disguise himself from these unambiguous evil looks of others. It was like a plan. So far, the only sensible one.

Mom would definitely have said that he had matured if she hadn't been under house arrest like some guilty schoolgirl. Saint Potter was never able to completely save his sinful mother from punishment. A year of home confinement and a whole life without the right to leave the UK for a woman who lied to a Lord for the sake of the Chosen One. Rejoice, wizards. Fucking justice is in place.

***

Hermione bit her lip and, after weighing the pros and cons once again, opened the Marauders' map. Harry stuffed this outrageously illegal piece of paper into her suitcase, assuring her that she would certainly need it. It would have been better if a friend with the same speed was going to fill in the gaps with her and return to the seventh year, but the war and resounding success forced Weasley and Potter to shift their priorities from studying forever. As if they had ever been there.

She had already walked around the dungeons several times and risked a careful look into the men's restrooms, but Malfoy, damn it, was nowhere to be found. It was almost bedtime, and if she didn't find him, her conscience wouldn't allow her to lie to McGonagall that everything was fine. The director trusted her, and the last thing Hermione allowed herself in life was to disappoint her loved ones. Besides, deep down, she, like McGonagall, feared that Malfoy was really capable of doing something terrible. And no, she wasn't driven by silly prejudices about the offspring of Death Eaters—she wasn't guided by anything other than what she had already learned about Draco during their painfully long years of acquaintance. And this was enough with the head to decide.

The wand hesitantly touched the yellowed paper — and on that immediately, one by one, painfully familiar names began to appear. Lunatic, Elk, Tramp and Tail. She had always been amused by these nicknames, but now that absolutely all the wizards on this list were dead, Granger couldn't hold back a heavy sigh. The world was drowning in losses, and she unwittingly drowned with him. The girl opened the map, distracting herself from bad thoughts, and meticulously circled the plan of the endless corridors of the school with her eyes. Godric. Has Hogwarts always been so huge?

Hermione carefully touched several names scattered across the floors. There weren't many of them, because officially everyone should be in the dormitories after lights out. Only for a couple of teachers, among whom was Slughorn, proudly pacing near the kitchen, there were some exceptions. She could have sworn that he was demanding fresh cakes from the elves again. The professor was incorrigible.

The girl smiled at her guess and continued to run her eyes over the few inscriptions. It looks like she missed a couple in love on the third floor. The intruders were able to hide in a small niche when Hermione passed by. The previous Granger would certainly have rushed to take away their points, but now she had no desire to go back there and lecture them. After the war, she did not look at all like that strict headman, about whom there were legends in the living rooms of the faculties. To put it mildly, her moral priorities have long shifted.

Finally, she stumbled upon the seventh floor of the castle and saw the name of Draco Malfoy evaporate right into the air. It could only mean one thing.

He was in the Rescue Room.

***

While the Gryffindor was climbing up a lot of stairs, it seemed to her that she had formed a very clear idea. But when Hermione got as close as possible to her goal, she suddenly began to hesitate. Granger had been staring at the beige brickwork for a couple of minutes, as if it could actually help. It was sickening to think about what made Draco retire to such a place. She knew perfectly well that if she really wanted to see him, the castle would certainly create a door for her and let her through to him. But Hermione didn't really want that.

She was driven by a sense of duty to the director and a tiny excitement. Unlike his friends, who were happy to return to the walls of their native school for Christmas, Malfoy for some reason behaved more detached than before. And it looked... suspicious.

There were incredibly few students in the Great Hall this year. The hard years of the war and the understandable fear of parents to send their children to a school that had just been restored after the destruction and battle affected. But thanks to such a small number of people, she perfectly saw the tables of other faculties, even in the midst of dinner. Draco was sitting next to his friends in a bright Durmstrang uniform among other Slytherins, and Hermione could see behind his back every minute he had suffered, as if someone was scrolling through a gloomy calendar in all unpleasant details. The face was a little haggard, and unshaven did not bother the former guardian of style at all. He had changed, and she didn't enjoy it at all.

Anyone who had the courage to look at Malfoy with her would easily have noticed how exhausted Draco was, she couldn't help but feel sorry for him. Although Granger shouldn't feel that way about him at all. He didn't deserve to be treated like that by her. If Draco hadn't let the Death Eaters into the school that day, a year ago, things might have been different. Dozens of her loved ones would have survived. And Hermione sincerely wanted to believe it. But unlike her friends, she very clearly saw hundreds of other options that could certainly be the same beginning of the end as Malfoy's prank. He was just a pawn in this terrible game, and the worst thing was that whoever controlled him always played black.

She needed to make sure that everything was in order, even in a relative way. After all, Hermione had done it a thousand times. Risked for a better goal despite the frightening consequences. And to see what Malfoy was doing in the Rescue Room was at the very bottom of this immodest list. With these thoughts, she finally closed her eyes, so that the next second, she would see a wrought-iron door in front of her.

***

Hermione staggered slightly and instinctively put her hand to her chest, exhaling tensely. What she saw clearly did not match her expectations. The girl was ready to catch him doing something vile, obscene and, perhaps, even illegal. But Draco was lying relaxed on his Durmstrang cloak, with brown fur tucked under his head, surrounded by several worn-out folios.

If Granger had not been the best in the course, she would have considered it some kind of mysterious ritual, but she already knew about all the effective and dangerous ones, and it was like nothing else. Apparently, Malfoy has set up his own personal library here.

His first thought was to go to the door and get out before he found her, but the girl would not spoil him with such luxury. Because of him, she absurdly wandered around the castle instead of studying for exams, and he simply has to pay for it.

Hermione deliberately cleared her throat loudly in an attempt to disturb Malfoy's sleep and attract his attention.

«Have some tea, Granger, what a wheeze».

She flinched at his comment, but immediately pulled herself together. What else could she expect from him, except for another sarcasm.

«What are you doing here, Malfoy? It's time for you to be in the dorm», Hermione said with all the severity appropriate for this scoundrel.

In fact, she wasn't lying: the evening rounds had already begun, and the rules regarding rehabilitated students were much tougher than usual. Of course, due to Draco's age, she could not pay attention to it, but she would not make exceptions after his bad reaction.

«I'm sorry, Miss Granger, I'm going to be a little late».

Amazingly, this little bastard still hasn't opened his eyes. He also lazily lay on the floor and answered her sharply, as if he wanted to quickly get a splinter out of his ass.

«I have to insist».

It became a matter of principle. His behavior was outrageous and inappropriate. But in her heart, Hermione felt like she didn't look any better right now. Probably, in their desperate attempts to push him out, it is more than ridiculous. To heighten the effect, she could only stamp her foot threateningly.

It's just Malfoy and his rudeness. Absolutely nothing new. Practically a classic.

Pull yourself together.

Draco propped himself up on his elbows, instantly opening his penetrating eyes. Merlin, wish he hadn't opened them. This silver sheen was worse than snake venom. She could feel how any part of the skin that he glanced at was covered with light burns. Just about - and it will be able to dig into the skin.

«Insist»? - he grinned. Really grinned. Reclining. Maliciously studying her face. «Try it, Granger».

Draco crossed his legs, watching her from the bottom up. She was even physically taller than him at that moment, and the wand in her hand was noticeably warming her cold palm in front of an absolutely unarmed Malfoy, but the girl hesitated. She was curious about what the Slytherin was doing here. She couldn't throw him out of here with the books without asking about anything. The girl increasingly caught herself on this feeling of light recklessness. It bubbled in her and demanded exhaust, at least the slightest splash. Hermione used to write it off to the fact that her banal sense of adventure in life was not enough for her. Apparently, she managed to get hooked on risks, no matter how much she tried to deny it.

«What did you read»? Hermione looked at the books surrounding Malfoy and returned to his eyes again. «Is this from the Restricted Section»?

Gryffindor did not expect to hear the truth from him — she just wanted to knock this arrogance of pathos off his aristocratic face.

«And what if yes», he raised his right eyebrow, challenging Granger, and she only now noticed that there was nothing under the red jute jacket: the neck and a thin strip of pale skin peeked out from under the poorly buttoned uniform. Godric, the toughest magic school in the world in terms of discipline, and she could not teach him the valiant observance of the rules.

«I'll have to tell McGonagall», the girl said as evenly as possible.

«These are threats, Granger», from his arrogant tone for a second it seemed that he would really start applauding her «But I'm pretty tired of doing what I'm told. You know, I've earned myself a lot of problems».

He was unbearable. Every word, every movement exuded so much indifference and aggression that she actually wanted to take and leave. Probably, this would be the best option, but first she needs to personally make sure that she is right about forbidden literature. If the books belong to a special section of the Hogwarts library and are taken from there without the permission of the teacher, Malfoy is waiting for something more than the usual unpleasant punishment.

For a moment, Hermione felt a little uneasy. The girl didn't want to believe that Draco was really capable of reaching out to dark magic on his own. Or it was easier to live thinking about the fact that he had been forced all this time. Sometimes we need illusions to sleep better at night.

The books from the Forbidden Section were very different from the usual ones. And it's not that someone's limbs were on their covers, but terrible things were described on the pages. A special aura of fear and horror emanated from these folios. The one that makes the skin on the back get goosebumps, and children ask their parents to look under the bed. A subtle but quite tangible feeling of discomfort.

She ran her eyes over the scattered books, clinging to the titles, and the longer this happened, the faster panic spread through her body. Merlin, she was ready to knock out Draco with a simple spell and immediately deliver it to the director. Read the worst phrases in the world on books. To make sure that he is really as bad as everyone around him says. But Malfoy, perhaps, from birth did not know how to disappoint, and, of course, he was not even interested in the use of dark magic. It was as clear as day.

He wanted to get rid of the black mark.

«Granger, this pause scares me. If I didn't know you, I'd think you were scared of books».

His voice was absolutely calm. He almost lulled her to sleep with his measured low timbre. But the anxiety that was born in her chest would not have been corrected by a ton of sedatives. What the hell is going on?

«You want», she swallowed another lump in her throat, «to remove the mark».

Hermione had a matter of seconds to see the confusion leaking out. But Malfoy abruptly put his mask of arrogance back in place.

«Maybe», Draco waved off and continued to carefully scan her face millimeter by millimeter. It seemed to her that they had started some kind of bizarre competition without agreeing, but Hermione absolutely did not understand what they would fight for.

«I don't understand».

In fact, she understood. It was as if Hermione had never seen a picture as accurately and clearly as she did now. Draco Malfoy wants to erase the Death Eater mark from himself. It was logical. To the point of insanity. After all, he could not leave a bad brand on himself. But for some reason she doubted. Clinging to a straw called «dirty Eater». When Harry first suggested on the Hogwarts Express that Malfoy had joined their ranks, she thought it was nonsense. It is impossible to believe so easily that the one with whom you share the same food and go to the same lessons voluntarily became a part of this whole nightmare. And the day when the girl was convinced of this, when she saw that she was wrong, was imprinted in her head with a painful wound. Hermione would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't bleeding. She had never been so afraid of him.

Hermione was doing her rounds that day. The same as today and a hundred days before, when I saw Draco with his shirt sleeves rolled up. All wet and lonely. He was beaten, broken and moved towards the dormitories without noticing her. There was a nasty snake on his left forearm that was trying to hiss. Hermione bit her tongue so as not to blurt out too much — as if the level of fright at that moment would allow her to at least squeak. Only one thought screamed in my head: Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater. Harry was right.

«You're lying», stated Malfoy, «you understand everything».

He hated her, called her names, pointed a wand at her. But it took her to see the mark in person that night to realize how much she was nothing to him. One hundred out of ten.

Disgusting. Everything that Voldemort offered to his followers is disgusting. And Draco couldn't just get rid of it. It is not permissible - neither for him nor for anyone else. And he accepted that stigma. Submitted to this monster himself. He was ready to kill his friends and acquaintances, like a faithful dog released from the chain. And now he wants to take it off himself. Get rid of the unwanted junk in the apartment, and always clear the crystal-white reputation of the Malfoys.

«Why would you do that»?

How she wanted to know. Damn wanted to. So that he would tell her about what is unknown to the ordinary man in the street. What motivates people—as vain as he is-when they twist the universe as they please. Can they sleep a little more soundly or suffer at night in agony, like her.

«You're one of them», Hermione ignored the flash of anger in his pupils. «People like me are nothing to you. You would have killed me, Malfoy, in the war! I would have killed him and not even blinked»!

She'd thought about it a thousand times. I imagined myself on my knees in the middle of his huge living room. I wondered how loud he would laugh. How long he would enjoy torturing her, and then relent and finally kill her. Or maybe they will meet on the battlefield, Malfoy will release a pillar of green sparks into her and she will die - instantly, almost painlessly. But the reality turned out to be much more prosaic. While she was writhing on the floor from his aunt's antics, he was looking at the fucking moldings on the fireplace opposite her face.

«I'm dirt, a nonentity».

With these words, the girl roughly rolled up the sleeve of her robe along with her shirt, exposing the nasty scar left by Bella. He met her every morning with the first rays of the sun, instantly cooling her from head to toe, as if a shot of pure adrenaline into the very heart.

«I screamed on the floor in your family's house while people like you», she pointed a finger at him, pressing, «wanted to torture me to death»!

She didn't give a damn if she hurt him with her words. It's only better this way. Hermione had no idea where she got so much anger from. Perhaps she had long wanted to speak out, to throw out everything that was hidden deep inside. But she wasn't interested in discussing it with victims like herself. It is simply useless and painful to listen to everyone repeating the same thing in unison, providing support and good-naturedly slapping on the back. She doesn't need it. Malfoy, who wanted to get rid of the stigma of a Death Eater for no reason at all, was now a much more welcome companion.

Draco shook his head before rising to meet her. His rage almost made Hermione stagger, but she didn't budge.

«It's my scar, Granger», Malfoy whispered roughly.

He quickly bared his left forearm, forcing her to look at the tarnished snake crawling disgustingly out of the skull.

«Mine! And I want to get rid of him».

It was wild, wild to talk to him like that. It was as if someone had deliberately drawn an equal sign between them.

«I didn't choose my scar».

He returned the cloth to its place, sinking back to the floor without bothering to comment on her response. It was as if the silence said a hundred times more than he could say.

«We can put them together», Draco said almost syllabically, hammering word by word into her brain. «A simple transaction. The scar from my aunt's knife in exchange for the mark of a Death Eater».

Malfoy spoke so confidently and clearly, as if he had been preparing for this conversation for days. But he couldn't have known that she would find him, that she would be the one to keep an eye on him. Couldn't he?

«You want», Malfoy slowly turned his head in her direction, «you want to erase that evening».

He didn't even ask. Stated it as a fucking fact. For a moment, it seemed to her that his profile had darkened a little from the memories of that day. Or bad lighting and a seriously rampant imagination played with her. She couldn't say for sure, but Draco was damn right.

She wanted to get rid of him.

Every painful second in the evenings in the shower and in the mornings at the mirror. Most of all, she was burdened by the thought that one day a loved one would see it, or even worse, her future children would notice it. And then Hermione will not be able to lie: she will have to admit to them all that once she was unacceptably close to death and now has to wear this scar on her arm as the most obvious confirmation.

«It's a deal», Hermione replied confidently and held out her hand to him.

***

And it happened. Every day that he was assigned at Hogwarts, they spent in the Rescue Room. Having stocked up on food and other nonsense, each of them painstakingly worked to fulfill their part of the deal. And time after time, Granger felt that she was losing.

Malfoy was clearly better informed in this matter. Merlin, if Hermione had plucked up the courage, she would have asked exactly how many weeks he's been reading about this. But something told her that she already knew the answer: from the day when the mark appeared on his hand.

«Move over, Granger».

He reached for his notes right through Gryffindor, leaning his hands on the floor near her crossed legs.

«You could have just asked», Hermione snorted, pushing him away from her.

She was about to reach for these papers and hand them over to Malfoy when he suddenly grabbed her hand, distracting her.

«I'm capable of taking them myself», said Malfoy, a little rudely.

The girl's gaze fell on the hand that the Slytherin was clutching, and Hermione immediately tried to snatch it from his rough grip.

«Let go», Granger whispered warningly.

He grinned and, without stopping holding her wrist with one hand, continued to pave the way to the folio.

Hermione was infuriated by his manner of communication, and she sharply lunged forward, pushing him on his back. It seemed like it should have been a hundred times harder, but Draco rolled onto his side almost effortlessly, still clutching the girl tightly with his right hand.

«What are you doing», with a flash of light excitement, he stood up on his elbow and, pursing his lips, pulled the Gryffindor towards him.

Granger gasped from such pressure and, being on top of Malfoy's chest, instantly straightened up, as if from an electric current shot. Their pose was ridiculous and too intimate. Hermione rested her knees on the fabric of the uniform on the sides of his hips, while Draco kindly held her hands, which were tenaciously digging into him just below the collarbone. The red cloth burned the skin on her wrists unpleasantly, but Granger had no intention of letting him go first.

For the first time, Hermione could look at Draco Malfoy so closely and for a long time. And contrary to her expectations, he did not look like a villain at all and did not cause proper disgust. On the contrary, his blond hair and bright fabric reminded her of the image of a real superhero from comics. She couldn't help but smile, distracted by the nonsense that flashed through her head.

«Is it funny to you, Granger»?

The girl didn't even try to understand his mood, she wouldn't have been able to anyway. The only thing that could be read between the lines was his determination. To get on top, he quickly rolled them to the side and pushed Hermione's hands — this time up, behind her head.

«What are you doing»? Hermione squeaked indignantly.

"If you'd just let me, take the manuscripts», Malfoy said in a barely audible voice «and this wouldn't have happened».

Due to the long bangs, his face was completely hidden from the light of the torch behind their makeshift headquarters. She didn't like it terribly: she desperately wanted to see his eyes now. To understand what kind of emotion she gave him.

«Don't mess with me, Granger».

And then the worst thing she could do in this situation happened: Hermione took a deep breath. The smell of wood, mint and fresh foliage so insistently penetrated her head that she was ready to swear to herself not to breathe at all anymore. The lungs contracted, and the pulse jumped several times.

It's fear. It must be fear.

«I understand», the girl answered just as quietly, hiding a barely noticeable insanity.

She only had to jerk her arms slightly to free herself. Malfoy didn't hold her down at full strength for a second, and their mock fight was actually a stupid performance. He instantly pulled away, pulling on

indifference, and she spent the next few minutes pulling herself back when each time she inexorably clung to his sharp profile.

***

Malfoy didn't know what had gotten into him. Everything he had in mind was completely absurd from the very beginning. But she agreed, which means he will never be able to give up. Previously, he did not like to build something into an absolute. He was satisfied with the middle, gray morality, half-truths - this was always more than enough, but lately he felt something new. One hundred percent desire to destroy the mark on his forearm as quickly as possible.

Draco hated her more than anything in the world. She was a symbol of all the shit he had to go through. Literally broadcast from the mouthpiece about what a rag and a dummy he was. But Malfoy would never agree with her. He did not disdain a rude form of communication or incitement, but murder and torture were beyond all human.

Every time he lowered his eyelids, he saw them. Hundreds of victims who died in his house. Some by the hand of his father, some by the torture of his aunt or the Lord himself. There were so many of them that he couldn't remember their faces anymore. They all merged into a huge, immense canvas of fear with bold red-maroon lines tirelessly replacing each other. But the worst thing was that he still remembered one of them, and the owner of this face was alive to this day and did not stop appearing to him in nightmares. It was her face. Hermione Granger's face.

His head was turned towards the fireplace, to which he clung with his hand like a lifeline. A bitter brown eye color that was almost as dark as their French herringbone parquet. And a killer lot of blood. It was as if someone had slaughtered a cow in the center of the room and, without becoming petty, killed the entire herd in one fell swoop. Even then, Malfoy understood that the floor would have to be burned if they were going to smile in this room at least once in their lives.

What an absurdity. Back then, Draco still thought he wasn't spoiled enough. After all, he was turning away. He didn't kill himself. Only tormented when it was clear that otherwise they would kill him or Narcissa. He couldn't afford it. To die from a simple Avada in the head was an unacceptable luxury even for such a pedant. Malfoy couldn't leave his mother.

No matter how much he tried to forget that day, one thing he remembered too vividly. She didn't scream from the first wave of Crucio. This made such a strong impression on Draco that for a second, he almost decided to turn around and personally make sure that he was not deaf. She restrained herself at the first rays, when he screamed a whim from such a thing.

Hermione was able to surprise him even now. In a week, she got much more information about the Dark Lord's spell than Malfoy himself, who managed to visit several schools at once, in three months. It infuriated, irritated, and he selfishly hid the importance of her breakthrough. But Draco knew one thing for sure: the longer the Gryffindor didn't see a real prospect of their deal, the worse. So today it's his turn to make a move.

«Give me your hand».

This phrase sounded more powerful than a thunderclap, rushing alone through the deserted room. The book fell out of her hands when the girl hesitantly looked back at him with a slight bewilderment.

«A hand, Granger. The thing you usually hold your wand with», Draco clarified with a slight smile.

She exhaled in displeasure and rolled up the sleeve of her shirt. Malfoy would have died before he could communicate properly with people.

«What are you going to do»? she absolutely did not want to show her sudden fear of him, but, fortunately, the inscription «Mudblood» on her forearm suddenly restored courage.

«To keep my end of the bargain», Malfoy replied without a shred of doubt.

She must have imagined it. Draco couldn't figure out so quickly what he needed to do with her scar. She searched for a solution herself every spare minute from studying and preparing for exams, but she did not find a single possible option. Not a single tiny clue. Malfoy spent a few days.

«How did you manage it»? Hermione asked anxiously.

«I haven't managed anything yet. Close your eyes».

Malfoy felt a pleasant slight anticipation. He knew how to help her yesterday, but decided he wanted to make sure. The only thing that bothered him was the need to cut her skin. Contrary to all his father's instructions, he could never really hurt her.

Glancing down at his bag, he turned back to Granger, watching her eyelids flutter. Of course, she was scared. But she wouldn't admit it to him for the life of her.

Hermione tried not to think about what was waiting for her. The school of survival in the war made itself felt, which made it much more difficult to trust Draco than she suspected.

«I have to make an incision», Malfoy said softly, «just one, and it's over».

She wanted to say something to him, but his voice created such a surreal picture around her that she only nodded gently.

It looks like Draco was waiting for this. In the next instant, the blade of the knife entered the most extreme area near the scar, not far from her hand, and deepened by a millimeter. The sharp pain forced her to clench her teeth tighter and mumble. But it didn't last very long. Soon the burning sensation was replaced by a slight tingling, and the feeling of tight skin that did not leave the area near the scars suddenly disappeared.

Without waiting for permission, she opened her eyes, bumping into the top of Malfoy's head, who was constantly watching her forearm. The letters disappeared one by one. She could have said it was like magic, if it really wasn't magic.

***

«I heard the school will be empty again in three days», Ginny flipped through the page of the Spell[1], looking back at Hermione in the mirror.

«Yes, it's Christmas the day after tomorrow, and McGonagall said they wouldn't be allowed to stay for New Year's».

Hermione let out a soft sigh. She couldn't help him.

«You know what's interesting»? Weasley put the magazine aside and sat cross-legged in a yoga pose. «Malfoy is so quiet».

«It seems to be nothing new».

Too fast. She didn't even think about the answer.

«Wait», the Weasley couldn't hide the nervousness in her voice. «You're checking him out. Do you communicate»?

Granger tied her tie tighter, wanting him to strangle her.

«Not so much».

She turned to Ginny and suddenly froze. The redhead was looking at her right forearm with such fright that everything immediately became clear to her.

She didn't lower her sleeve.

«Hermione, where's your scar?!» Weasley jumped to her feet and came closer, unceremoniously grabbing Granger by the arm.

The only thought was to lie. After all, Hermione had done a lot of impossible things in her life, so such a breakthrough on her part could be quite expected.

«I was able to remove it».

«Don't lie to me, Granger»! the friend folded her eyebrows, peering angrily into her face. «Only a similar knife from the Black collection could help you. And…»

Ginny put her hand over her mouth, stopping the flow of the truth that suddenly poured out. Hermione had to hold her breath. There were so many emotions in her chest that the girl awkwardly staggered, moving away from her friend a step.

«You knew it»! the brown-haired woman exclaimed indignantly. «You knew that Malfoy's knife was the only option. Why did you lie to me»?

Ginny looked down and pursed her lip guiltily, examining the worn floorboards.

«I didn't want to take away your hope».

Hope. This notorious hope that helped people wake up at night. Hermione had forgotten how to rely on her in her first year at Hogwarts.

«Am I right, yes»? The redhead asked softly. «Did he help you»?

She didn't want to answer. Considering what Weasley had been hiding from her all this time, Granger had every right not to.

«What did he ask in return»? Ginny sounded more alarmed. «Hermione?!»

***

She never answered Weasley. Hermione was in a hurry to meet Malfoy because she still owed him. She didn't care much about the fact that Draco had probably set it up beforehand. It was his style. Like Ginny, he had to know something about the family heirlooms of pureblood wizards and offered a deal that was obviously winning for himself.

But Granger didn't have a lot of resentment. Gryffindor was used so often that Malfoy, one might say, was the only one who provided anything in return.

She listened to her accelerated breathing and watched the dust flying off the wall. She didn't want to fail. Godric. She hated losing. But the label. The mark, as it turned out, is much more complicated than Hermione expected. None of the methods she knew worked, because before Voldemort, no one in the magical world had created such summoning tattoos. Probably Grindelwald had plans for this, but to find out like this, she needs to be at least in the ministerial library with access to the necessary information. It's impossible to do that. Not in such a short time.

Granger stepped over the threshold of the door and let it slam freely behind her. Draco was sitting on the outstretched Durmstrang cloak and reading something.

«Malfoy», the girl pronounced his last name, noticing how comfortably it fits on the tongue. They had spent too much time together these days.

Draco raised his head, examining Hermione from head to toe, and, satisfied with something incomprehensible, barely nodded.

«Granger».

The light top of her head lowered again, continuing to look into the ancient folio.

Gryffindor took a little air and blurted out in one breath:

«I'm afraid I won't have time to help you».

He did not turn to her — he continued to read and only after a couple of agonizing moments he stopped.

«Come here».

Hermione was taken aback by his commanding tone, but still timidly moved towards him. She stopped at the edge of the fur, waiting for Malfoy, undoubtedly, the rudest curse.

The honey scent of her hair suddenly invaded his lungs, and Draco raised his head, examining Granger too closely. He understood why the girl had come, even when she hesitantly hovered on the threshold, choosing words, but it practically did not annoy him. She would still owe him.

He was much more worried about his imminent return to Durmstrang. Malfoy would no longer be able to talk to anyone. People will again shy away from him and burn him with hateful glances. If he looks in someone's direction— he will stumble upon an ocean of contempt. There was something worse than pitch cold waiting for him-total loneliness, and it would be there, with or without a mark.

He exhaled and decided to take a leisurely walk with his eyes. Draco started with neat gray knee socks, stopping to examine the smooth seams along the shin, then reached the edge of the skirt — it was only a couple of centimeters short to touch the kneecaps. Unlike the always bright Slytherins, Hermione would never have allowed herself to wear something shorter in her life. After that, he examined her white blouse, slightly stretched from the pressure in the chest area, and walked over the bright burgundy Gryffindor tie, which even after the Durmstrang flowers seemed to him wildly saturated. It was only when he reached the top and caught hold of her brown irises that he froze, because he discovered how confused Hermione was staring at his groin.

Salazar fuck him. He knew that these games would not end well. Malfoy looked at his fly and returned the girl's sly smile.

«What, Granger? I haven't had sex in a very long time», Draco straightened up on the skin, crossing his legs in front of him «and you»?

Her cheeks instantly looked like a ripe red apple, and she lowered her eyes as quickly as possible, feeling a section of her neck burn from his piercing gaze. He didn't just yell at her. He's... she's gone crazy.

«None of your business, Malfoy»! The girl snapped sarcastically. She desperately wanted to bring something aggressive and furious back into their communication. Only for him to finally turn away from her.

But of course, he didn't. Malfoy raised his right eyebrow, watching Hermione with a sly challenge. If she didn't know his real self, she'd think he was really attracted to her. Why, in fact, is this impossible? She trained a lot, took care of herself. In the end, many were whispering behind the back of the young heroine of the war and looked at her. Merlin, can you hear yourself, what nonsense are you talking about?

This is Draco Malfoy.

«Why not? Mutual benefit», Draco lazily bowed his head, continuing to sparkle with his lustful silver irises, «we could help each other here, who will know»?

Is he offering her a deal again?

Hermione naturally swallowed the words she wanted to throw at him. She wouldn't admit, even on pain of death, that a frightening thought flashed through her head that she could really agree.

No one will really know.

It was probably her stubborn nature, but Granger was deadly bad at maintaining close relationships with men. Viktor Krum was a nice guy, but their correspondence did not lead to anything more than neat teenage kisses. A foolish hope for happiness with Ron ended with her giving him her innocence and they decided to remain friends. And the Ravenclaw guy, George Mason, was an incredibly boring bore even by her boring standards. Malfoy wasn't like them. And close.

Smug, cocky, honest. He never hid anything he wanted to tell her. No one in her life had ever spoken to her so directly and frankly. Friends usually picked up words and timidly hinted. Parents blindly praised and adored. And Draco said everything he thought. Which often already lay on the surface. But Hermione still didn't get tired of listening to it, because it was at least not banal.

He could literally hear the gears moving in her restless brain. Hermione was looking at him almost as usual, with the same mixture of disbelief and interest, but something was still different, and he was terribly pleased with the game they started. It was impossible to say that sleeping with a Muggle-born would be something special for him, but sex with the right idealist Hermione Granger certainly interested him. And Draco wasn't going to hide it.

«You disgust me, Malfoy», the sorceress finally said, gathering her courage. This time Hermione didn't turn away, just pursed her lip angrily.

She wanted the words to sound as sincere as possible. So that he choked on this bile and habitually rude to her in response. Restored the damn balance of the universe. To make Granger remember who they really are again. Mudblood and Death Eater.

«And you to me, and what»?

His indifferent remark clearly did not meet her expectations. She felt a scattering of goosebumps on her back, although Malfoy did not frighten her at all. The girl was so struck by the simplicity with which Draco viewed all this. She had sex once in her life — with Ronald Weasley, who definitely did not consider this activity to be simple. Everything that happened then reminded her of an unsuccessful trip to the rides as a child. The same light excitement and complete disappointment in the end. The same thing, with only one difference — at least she didn't throw up with Ron.

«It's weird», Hermione admitted more quietly.

Granger, against all odds, decided to respond with honesty to honesty. No matter how much she denied it, but their conversation would not have taken place and would not have been so straightforward and biting without a thousand days that they lived hating each other. A special energy permeated the air around her, and the girl felt like she was getting closer to giving up every minute. Because it wasn't a reset at all, some new page in their relationship - it was still the same dubious story with its logically illogical continuation.

It was as if Draco saw a block of ice inside the Gryffindor break off and rush forward with the current, sweeping away everything in its path. He has long since become so indifferent to everything. The past, the present, the future, that he silently left the playing board. Malfoy was frankly sick of playing. Into the stupid lives of others.

Taking a more comfortable position on his knees, he slowly approached Hermione. Her excitement was betrayed by light copper highlights in her brown eyes. My hands were sweating with anticipation. Perhaps she didn't realize that she was letting him see it. Granger definitely wouldn't have forgiven herself for that.

He slowly took her fragile hand in his hand, rising to meet her.

«Look at me», Malfoy said hoarsely.

She turned her head toward him uncertainly, wondering how much the distance between them had shrunk. Draco was practically touching her with his nose.

«If you don't like it, we'll stop right away», the Slytherin continued insinuatingly.

Hermione felt like she was at a performance by an experienced hypnotist. She could see his face as if illuminated by spotlights, and the room slowly rotated, plunging into darkness and leaving her alone with a frighteningly plausible magician.

«I…»

She didn't even have time to answer, when suddenly Malfoy kissed her. He plunged his lips into hers, melting every molecule around in a rush of anticipation. It was like doing it a thousand times a day. That scent — wood, mint, and the bitterness of freshly mown grass-entered her head again, and Granger licked his lips, greedily grabbing his languid exhalation.

She probably never knew what real excitement was. Every movement of his mouth was like a flame strike. He touched his tongue to her lower lip and put his hand on the back of her head, tangling in her unruly brown hair. If he squeezed them, the Gryffindor would certainly lose consciousness.

Whatever they do, her conscience will devour her. Their tongues suddenly met, intertwining and causing a new wave of goosebumps on the girl's body. He kissed exactly a hundred times nicer than he was rude. She was afraid that at some point she would simply not be able to tear herself away — then Malfoy would certainly humiliate her, smash her to pieces. At the very thought of this, Hermione abruptly grabbed his red uniform in an attempt to impatiently unbutton his jacket. The girl couldn't stand the pressure and bit Draco, throwing aside her black shoes.

Leaning towards him, she grabbed the top of his blond head, and heard something that made her body shudder. Malfoy moaned into her lips, grabbing her buttocks and lifting her off the floor. For a second, Granger pulled away from him to catch her breath, but Draco bit her neck, sucking the skin just below the right earlobe. The damn snake put poison right into her blood. Her muscles were instantly electrocuted, and she arched, grabbing her left forearm with her right hand—for the mark that brought them together in this God-forsaken room.

Malfoy growled, his nose tangling in Hermione's curls as he laid her on top of the unfolded cloak. It was the first time he could say thank you to Durmstrang. A soft blanket on the cold floor was vital for them right now. He pulled away from her hot body for a moment to lay her on her back under him with one movement.

She felt a slight tingling sensation on her shoulders from the fur on his cloak and exhaled when she saw how much his arrogant face had changed. And it didn't concern his small stubble. Malfoy no longer looked at her as a nonentity — he looked at her with lust. So wrong. So terribly wrong.

Granger arched towards him when Draco touched her skin under her ear, then even lower, making the already lost girl moan louder. When her lips touched a fresh bite, she wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him towards her.

She was so hot and soft. So loud and cheeky. Salazar, he had never heard such beautiful moans from anyone. As soon as this thought allowed itself to flash through his head, Malfoy closed his eyelids, forcing himself not to think about it anymore. He didn't have to take it seriously, memorize every sound she made and every demanding touch. He should have sworn he'd never remember. But when her cold palm touched the area of her bare chest, the promises ceased to be worth anything.

The Slytherin bit into his lips in an answering groan, lifting the girl above the cloak. He took off his heavy tunic, freezing with lust in her eyes. Seeing her like this was definitely punishable by imprisonment in Azkaban.

Granger immediately intuitively tore the buttons on her shirt and threw it to his things. She desperately wanted to touch her skin to his: maybe then he would leave a burn on her and she would feel that Malfoy was actually pulling her to Hell.

«Fuck», he breathed out, feeling Hermione's velvety skin a millimeter from his chest. It was fucking electricity, «I hate you, Granger».

«You disgust me, Malfoy», she grabbed Draco by the head, pulling him to her in order to feel his hot lips again.

They moaned together in unison again, touching the curves of their bodies. It was like dancing. The dance of fierce despair.

Draco quickly unbuttoned his trousers and threw the girl's legs over his shoulders. She immediately snuggled up to Malfoy, hugging him around the neck. It's like they've been doing this all their lives. Every movement was lightning fast and precise. In her pupils he saw the reflection of his own fear. It was all perfectly natural. It's outrageously simple. The most elementary puzzle in his life.

«Draco», she cried out, feeling his hands on her buttocks.

He grinned and squeezed them, watching as her eyes rolled up and the skin under her fingers was covered with perspiration. Hardly breathing, Malfoy pulled away to pull down his boxers and her panties, not wasting time to take off her uniform skirt. He wanted to die from this fierce excitement before he started thinking.

«You're so freaky, Granger, who would have thought», Draco whispered, kissing her behind the ear.

«Shut up», hissed the girl, instinctively rubbing against his throbbing head, «take me, finally».

He smiled and slowly entered her to the full length, barely restraining the hungry desire. Surprisingly, she didn't even twitch, because she was really ready-too wet and tight for someone like him. As much as possible…

«Godric», Hermione interrupted his thoughts and jerked her hips to feel him thrust into her again, shuddering with impatience. «Malfoy, you!..»

Draco didn't let her finish, grabbing her buttock with his right hand and only slightly accelerating the pace. He tried to concentrate completely on himself: he didn't want her to think that it meant something and she was even a little important to him. But Granger's seductive body was already dizzy when he couldn't resist pulling away and falling against her chest.

She shivered, gasping for air and digging her claws into the top of his head while he wrapped his lips around the brown bump.

«Damn», It looked like she was scolding herself. Scolded for melting under it. Unacceptable. Quickly. She shouldn't, «Draco».

His name came out of his mouth with a prolonged groan. These sounds merged into a single whole, settling so deeply in her memory that Granger was already anticipating how she would constantly hear this combination in her dreams.

«What are you», - he buried himself between her breasts, when the girl herself swung her hips, again returning the desired friction.

He sweetly, as if in delirium, ran the tip of his nose over the nipple, spreading excitement through his veins, like some brutally strong drug. A little more and she would lose her mind while shamelessly moaning under him. Madwoman.

«Louder, Granger», Malfoy urged her.

It's just impossible to believe. Hermione Granger, the Golden Girl, was moving under him, in a seductive attempt to increase the pressure she needed inside. She looked like she was possessed, and he liked it. It was his element, because he himself had long ago given up controlling everything. To hell with rules and boundaries. To hell with it. If the Gryffindor mocks him and it's all a game, then he doesn't care anymore. At all. He had already seen and heard far more than her eerily correct suitors were allowed.

The girl's curls stuck to her forehead when Malfoy began to help her, holding her hips tightly. She was so alive, real with red cheeks and bottomless pupils. He could almost see his reflection in them. But I wanted more. Draco never accepted consolation prizes.

When she opened her eyes again, the silver gleam of his eyes made her throw back her head from the trembling inside. A shiver went through her body so quickly and unexpectedly that Granger couldn't believe it was really happening. After another push, she furiously dug her nails into his shoulders. A little more…

The Slytherin came out of her so abruptly that Granger couldn't hold back a disappointed sigh.

«Merlin, what's going on»? She was trying to catch her breath, looking at his platinum temples, which glistened so spectacularly with sweat.

«Roll over, Granger».

He looked at her imperiously, so that she would definitely obey. And it almost worked: Hermione really would have done a lot if only Draco would continue to hammer into her, filling a terrible void.

But she didn't know how to give in.

«And then what»? the girl smiled slyly, not feeling a drop of embarrassment from his hungry gaze directed at her breasts.

«Nothing», Malfoy replied in a feigned tone of indifference, «you damn well want me to fuck you from behind. But you're too good a girl to ask».

Granger made a herculean effort not to groan at the way he said it. She had no idea that she might like something like this. But it wasn't the first time he knew more.

Draco saw how her body was covered with goosebumps from just saying this, and turned her over with lightning speed, placing her on all fours in front of him.

The knot of arousal twisted with renewed force as she held herself on her elbows. Hermione was waiting for his next action like never before. Curiosity, obsession, fear - all mixed up into one confusing fantasy.

He bit his lip at the sight of her perfectly straight spine. She almost always sat straight at her desk, but it was so monstrously beautiful. Never.

Malfoy moved closer, freezing from the new contact with her skin. If they are so different, then why do they collide so quickly?

«Tell me when to stop».

She cringed, concentrating on the Slytherin's languid voice. Ironic. She needed to regret everything that was happening in this room, but the Gryffindor only regretted that she could not see his face.

Draco carefully entered and set a leisurely pace, barely restraining himself. Tight, monstrously tight, he almost came right away.

«You're fucked up, Hermione», he hissed, squeezing her thighs until her knuckles turned white.

«You idiot»! she screamed at his new thrust inside.

Probably tomorrow she will be tormented by thoughts of him and will never forgive herself for it. But now... when every inch of her skin was covered with goosebumps, and the air around her was electrified with lust, the best student of Gryffindor didn't care. She almost forgot how to breathe from his slow movements of her hips.

«Draco, hurry up, please», Hermione moaned, biting her lip and digging her fingers into the brown fur in front of her.

«For the first time I agree with you», said Malfoy with a deep exhalation.

Grabbing her by the hair with one hand and holding her buttock with the other, he began to obediently accelerate. With each new movement, the abdominal muscles contracted, and the room dissolved more and more into barely discernible sounds. Draco wished he could see her brows furrowing at that moment, but her loud moans made up for everything with a vengeance.

«I can't, Draco, yes»! she leaned back again, helping him to enter all the way and making both hiss with a surge of new emotions.

She was ready to fall right under that damn brick, and then lower and lower, under the very foundation of the castle, just to forget who really brought her to this state. But the paradox was that it was his touch and his scent that brought her to the very edge of the abyss.

It was so hot that her skirt, thrown back on her back, was already sticking to her skin. Granger gripped something tightly with her hands, trembling from another wave of heat.

«Now come on», he practically lay on top of her, changing the position of his hands and grabbing her breasts.

She had never heard words spoken with such sweet languor. Hermione obediently tensed under him to give up and finally jump off the cliff.

The girl was shaking in the same second, as if from a fever, while he was driving into her with incredible speed, bringing himself to the inevitable. He squeezed her breasts one more time before releasing himself, enjoying how perfectly they throbbed together. It's just criminal.

Malfoy pulled away, slowly lowering his body next to her limp figure.

Hermione needed a few moments to decide to turn around and look into his eyes, but she immediately froze when she saw Draco so unnaturally happy. It was impossible to believe that sex with her had done this to the former Slytherin prince. But she could see the frantic pulse beating on his pale neck too clearly to doubt it.

«You», Hermione stopped herself as he turned his head directly towards her.

«I», he smiled slyly again «aren't you ashamed, Granger, to moan so fucking under me»?

She felt her ears light up at his comment.

«Aren't you ashamed to do it with people like me»? The girl arched her right eyebrow, hiding her excitement.

He narrowed his eyes slyly, fueled by emotions from their usual scene of aggression.

«Not with people like you, but with you», he propped his head on his hand, watching the girl's facial features smooth out. «It changes everything».

It was as if a stone had collapsed inside. She cringed, looking at his oblique muscles on his stomach, and then - such attractive lips. It's all fucking imagination.

«I didn't keep my end of the bargain», Hermione continued stubbornly.

He waved her off as if she had uttered some outright nonsense. He had no desire to hear about the stupid deal. Malfoy didn't want to believe it anymore — that it was really necessary. There was no truth in it anymore. Draco was ready to admit how much he had been mistaken all this time, believing that the disappearance of the mark could solve all his problems overnight. It was naive, terribly stupid to believe that the unfortunate tattoo was to blame for everything.

It was as if she had personally looped him and left him in a vicious circle of endless suffering, from which, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get out. It had long been his personal underworld-a prison made up of his own mistakes, where every wrong step only strengthened the rusty bars of a cramped cage. The inner demons were too selective to let him go so easily. Loneliness and fear - that's what they are fueled by, and not at all by a tarnished snake on the forearm.

«Forget it, Granger», he didn't even look at his hand. He just leaned forward and stopped only when he almost touched her lips with his. «This will be my scar», Draco said in a barely audible whisper, «a scar for a long memory».

[1] Spella Weekly is a weekly magic magazine designed for a female audience of the magical world.