Chapter 19: Hunter Gets Captured by the Game

Let's start out by starting over
What did I expect
You're no good at lying and I'm no good at comebacks
But you're so untouchable
And I'm so terrible at this
I'm terrible at this you know

Don't hold this against me
I've already said I'm sorry

Excerpts from Matchbook Romance—Lovers and Liars

oooo

Harry's school books lay sprawled across his lap. Charms scrolls piled up in a haphazard pyramid on his left thigh and Hermione's History of Magic text, with ripped spine and a hundred tiny multicolored bookmarks, was flat open near his socked feet while he scribbled furiously at one of his Potions essays, trying to bluff his way through an explanation of how rutaberber pod oil reacted with animal fat.

Under normal circumstances, it was difficult to keep up with N.E.W.T. level work. Under current circumstances, it was almost impossible. Harry was far behind, with little time and even less motivation to finish his work. He cracked a cherry cough drop between his teeth and sucked the gooey insides.

The Hospital wing was warm and sunny and silent. Harry had no idea where Pomfrey was and didn't dwell on it, choosing instead to enjoy the rare moment of peace that being the only current patient won him. He had been forced to spend the day abed, both Pomfrey and the Headmaster wanting to be sure that his heart was strong and healthy, and that there would be no more attacks on his mind. He hadn't objected too much, wanting to appear as docile and meek as possible in front of Dumbledore.

It was a wasted effort. The good boy image wasn't flying.

"Harry!" The fierce whisper snapped his head up, and he cracked the cough drop again and beckoned Ron inside, shoving his Potions work away messily.

Ron hazarded another glance around for Pomfrey before sneaking in. Harry's smile dimmed slightly when Ginny and Luna followed. Under normal circumstances Neville would have been with them as well.

Ron had been down to see him earlier with Seamus but Harry hadn't seen Ginny and Luna since the day before. Gryffindor Tower had been in an uproar after Harry's attack, and it had only gotten worse when some of the Sixth Years decided that the Slytherins were behind it. Ron found the dubious honor of restoring order falling squarely and unexpectedly on his shoulders. Only the larger half of their schoolmates hadn't taken the change in power gracefully.

They'd refused to listen to him, the Sixth Years getting halfway through tactical plans for a counter attack when Ron completely lost his temper.

"I mean really lost his temper," Seamus had whispered to Harry gleefully. "I have never seen a Weasley that pissed off before. We were all ready to duck and cover, ya know. It shut everyone up though."

Harry was sorry he'd missed it.

"How are you, Harry?" Luna asked solemnly, sitting at the edge of the bed and patting his leg. "I heard you were attacked by a Dormiriad."

Ginny pulled up a chair on Harry's other side. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, and Ron seemed to be biting his lip on an exasperated groan.

"A what?" Harry asked, amused and waiting for Luna's improbable response.

"A Dormiriad, a dream-beast that eats life force in order to manifest itself in the physical world. They're very dangerous. But it's your own fault for dreaming him up. Don't do it again."

"Er, I'll try not to." He grinned and offered her a chocolate frog. She took it primly.

Ron caught his attention. "Are you okay, mate?"

"I seem to be fine." He bent his arms back behind his head and stretched.

"You had us completely freaked, Harry." Ginny shook her head. "I thought you might be having another vision." Harry shifted uncomfortably, knowing everyone was thinking of Mr. Weasley and his brush with Nagini two years ago.

"Did Ron explain to you what I saw?" he asked to break the uncomfortable silence.

Ginny and Luna nodded.

"I don't understand how it happened." Ginny said. "If it had been Voldemort, that's one thing. But even Voldemort can't influence you the way he used to, let alone hurt you through your dreams. So how did Malfoy do it?"

She had a point. In Sixth Year, Voldemort had taken to Occluding against Harry. Unfortunately, in doing so, he'd inadvertently taught Harry a few useful tricks. Occluding or not, they were still linked, and energy, like anything else in nature, flows automatically from areas of high concentration to low concentration in an effort to balance out. In some ways, Harry was like a black hole for anything Voldemort didn't keep tightly locked within his mind.

The Dark Lord had an awful shock the day he attempted to open the link between him and Harry again and ran head-long into a steel wall that wouldn't budge.

Harry hadn't even known he was doing it.

"Maybe it was Malfoy and Voldemort working together." Ron suggested, plucking up a package of Every Flavour Beans from Harry's pile of sweets without asking and earning a scowl from Harry. Ron looked completely unrepentant as he tore the bag open. "Maybe Malfoy's finally gone and taken the Mark."

Harry shook his head slowly, "My scar didn't hurt." He touched his forehead lightly. "I couldn't feel Voldemort's presence anywhere."

"A new trick of his then." Ron popped a red bean into his mouth and shuddered visibly but kept chewing.

"There was something else there." Harry admitted thoughtfully. "But it wasn't Voldemort. I really don't think Voldemort was involved."

"Then how did Malfoy get into your mind?" Countered Ron.

"Dumbledore suggested that Malfoy used my link to Hermione to get to me."

Ron looked skeptical.

"It doesn't have to be connected to Voldemort," Ginny told them. "I wouldn't put it past Malfoy to be using some really nasty family specialty magic. It's not that farfetched. The Malfoy line is old and there used to be a lot more branches and every one of them was just as nasty as our current one. Draco Malfoy is the last of the line and all the secrets of every branch family are his now. It's likely he has an entire arsenal of one-of-a-kind relics that do worse then kill."

"Well thank you, Ginny, that makes everyone feel a whole hell of a lot better." Harry muttered, flopping back against his pillow.

Ron frowned. "Giving Malfoy a lot of credit there, aren't you?"

"Lucius is every bit as dangerous as Voldemort," Ginny snapped. "More so because there's nothing stopping him from walking into Hogwarts in broad daylight. Don't try to tell me that he couldn't pull this off."

Ron glowered but didn't deny the point.

"Tell us about your dream, Harry." Luna said suddenly. "Ronald said you saw strange creatures."

Harry wasn't surprised that that part interested Luna. He relayed his dream again and afterwards the four of them sat in silence.

"You didn't see Hermione at all, did you? Only Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

"Only Malfoy," he agreed. "But I wanted to ask you and Ron if maybe you've seen Hermione at all in your dreams lately. I've been seeing her a lot, and Dumbledore suggested that she might be trying to contact us."

Ginny frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Dream magic is really uncontrollable and wherever Hermione is, I doubt she has access to the proper scrying equipment."

"It makes perfect sense," Luna disagreed serenely. "If Hermione has been subjected to high levels of wild magic, her soul would be unfettered. Whoosh!" She made a swooping motion with her hands like a bird flying. The headless chocolate frog in her hands kicked its feet pathetically.

The other three stared at her. Luna nibbled on her frog.

"I don't usually remember my dreams." Ron scratched at his jaw.

"I might have dreamed about her once or twice but considering the circumstances I think that's normal." Ginny shrugged.

"Well from now on we need to keep track of our dreams. Maybe we can use Dream Catchers or Dream Diaries. Try to remember anything she tells you or if you recognize your surroundings." He paused, eyes narrowing in memory. "Or if you see trees. I've seen a lot of trees. Like a forest...."

"Heads up!" a voice from the hallway yelled. Harry thought it might be Dean.

Ginny stiffened. "Someone's coming! Ron, quick!"

Ron leaned closer to Harry and pulled a brown folder tied with a thin black cord from his robes. "Malfoy senior was here again this morning with some Ministry officials," he whispered in disgust. "He left really angry. Dumbledore gave him and Snape this folder. We managed to make a copy of Snape's while he was out of his office, but we don't understand what they were talking about. I'll tell you about it when I can." He handed the folder to Harry who quickly flipped it open and froze, frowning at the first page.

He browsed through the first couple of sheets, staring, and then slapped the folder closed and stuffed it into one of his books as the door opened and Dumbledore entered. Snape swept in behind him like a vampire stalking a particularly wily target.

"Good evening, Miss Lovegood, Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley." Dumbledore smiled warmly at the four of them. Luna smiled happily, waving. Ginny murmured a greeting and nodded stiffly at Snape who only sneered.

Dumbledore beamed. "Ah! Harry, doing better I hope?"

"Yes sir." He tried not to sound suspicious.

"Excellent. Poppy assures me that you will be released first thing tomorrow morning as long as you continue to improve. Now, Miss Lovegood, Miss Weasley, if I could speak to Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley in private, please. Why don't you two nip down to dinner."

Ginny opened her mouth looking as if she were about to argue but a glance at Harry and she knew he would simply tell her everything that was discussed anyway. The girls nodded, said their goodbyes and hurried out.

Snape followed them closely and took up position by the door, leaning back with his arms folded, glaring at Harry and looking aggravated at having to be there.

Dumbledore stole Ginny's chair across from Ron. Ron offered the Headmaster a bean but he declined with a smile and wave of his hand. "I had promised to speak to you concerning Miss Granger," he explained.

Harry stiffened and tried not to look too eager. Ron practically leapt out of his chair. "Where is she?" he burst out.

Harry cringed and asked more carefully. "Have you any ideas, sir?"

Dumbledore stroked his beard, looking into the distance. "This is rather difficult to explain. Lucius had a very difficult time with the concept. I feel that, you, Harry, will have a rather better understanding." He paused to gather his thoughts. "Do you remember, my boy, back before you received your Hogwarts letter, what it was like to be a Muggle, believing that there was no such thing as magic, that your world had been explored and mapped? That there were no secret places left?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"And then you became a Wizard and suddenly places, people, and concepts you never imagined were possible opened to you?"

"Yes sir."

"And you look back on your Muggle brethren and see them walk, completely unknowing, past the Leaky Cauldron, never imagining that it is there, that you are there. They would think you mad if you ever tried to explain our world to them. A world coexisting alongside theirs, in some places even mingling with theirs, but never seen, never touched. They don't see it and therefore, to them, it is not real."

Harry wet his lips as a sinking feeling started in his stomach.

"Now imagine you're a wizard." He paused to share the joke. Harry smiled weakly. "And in your own way you are just as blind as the Muggles, even more so because you have pulled the wool over the eyes of the entire Muggle world. They can't see what you can. You are confident in your superiority... believing that your world has been explored and mapped, that if you cannot see it, it doesn't exist, that there are no secret places left in the world."

Harry shut his eyes, understanding.

"Wizards may think they have conquered this world but they have only just begun scratching the surface of its secrets." Dumbledore continued gently. "There are places in our world that were never meant for us, magic we are as blind to as the Muggles are to us. These places are a part of our natural world but we have very little understanding of them."

"And... Hermione is in one of these places." Harry finished.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy are like Muggles that have somehow stumbled through the gates into Diagon Alley. They have no understanding of how they got there or how to get out. They do not understand the world around them. We, on the other side, have no idea how to get ourselves in, or them out."

"W-what are you saying?" Ron stuttered, face having gone from white to mottled red from holding in his temper. "You're saying she's gone? That's it? We can't help her?"

"My dear boy, I cannot think of a single person who is willing to give up searching for them," Dumbledore assured him. "It will simply take time and uncommon resources. We are dealing with something we do not fully understand, something dangerous and unpredictable. Fortunately, we do have a starting point."

"But what happened?" Harry asked fiercely. "Why would Malfoy take her there if he couldn't get out again? Did his plan backfire? If that's the case then Lucius should know something. Malfoy couldn't have done it alone and Lucius wouldn't have let his son take her there if he didn't think he could get his son out."

"He probably planned to ditch her there, and something went wrong," Ron said darkly.

"It is possible, Harry, that Draco Malfoy is innocent of wrong doing...." Dumbledore started patiently but Harry wasn't hearing any of it.

"You said it's like Hermione wandered into Diagon Alley. Diagon Alley is protected by gates so Muggles don't end up there normally, right?"

"Correct." Dumbledore conceded.

Harry continued brutally. "Then someone who knows how to open those gates had to deliberately send her there, or take some sort of premeditated action that resulted in Hermione being lost there. And since Hermione hadn't informed me about planning any summer trips to the Twilight Zone, it must have been Malfoy who planned it."

"I don't like your tone, Potter," Snape interrupted angrily, unfolding his arms and taking a step towards the bed. Harry kept his eyes on the Headmaster, willing him to understand.

"I know you want someone to blame very badly, Harry...."

"Deny it," Harry countered coldly. "Deny that all evidence suggests Malfoy took her."

"That is ENOUGH, Potter! Perhaps the Headmaster lets you get away with disrespecting your betters but you will not do so while I am present." Snape's yellow teeth were bared and Ron was eyeing the Potion's Professor as if wondering if he would have to intervene, but Harry ignored them both.

"That's enough, Severus." Dumbledore murmured. He looked at Harry sadly for a long moment, and Harry felt a swell of bitter triumph.

"What about my dreams?" Harry continued. "How did Malfoy attack me?" A horrid thought struck him as he remembered drooling, vacant-eyed animals and he grimaced. "Oh hell, were those... those things I saw real?"

"It is impossible to tell at this point how much was your own dream and how much was... something else."

"Something else?" Ron asked.

Dumbledore seemed suddenly much older and much fiercer as he stared off into the distance over Harry's shoulder. "There is something in there with them. And it does not want to let them go."

The words struck something deep in Harry's subconscious and sent a cold jolt straight to his stomach. He took a deep breath, replaying once more the slowly fogging memories of his dream.

Something there....

Throat suddenly too dry, Harry rasped. "What is it?"

Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap. "We're not entirely sure. We only know the stories and legends surrounding it. Some people think it is the beast of Mummelsee, an evil creature at the bottom of lake Mummelsee. The Muggles say that it used to steal women and take them into the lake. The Wizard version of this tale says it was young men who were taken. It names the creature the Devourer."

"But what about Malfoy's plans for Hermione? H-how do we know some old folk story has anything to do with any of this?" Harry stammered.

"Because, Harry, I knew the last boy that was taken." He reached out and slipped the stolen folder from Harry's book.

Snape made an incoherent sound of rage when he realized what it was Dumbledore held. He looked like he was bursting at the seems to shout or take points but Dumbledore remained calm and he wouldn't go against the Headmaster.

The Headmaster flipped through the folder pensively. "It was fifty years ago. A handsome Irish fellow who had just graduated Hogwarts. We never found even a trace of him."

Dumbledore closed the folder and set it in Harry's lap.

"Harry?" Ron asked quietly as Dumbledore rose stiffly as if his joints ached. He did not look at Harry.

"Mr. Weasley, why don't you accompany us to dinner. Harry, I'll see you at breakfast."

"Yes, Headmaster." Harry whispered.

I met a God, and It ate me....

He waved distractedly at Ron and sat back slowly against his pillows to mull over what he had learned. He had been given the bare minimum of information, he knew, and only because what he had learned would dishearten him in his search. Knowing what he knew now, the next logical course of action would be to spend the next month locked in the library where Dumbledore could easily monitor him, and they both knew it. He had no idea where to begin searching for this 'place not meant for Wizards'.

Ironically it occurred to him that Hermione would know.

He rubbed at his scar feeling a slight throb that could have been a tension headache. Though whether it was his or Voldemort's was impossible to tell.

"Mr. Potter." The icy voice made him jump, his strained heart giving a slightly painful squeeze. Snape had yet to leave the room. Harry felt a chill and cursed himself for not being aware of his surroundings. Snape hesitated in the doorway looking at Harry with repugnance, obviously disgusted with himself for having chosen to speak to the Gryffindor boy.

"Y-yes, Professor?" He cleared his throat, surprised to see the Potions Master's troubled expression.

"Knowing the foolish tendencies of Gryffindor and your own particularly loathsome gift for tottering headlong into trouble, I feel compelled, for the sake of those children idiotic enough to follow you, to warn you before you go traipsing off into your next disastrous undertaking that there are three students the Dark Lord inquires after on a regular basis. That is yourself, Mr. Malfoy, and one, Ginevra Weasley."

Harry floundered in his blankets in sitting upright, only managing to upset his Charms scrolls. He grabbed at them instinctively. "Ginny?" he whispered in shock, crushing the scrolls in his fists. "Why?"

"That, Mr. Potter, is anyone's guess. Though I believe the Dark Lord has neither forgiven, nor forgotten the events of Miss Weasley's first year."

And with that, Snape swept out of the room, robes billowing out behind him.

Harry sat there, baffled, until he decoded the thinly veiled message behind the words. Snape was warning him that if he and Ron took off and left Ginny alone at school, she was in danger. And, likewise, if they took her with them on any expeditions, she was in even more danger. This was Snape's way of trapping him into staying put.

But how much truth was there behind the words? What could Voldemort possibly want with Ginny? And why now?

He stacked his crumpled scrolls back up and picked up Ron's folder. It wasn't a particularly thick folder, but the papers inside seemed progressively older as he flipped through. There were nine separate reports inside, all of similar nature, all crisp and official looking. He skimmed the first couple of pages, obviously copies of old copies with a fresh Ministry Seal stamped over the aged one. He went back to the first page and began to read.

It was a missing persons report. In the top left corner was a photo magically glued onto the parchment.

The young man in the photo had wispy black hair, skin almost too fair and dusted with freckles, and haughty green eyes. He peered at Harry slyly for a moment before turning up his nose, which was dusted with un-Malfoyish freckles, and throwing his shoulders back proudly, making his cape flare in an attempt to look even more regal. Harry's eyes narrowed as they darted between the familiar crest on the boy's breast and the name printed below the picture.

"Alekodius Malfoy. 1947."

oooo

It was morning already.

Hermione lay sprawled on her back, staring at the gradually lightening sky, ignoring the smooth river rocks digging into her spine. She watched her breath puff out in a white fog and wondered where the night had gone.

She couldn't stop shaking.

The last several hours had passed in a blur of sound and color. She wasn't sure if she had slept or not. She didn't remember sleeping but she did feel oddly relaxed anyway and seemed to be getting more alert.

She raised her hands and watched them tremble, not from cold or fear, but adrenalin and power. The magical high from the binding spell she and Malfoy had cast had left them both breathless and wild and not a little stupid. She was still warm and giddy, like she had swallowed something fizzy, and some of it still tingled on her tongue and bubbled in her stomach. The effects wouldn't fade fully for another few hours.

She was thinking more clearly now and wished she wasn't. She was absolutely mortified by the way her and Malfoy had laughed and carried on last night. She couldn't remember what they said to each other, only that it had all seemed indescribably funny at the time and neither one of them could stop laughing. She faintly remembered twirling around and around in a circle until she was so dizzy that she fell over, and at one point, they had been in the river together. Malfoy and ground up some of the softer colored rocks into paste and painted himself. Hermione distinctly remembered the words 'Sexual Chocolate' smeared across his stomach between bandages. She had laughed until her sides ached.

Malfoy lay still and silent somewhere across from her. She wasn't sure if he was sleeping and didn't really care.

She wasn't ready to face him yet. Because now she had no idea how she was supposed to treat him. Once upon a time it would have been easy to forget past grudges and treat him like a... a respected acquaintance. Maybe. Right now she wasn't sure she could even manage to treat him like a human being let alone a friend. There was no telling how he would treat her either. They had a deal now, but if he acted nice, she thought she might start screaming and not stop.

She slipped into fitful slumber as the sun rose but woke only a few hours later to rustling sounds. Malfoy was in the exact same position she'd left him in, propped up on a large rock next to the smoldering fire. His cheeks were unnaturally flushed.

"About time you woke up," he croaked painfully, and some of the tension inside her relaxed, relieved by his sour tone. They weren't going to pretend to be friends after all.

Malfoy pawed clumsily through their things but gave up in frustration moments later. Instead of helping, she stretched her stiff limbs and cracked her neck before rolling onto her tummy to watch. Her nose was runny.

"Is there anything to eat?" he rasped. "Or drink?" The first sounded skeptical, the last hopeful.

She watched his shaking hands with detached curiosity. "The river's right there. Go get a drink," she challenged.

He glared at her with real hate. It made her smile. He started to push himself up very slowly and stiffly. She watched uncaringly as he fought to keep his face a blank mask. She could see the exhaustion in his limbs, the stiffness and pain in the clench of his jaw, the tight lines of stabbing agony around his eyes. Some of the leaves she'd sealed to his wounds were brown-tinged with dried blood. Some were wet with fresh red.

"Sit down, Malfoy." She said quietly.

He went still and they glared at each other. It was a testament to his weakness that he looked away first, and at this point, she wasn't above silently gloating. She stumbled to her feet, ignoring the momentary vertigo and the rolling ache in her belly in favor of grabbing the small cauldron from their little silk bag and filling it with icy water from the stream. She set it beside him and ignored the hungry way he scooped up handfuls of water and brought them carefully to parched lips.

He was ill.

She knew it without having to examine him further and almost didn't examine him further. In the end, she accepted darkly that it was something she would have to deal with as per their promise. She touched his forehead, and he growled but didn't jerk away. He was clammy and a little warm.

It wasn't a good sign. He was obviously in pain, and it was more than stiff muscles. He seemed to be barely able to move.

She wet her lips. "Let me look at your wounds."

He nodded, concentrating on slow sips of cool water. The leaf-bandages were pretty much ruined, probably from their stupidity the night before. She peeled back one on his arm and he hissed and cringed as the sap took baby-fine hair with it. Waxing Draco Malfoy. She squashed the insane urge to giggle. He kept his eyes averted. The jagged bite on his arm was wet and weepy, the edges an angry, boiled red. Her frown deepened.

The wounds were showing all the beginning signs of infection, but his behavior was already that of moderate to heavy infection. She wet her lips again, trying not to show any fear on her face, and wondered wildly what to do. Infection was usually dangerous. Infection under these conditions was worse than deadly.

And he wouldn't understand.

Infection was almost unheard of in the Magical world. Even Muggles didn't fully comprehend the danger anymore. Had he received these wounds at Hogwarts, Pomfrey would have fixed him up in a few short minutes. Magic infections were worse than regular ones but she'd still bet that Malfoy hadn't had an infection in his entire life.

She'd have to treat him the Muggle way, but she had no means with which to disinfect his wounds, and they had no antibiotics here. Her understanding of the plants in this area was minimal, her medical training was rudimentary. But if Malfoy wasn't treated and properly he would get worse. It was possible that he would grow feverish with blood poisoning and die.

"What's wrong?" Malfoy's voice snapped her back to reality, and she realized he was staring at her.

"We need to get you cleaned up," she said as quietly as before and saw confusion flicker behind his dull, glassy eyes. "Eat first. You'll need your strength."

They ate a meager meal in silence, and Hermione determinedly spent a few minutes hunting the immediate area for food. She found a nest of small, unidentifiable crayfish-type animals under a rocky crevice in the stream and took a chance on boiling and eating them, hoping they weren't toxic. She didn't even feel bad afterwards as she peeled the shells off and munched on the small bits of meat.

After breakfast, she boiled a new pot of water and cut a few more swaths of cloth from their rapidly depleting supply of clothes. They'd have nothing left if this kept up. The dagger vibrated like a tuning fork in her grasp. It had been acting weird all morning and she found that holding it for more than a few minutes brought sweat dripping down her face. She had to put it away repeatedly and sit down to catch her breath.

"What's happening?" Malfoy asked. He tried to touch the knife, and she slapped his hand away.

"I'm not sure," she panted. "Something's different. Just holding it is tiring me out."

He thought about this. "It's probably reacting to last night."

She blushed because the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. "The spell?"

He gave her a long-suffering look. "It got two big doses of foreign power last night. Once when I nailed that Raziel bitch. Did you see I didn't get weak afterwards? Usually when I strike with the knife, the power flows out like it's being sucked from my body but this time I connected with his body, the knife sucked inward. It sucked all his power out. He could barely stand after."

"And then the second time was the spell." She realized and traced the hilt with her fingertips. "So what's happening? If it's fed then it shouldn't bother us, right?"

"We feed it and it only gets hungrier." Malfoy shook his head grimly, poking the fire with a stick. "You knew this would happen, remember? We use it until we can't anymore."

She nodded distractedly and put it out of her mind for later. Malfoy watched her add some herbs to her boiling concoction, and she found herself automatically going into lecture mode, explaining the cleansing properties of the plants she added, though her voice was stilted and unsure.

"Potions." Malfoy had a glazed look in his eyes as he helped her sprinkle in the herbs. "What I wouldn't give for some nasty-ass potions right now."

"I think I could kiss Snape if only he were here right now," Hermione found herself muttering.

Malfoy's eyebrow shot up in a familiar mocking manner, but he quickly shut his mouth and looked away, curbing whatever drawling comment he'd been about to make. "I'd slip him tongue," he said lightly instead, and she frowned at him, the tension in the air thickening.

She almost added, 'I'll tell him you said so' but was afraid to break the peace by starting an argument.

Cleaning Malfoy's wounds had taken longer then expected, and she had to cringe at the sloppy slap-on job she'd done the night before. She'd done it spitefully, vindictively, because he'd been watching her.

Malfoy yelped and cursed as she wiped the wounds with steaming cloths. She allowed the cuts to dry then carefully sealed them again with new sap and leaves. Some of the wounds were worse than others and she suppressed twinges of worry when she cleared away pus-yellow fluid from his back wounds.

It was still a bad patch-up job. Boiling water didn't guarantee complete sterilization. The sap wasn't sterile, and the leaves were worse. She was going to have to figure something better out.

They broke camp a little before noon and tried to get moving. They had no official plan or destination anymore but neither was willing to examine that too closely. It didn't matter in the end anyway because Malfoy didn't make it very far. He was simply in too much pain to go anywhere. They returned to camp again not long after leaving, Malfoy shaking, eyes wet with tears of pain, though none fell.

She tried as hard as she could not to find satisfaction in his weakness.

When she did anyway, she left, unable to look at him anymore. She searched for supplies, leaving Malfoy to rest. He still thought his muscles were just stiff, and she didn't correct him. Disgruntled, she realized she was going to have to provide for both of them, and her half-baked plans to make him teach her how to hunt were ruined. He'd only been able to hunt because he was an animagus.

She spent the afternoon trying to think of ways to catch game, but after her first and only attempt, ending when she swung the knife at a rabbit from a distance and cut the animal cleanly in half, made the guts explode out, the animal flipping in the air with its entrails raining down like hot meat pie and nearly causing her to be sick everywhere, she gave up.

She found nothing to help Malfoy.

The next morning Malfoy was worse. He alternated between fever and chills, and it hurt him so much to move that he choked on small whimpers and screams when she bathed his wounds. The ragged tears in his skin bled pus, the skin fire-engine red and lines of red and black beginning to spider out from them. Nothing she did seemed to help.

Desperate, she left him with food and water and went out again to search for supplies.

The wolves came the moment she was alone.

A red-eyed, black-furred wolf burst out from the underbrush and into her path like a bolt of darkness. Hermione was moving before her brain fully comprehended the situation. Wrenching around to face the threat, she drew the knife and scrambled back a few feet, wondering wildly if this was a real wolf or one of Raziel's pack. Two more wolves, one gold and one reddish-brown, came at her from the sides, and she fled back the way she came. The black wolf tried to cut her off but she swung the knife at him, feeling an icy, painful jolt up her arm as she did so. The wolf leapt straight up, out of the path of the blast. The spin from the blow threw Hermione off balance and she tumbled over a bush, earning scratches and tears but she didn't stop moving. She scrambled on all fours through the brush. Her right arm was now completely numb.

The wolves yipped and leapt through the bushes, crashing and rustling towards her. She flew upright to her feet and immediately had her legs knocked out from underneath her by a golden blur. She screamed as she dropped to the ground. Landing clumsily but catching herself, she barely avoided impaling herself on the knife by accident. She turned so she could swing the knife, this time with her left hand, but wolf jaws caught her wrist and the knife flew from her grasp.

"NO!" She kicked the reddish-brown wolf in the chest and scrambled over the dirt on her belly to get to the blade. She had just enough time to grab it before two strong arms grabbed her and scooped her up.

The black-furred, red-eyed wolf had the same features in human form. She thought of Voldemort and shrieked, kicking her feet and attempting to stab him with the knife. He caught her wrist awkwardly, face set in a dangerous glare.

"Let me go!" She screamed it into his face and saw him wince.

"Put the knife away," he growled, his voice a deep rumble.

They glared at each other, Hermione straining against the inhuman strength. With sudden insight, she adjusted her grip on the dagger so the tip pointed down towards his shoulder. She grinned darkly, power flaring up in the blade. The wolf's eyes widened, and he wrenched her arm back just as the knife flared and a flash of power lanced out from the tip. A gash, half an inch deep opened in an explosion of blood in the wolf's shoulder. He screamed a hoarse animalistic sound of rage and twisted her arm painfully behind her back. Hermione snarled and struggled, but she couldn't budge him. She was now so drained she could barely hold her arms up.

"Put it away!" The wolf ordered furiously, giving her a shake.

Seeing no other option, she acquiesced with a sharp nod and a mulish frown. The wolves watched her slip the knife into the sheath as if it were an angry rattlesnake. The dark wolf gathered her up into his arms.

"Where are you taking me?" she screeched, kicking as he carried her through the trees. She snarled, teeth bared, face flushed an angry red.

This was not happening again. There was no way she'd let it. The last time they'd taken her, they'd stripped her down and humiliated her. She wasn't going to give them the opportunity again. She'd fight them, just like she'd fought Malfoy.

The wolf-man said nothing, offering no reassurance or acknowledgement. Blood spilled down his arm but he didn't seem to notice. The wound was already closing. The two smaller wolves trotted at his feet, looking up at her with wagging tails and joyful doggy laughs.

They hauled her back to camp where the black-haired wolf-man gently dropped her feet to the ground. She took in the scene before her and cried out, lunging forward only to be stopped by strong arms.

Malfoy was on the ground, straining back against a tree trunk and holding very still, his breath coming in hoarse, clotted gasps. The white wolf, Raziel, crouched in human form near their fire, examining their supplies. The brown and cream wolf, Alekos, stood over Malfoy, paws on either side of Malfoy's lap, lips peeled back from fangs that were scant inches from Malfoy's throat. A deep rumbling growl reverberated from his furry chest.

"Get away from him!" she shouted, struggling against the red-eyed man who pulled her against his chest as easily as if she were a small child.

What did they want now? She was doing the best she could! This wasn't fair!

The red-haired wolf-king gave her a small smile and turned his gaze back to Malfoy who didn't so much as twitch.

"You're still here."

It took her a moment to realize that he was talking to her.

"I had thought our agreement was that you would leave my territory. Should I assume you've changed your mind?"

"We're leaving your land as soon as we can," she reassured him as calmly as she could with a strange man cuddling her, his chin on top of her head.

"Really?" Raziel surveyed their site coolly. "It doesn't look to me as though you intend to go anywhere." He set down their silk bag and looked up at her. "Say the word, Hermione. We would be happy to have you."

She tried to jerk free and huffed when she was slammed backwards. "Let me go," she demanded, heart pounding. The red-eyed man snuffed her hair, ignoring her. It made her skin crawl. "Raziel... er, your highness? Tell him to let me go, please."

"Ridya," the wolf-king told her quietly.

"What?" Her brow furrowed.

"His name is Ridya. And the others are Moriel." He nodded to the golden wolf, now a small blond boy with gold eyes who beamed at her with gleeful malice. "And Leliel." The reddish-brown wolf was a dark-skinned woman with a shock of black hair and the lean body of a fighter. She scowled but seemed more curious than angry.

Hermione gave up struggling and asked raggedly, "What do you want?" Because really, what else could they give?

"I've given you plenty of time to vacate," the wolf-king said. "You're still here, so I assume you must be staying. I only came to collect."

"No!" she cut in quickly, a bit desperately. "We'll leave when Malfoy gets better."

Raziel gave the feverish blond human a long look which Malfoy returned hatefully, then turned back to her with a knowing gaze.

"You know better, Hermione." He said softly.

She glared back at him helplessly.

"He stinks of sickness," Leliel said.

"He's dying." Moriel wrinkled his nose. Malfoy made a sound of shock, pale face going whiter. He looked at Hermione, but she refused to meet his eyes.

Moriel turned to Raziel and asked casually, "Will you save him?"

"There is only one way to save him now," Raziel murmured, eyes on Hermione. "If he becomes like us."

"No!" Malfoy ground out in a guttural cough. Alekos snapped his jaws at Malfoy's throat and the blond boy went deadly still, eyeing the pearly fangs.

Hermione felt the color drain from her face. "You... you...." she bit her tongue on a curse and shouted. "You knew this would happen! You planned it!" She thrashed against Ridya, but he only held her tighter, rumbling softly.

His expression was solemn, almost kind, but there was something underneath that wasn't so nice. "I knew it was a possibility. Weak creatures often fail with just one bite from our jaws."

"That wasn't fair!" she cried in disbelief. "We made a deal! This is your fault! You hurt him, now help me heal him! There must be a way! Something to make him better."

"Why should I?" Raziel asked, tilting his head so violent red hair spilled in his eyes. "I want you both and either way, I will get at least one of you." He was enjoying himself. This was just another kind of hunt to him.

"That's not fair! You said I could choose!"

"And that you shall." He rose to his feet smoothly, and Alekos stepped away from Malfoy, sniffing the boy's wounds. His voice turned cold. "The boy will be dead before the moon rises tomorrow night. You have until then to decide. When he is dead, you will be alone, and then you will have no choice but to accept our protection."

"Choose wisely." Ridya whispered in her ear before he released her.

"You can't do this!" Hermione screamed at them. "Damn you! Help him! Do something!"

Raziel ignored her. "You will be safe as long as you remain on our lands. We will even protect the boy from predators while you are away. But do not stray too far. We will see you again soon."

The wolves turned and vanished into the brush. The cream and brown wolf lingered a moment at Hermione's feet. He whined softly and then was gone.

She stared after them, aware of the eyes boring into her from behind. Her throat closed and she choked on helplessness before she turned to face Malfoy. He was staring at her, his face red as he held in hysteria.

"Is it true? Am I dying?" he asked in a strange, numb voice.

She raised her hands helplessly. "I tried."

"You knew," he accused softly.

"It's infection." She told him quietly. "A magical one. There's not much I can do."

"You knew. You knew yesterday. The moment you saw, you knew." There was a hint of panic beneath the words. His eyes were too wide.

She didn't know what to say.

"So—what? That's it?" He was breathing too hard. "You're giving up? We come all this way and I'm wolf meat? And to think, all this time I thought it was you who was going to die."

"What?" she asked coldly, her hand automatically gripping the hilt of the knife.

He threw his head back to laugh and almost instantly convulsed in pain, whining with the force of it. "I tried so hard to protect you," he gasped, doubled over and shaking. "When it was myself who I should have been worrying about." He giggled.

She looked away, horrified, and said briskly, "Raziel can save you."

Malfoy's head snapped up. "NO!" he screamed, face red and twisted with rage. "No way! I'm going home. I'm not going to become some filthy animal."

Her eyes narrowed, some of her pity for him evaporating.

And there was the old prejudice. Pureblood pride. To him it would be like becoming a werewolf, and many purebloods would suffer death before they allowed themselves to be tainted. Filthy animal. Filthy blood. The sullying of his own body and a lifetime of poverty and disgrace if they managed to escape Raziel. Was it a fate worse than death to him? Is that why he'd tried the night before to make it her fate?

In the end, his fate would be her choice. The thought was bemusing. Save him or let him die. He would thank her for neither.

"You're going to have to choose, Malfoy. Either you're a wolf, or you're dead." She sounded so callous. Merlin, when had she become so cold?

"Don't you fucking dare, girly." He snarled, practically spitting the words at her. "Don't you fucking dare."

She turned away. "I'm going to search for supplies."

There was still time. She had to try.

She left him cool water and something light to eat to keep up his strength and wandered the forest until dusk in stubborn determination. The woods were a cornucopia of magic, more so than any place she had ever been. So why couldn't she find one thing to help Malfoy? Why was she wandering aimlessly and wasting time?

She found a patch of sweet smelling herbs and her heart leapt, thinking it was Enervein, a potent antiseptic and antitoxin. She fell to her knees and scrabbled at the herbs, checking their potency, nearly crying when she tasted one and the familiar numbing sting spread across her tongue. She gathered as much as she could, even going so far as to dig up the roots to peel them.

There was a lot here. She contemplated in excitement.

If she made a paste out of them to put on his wounds and brewed the rest for him to ingest then they might have a chance of fighting off the infection. Could Enervein be taken as a tea? She quickly listed as many of the properties as she could mentally and suddenly remembered that without fermentation and distillation, the weed was useless except for small burns.

She stood still for a heartbeat and then screamed in frustration before throwing the worthless herbs into the brush. When that didn't help, she pulled a Boiboi bush up by its roots, kicked a large stone, nearly breaking her toe, which only made her angrier, and slammed her fists into a tree over and over until they were numb and bruised and bleeding. Tears stung her eyes.

She had no food because she'd spent all day looking for medicine. She had no medicine because she was too stupid to know any of the plants in the vicinity. She should have spent the day making Malfoy comfortable, but she couldn't even feel guilty about the pain he was in.

Why didn't she feel sorry for him? She felt nothing, only a vague, detached pity. If he died, she couldn't even say she'd be sorry.

Merlin, was she even trying to save him? She wondered in horror.

Was she only pretending to search for medicine knowing it was fruitless, while she waited for him to die somewhere where she didn't have to watch? Just like he'd accused her before? If she weren't bound by oath to protect him, would she even be here, or would she have deserted him the moment he was too weak to follow?

What was she going to do when the time came to choose? It would be all too easy in the growing cold stillness of her heart to 'respect' Malfoy's wishes and let him die instead of allowing Raziel to save him. To change him. Not save. He didn't think of it as salvation.

Her legs gave out and she sat on her butt in the dirt and cried great gulping sobs of frustration and fatigue.

No matter what the situation, she had always been able to rely on her own sense of duty and justice. The moral sense that grounded her and guided every decision she made every day of her life. Only it wasn't there now and there was a big gaping hole in her conscience. She couldn't trust herself anymore.

Who was she now?

A sharp crackling rustle made her head fly up. She stifled her gasp, knees jerking as they instinctively tucked closer to her body.

The cream and brown wolf stepped slowly out of the bushes, head down, tail tucked between his legs. She held her breath, heart pounding. Alekos slinked on his belly, like a groveling dog, towards her and stopped ten feet away. The wolf dropped something from his jaws.

A rabbit. She realized. He'd been carrying a dead rabbit.

He gave a soft whine, nosed the carcass towards her. She swallowed hard and opened her mouth to ask when the wolf's head snapped up, ears erect. He loped away into the woods. Hermione let out her breath when he was gone and turned to the rabbit.

It was food and the wolf had obviously been offering it to her. She stared at the carcass like she expected it to attack.

What would the wolf want in return for feeding her?

She left the rabbit where it lay.

When she got back to camp, she found that Malfoy had been trying to move around a bit. He was sweating hard from exertion but had collapsed before she arrived on the other side of the fire. He looked at her expectantly when she appeared.

She shook her head. "I have nothing for you."

His face twisted, and he quickly turned away.

She let him alone and set about making a stew from all the things she had left. It would be something gentle on his stomach but nutritious enough to give him some strength. She found a few more shellfish and tossed them in. The end result was watery but surprisingly tasty. Unfortunately, she'd forgotten that they had no bowls or spoons. Odd that she'd forgotten that. They improvised as best they could, neither protesting when the other tilted the cooling cauldron to their lips to drink.

Hermione cleaned the camp up for the night and sat across the fire from Malfoy as the stars appeared in the sky and some night creature bellowed in the distance. She tensed, but only momentarily. It was strange to know they were perfectly safe. The wolves had promised it. She watched Malfoy as he settle back down to sleep after his painful journey into the bushes to relieve himself. From the look on his face, she knew something had happened.

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly.

He glanced at her and mumbled, "There was blood."

She let the feeling of inevitability settle over her, like another brick cemented into the wall between them. "Is there anything you want to say?" she asked him. "Anything you want me to... tell anyone?"

He shook his head slowly, staring at her in disbelief. "You're such a bitch, you know that? I hate to break it to you, but you're not going to make it out of here either."

"I know," she answered softly. "But I was going to try and leave a message somewhere tomorrow."

He shut his eyes and seemed to fight with himself, a muscle in his cheek twitched. "Look, I...." he trailed off, staring at her helplessly. "I... Help me."

She caught her breath sharply, eyes flying wide.

"Please. Help me."

She turned away, hating him, and tried not to cry.

oooo

Draco watched the girl doze and tried futilely to keep his thoughts neat and rational. Hermione lay in a heap of matted hair and dirt-streaked skin. She looked exhausted. He took a slow drink from the cauldron. It did nothing to soothe his parched throat.

It was getting harder and harder to think straight, to keep his mind from wandering off on strange, almost hallucinatory tangents. Twice he'd caught himself trying to get up thinking he had to go somewhere, only to realize there was nowhere to be.

His life had already flashed before his eyes. Their lives, really. His brain had taken it upon itself in sort of an obligatory fashion to play out what he imagined her life to be. It involved a lot of books. He would have snorted at the thought, but it wasn't funny at all.

Every instinct screamed for him to get up off his ass and try to save himself. It wasn't his nature to simply lay there while the clock ticked down. Slytherin self-preservation and all that. Unfortunately, he could barely move without every limb burning in agony. He was helpless. He could feel his body dying. The tips of his fingers, his lips and his nose were already numb, as if death was a mist slowly coating his body and creeping through him until it touched every part.

If he died, he was going to die furious with her, blaming her every step of the way.

He knew Hermione wouldn't let him die. No matter how much she hated him. No matter how pissed he was at her that she hadn't produced a miracle cure for him. She wouldn't let him die if she could help it. She would let the wolf turn him. He just wasn't sure that was what Raziel planned. It was Hermione they really wanted. Their desire for him was secondary, a plan easily discarded.

They didn't seem to realize or care that if he died she would probably snap. Really snap once and for all.

Merlin. Maybe it was egotistical to blame her current state solely on himself, but he did. He had really messed her up. She was falling apart before his eyes, holding herself together with her failing will alone. Too much had happened in such a short period of time for them to come to terms with it all. And now she was second-guessing herself, afraid of herself and her own mind.

It was his fault, he told himself. Adversity brought out a person's true character, and he had shown his to be that of a weak-willed bastard. He wasn't the villain he'd tried so hard to be, but perhaps this was worse. He was the mindless, frightened dip-shit who caused the problem for everyone else in the first place.

He was the vicious lackey, the greedy bastard, the sniveling traitor, and never the hero.

It was why he'd turned on Hermione so angrily the night she was taken by the wolves. He'd accused her of hypocrisy and cold-blooded, Slytherin manipulation in her actions towards him during the water monster incident. That was bullshit. She'd had every right to get rid of him in any way she saw fit.

He'd thought she understood that. But that night, she had taken all his words to heart, let them wound her so badly when she had every right to fight for her survival, every right to hate him, and even the right to kill him if she needed to. She had believed every word he'd spewed at her and when he realized she was eating them up and crushing herself with the guilt, he'd kept spewing them, terrified that she'd realize the truth.

He wasn't angry at her.

He was horribly embarrassed and ashamed of himself. Of his inadequacy.

He wasn't the hero. He wasn't Harry fucking Potter.

Yeah, so he'd been right that if the situation were different, she would have screamed at Harry Potter to run and save himself. The difference between him and Potter was that Potter wouldn't have listened to her. Potter wouldn't have abandoned her. He wouldn't have hidden to save himself. He would have done something completely rash and stupid and outrageous, fearlessly risking his own life, and somehow saved her while coming out unscathed, no matter that the odds were forty-to-one.

Harry Potter would have pulled a dragon out of his ass, and a flaming sword out of the dragon's ass and rode in to rescue her.

Draco had left her with the wolves because he believed it was the only thing that would keep her safe. The wolves would take care of her when he couldn't. If they were strong enough to keep the wyvern at bay, then they definitely wouldn't let anything happen to her.

He hadn't, even for a moment, dwelt on why it was suddenly easier to admit that he was doing this for her safety then the fact that this was also his chance to get rid of her. This was his chance to expunge her from his life painlessly, without hurting or killing her, without any guilt whatsoever on his conscious because she was safe and well here and better taken care of then he could manage himself. She'd be gone for good, she'd no longer be around to screw with his life or his world view, and he was relieved.

And when he saw how frightened she was, he tried to tell himself that it was for her own good, but he was still so ashamed. And he couldn't help thinking of Potter.

He wondered helplessly what everyone back home was doing. He tried to spare a thought and a well-wish for each of them. For Pansy and Blaise and Crabbe and Goyle and even that fat cow Millicent, but it was getting harder to concentrate and his mind wandered as the world around him grew darker.

He stared into the flames, watched the shadow of them dance over Hermione's face. His shadow self had promised she would die, perhaps he had averted that. He'd been so afraid when he saw the white wolf, thinking maybe it was his shadow self. His evil half come to kill them both.

Come to kill him for betraying his father's ideals.

The fire flickered and roared up, heating his skin, beating against it like the sun. Like the sun on a vast golden plain.

Orange flames and dry grass. Wolves bounding around in a feral war dance.

Draco gasped and reached for the cauldron, needing water because it was so hot and dry. His lips were chapped, and the inside of his mouth felt like sunburn. The cauldron was gone. He'd left it in the shade of the trees.

He felt his eyes rasp over the backs of his eyelids like sandpaper. Fireants marched over his skin.

The moon blazed down on the vast plains, making the world a bluish hell. But the rabbits were in hiding because the wolves were on the prowl. Hot breath. Hot teeth. Hot, ripping, tearing pain.

The field was on fire. It was burning. The flames were everywhere, smoke choking in his lungs. He couldn't get away. He tried to run but couldn't move. The fire caught on his robes, streaked up his legs and down his arms like liquid agony and engulfed him, melting, bubbling, charring his flesh.

He shrieked as he started to burn.

oooo

Hermione jerked awake from a light doze when the first agonized howl from Malfoy ripped the silence apart. She lost at least ten seconds to complete disorientation before the world righted itself, and she saw Malfoy on his back, arching up, face twisted in anguish as he screamed.

She flung herself clumsily across the distance between them and grabbed his shoulder, screaming his name. He didn't seem to hear her, only twisted and convulsed, clawing at himself. She shook him, slapped him, and then gasped at what she felt.

He was wet, absolutely dripping with sweat, and his skin was lobster-red, so hot it almost burned. Panicking, she grabbed the nearby cauldron and dumped the water over his body. His screams only increased, growing to wails of torture and suffering.

Still screaming his name, and now completely hysterical, Hermione tried the only thing she could think of. She stripped off his wet clothes, moaning in horror at the sight of the angry red streaked lines radiating from his wounds, and rushed to fill the cauldron with more water. Even if it hurt him, she had to cool him down. She poured more water over him, scooped a tiny bit into his mouth, but he only choked and flailed.

"DRACO! DRACO!" she screamed, nails digging into his arms. "WAKE UP! I don't know what to do! Merlin. Oh please. Please! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO!" She lunged to her feet, "HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP!"

Draco answered her screams with terrified shrieks and she fell to her knees, propping him up against her body and dolloped water over him.

"I'm sorry. So sorry," she sobbed, trying to hold him still so he didn't hurt himself. He slapped at her, howling, his voice breaking and becoming hoarse. The back of his hand smashed into her eye, and she yelped, dropping him.

He began screaming for his father. Crying hysterically, Hermione reached for the cauldron to dump the contents on him again.

Hands grabbed hers roughly and shoved the cauldron away. "NO!"

She fought the hands, screaming in rage, only to have the hands shove her. She fell back in astonishment, the cauldron dumping to the ground. Green eyes met hers briefly and then Alekos was dragging Draco closer to the fire.

"Stop!" she started weakly, too confused to do more than reach out an arm uselessly.

"Help me!" the man interrupted angrily and pulled a soft cloth from a heavy deer-skin bag at his side. "Dry him off quickly! The water burns!"

Shell-shocked, Hermione scrambled over to help. The two of them quickly patted and rubbed Draco dry, the wolf easily holding the squirming boy down. Draco's screams were dying to hoarse, thin cries, his damaged throat no longer able to sustain full screams. Alekos began wrenching the leaf coverings off Draco's wounds.

"Get them off!" he ordered harshly when she hesitated.

Hermione tore at her makeshift bandages as if they were flesh-eating leeches and the wolf-man extracted a smooth bowl made of polished stone from his bag. It was full of sea-grean paste. Dipping his hands in, he scooped up a handful of the soft, minty-smelling concoction. Hermione sat panting, watching the wolf-turned-man rub the waxy lotion vigorously into Draco's weeping wounds, and, after a stunned moment, she grabbed a handful and helped.

Together they greased Draco's wounds with the ointment and slowly Draco began to calm. His body cooled under their touch, the tears of pain drying up. And the twisted agony of his face smoothing out as his heaving chest slowed to gentle, even breathing. Finally Draco was still and silent in exhausted sleep. They laid him gently on top of his wet robes.

Trembling with exhaustion and adrenalin, Hermione sank back on her heels.

Blessed silence.

She looked slowly up at the green-eyed wolf-man, expression guarded, wiping sweat from her brow with slippery hands. "Thank you." It came out a croak.

Alekos nodded, seemingly examining her just as intently as she examined him. His muscles twitched at every little noise. Hermione realized he was trembling with anxiety, not fatigue. He was afraid.

When he spoke, it was a whisper. "This is temporary. It isn't a cure. It is a balm that will soothe the burning and slow the infection-" He cut off quickly, head flying up as he listened attentively to something she couldn't hear. He ducked his head again and leaned in close to her. "Listen carefully, Hermione, Raziel lied. About a lot of things. There is a way to cure Draco. There is a way out of here."

"But, Raziel said... he gave his word...." she stuttered out stupidly.

Alekos shook his head in frustration. "What does a wolf care for human oaths? He will do what his instincts tell him is best for his pack and will be bound by no word or sense of honor or duty should he need to change his decision. That is how an animal's mind works."

"Then what should I do? How do I help Malfoy?