Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Draco received the missive at 11:02 a.m. on a Wednesday. It was an ordinary morning in the middle of an uneventful week. He sat at the desk in his study and poured over the stacks of parchment scattered on the desktop. Brow furrowed, he stared at the document in his hand, willing it to reveal some hidden meaning, something other than the text scrawled onto the page. 

“Complete fucking rubbish,” he spat, crumbling the parchment and tossing it at the waste bin. 

“Nothing of use, General?” Theodore Nott, loyal follower and Draco’s personally selected lieutenant, hovered over Draco’s shoulder, vying at a glimpse of the paperwork he was studying. 

“No. It’s all worthless. Not a single document we have retrieved from the Order’s safehouse has been advantageous. It all appears to be old plans and tactics from the early years of the war. Nothing helpful to our current efforts.”

“Hmm, pity.” Theo buffed his nails on his robes, feigning boredom. “I’ve got something that might cheer you up,” he grinned. 

Draco cocked a dark blonde eyebrow at Theo, patience worn thin from dealing with dead-end leads all day. “Well, then? Out with it.”

Theo pulled a scroll of yellowed parchment from his pocket, a wide grin still fixed on his face. 

He snatched the parchment from Theo with a sneer, opening the missive as he turned away. His eyes scanned the page and his eyebrows instantly shot to his hairline. The air may as well have been sucked out of his lungs. He read the document three times over just to be certain that he didn’t misunderstand. Then, he abruptly pushed his chair back and stood on shaky legs. Straightening the lapels of his jacket, he inhaled slowly as the shock set in.

The promise of what was to come had him vibrating with energy, and he felt his magic crackle under his skin.

Draco’s gaze shifted from the parchment to Theo, a mixture of disbelief and surprise clear on his pointed face. “She’s here?”

***

Draco wasted no time at all and traveled directly to Azkaban after receiving the news of her arrival. It was good timing anyway, as he was long overdue for a visit to the prison. He hadn’t made his rounds in months, having been too preoccupied with other duties. He took the long way around and assessed each corridor with a scrutinizing eye, finding himself pleasantly surprised at the changes Warden Flint had made. The dementors were gone – finally, the foul fucking beasts – and were replaced with guards from the Dark Lord’s regime. He was pleased to see that everything was in order and running smoothly which meant that he could fetch his prisoner and go straight back to the manor without any disruptions.

As Draco examined the new magic-suppressing metal cellblocks, a gruff voice interrupted him. “General Malfoy, sir,” the stocky guard called. “The prisoner’s intake is complete. I can take you to her now.”

A sly smile graced his face and his magic hummed electricity through his veins. It was finally time. He made his way down the hall that led to the frigid Azkaban holding cells where he could finally see his prize. The air was still and cold, and little plumes of breath puffed from his mouth with each shallow exhale. 

This could be it. This could be their big break. 

The latest wave of Order insurgents was proving increasingly difficult to quell, and the revolutionaries were only growing in number. He needed to squash the resistance under his boot before they lost all control. Of course, he had his own motivations, but this capture could very well be the catalyst that tips the scales in their favor once more. It could be monumental for his army. The Death Eaters needed this. He needed this.

He needed her. 

The guard led Draco through the winding tunnels, his beady eyes fixed ahead as he muttered about the recent renovations and changes from Warden Flint. Draco drowned out the guard’s ramblings – he couldn’t help it – it was simply too hard to focus when all of his thoughts were filled with her. The click of his dragonhide boots on the concrete echoed down the corridor, bringing him closer and closer to her with each step. He almost couldn’t contain his excitement as his body burned with anticipation.

They passed the turn that led to the holding cells and the guard spoke before Draco could question him. "She's in a special area. Didn't want her around the other prisoners, what with her condition and all."

Her condition?

When they reached the end of the hall, the guard hesitated, apprehension on his face as he looked to Draco for further instruction. Draco nodded in response and the guard slowly pushed open the heavy door. Given the extra safeguards in place, Draco assumed that the warden was aware of the prisoner's infamous history. They had placed her in a special area, one reserved for the most heinous of criminals. The room was large, bare, and windowless, with only concrete floors and walls all around. In the center of the room stood one lonely cell block constructed entirely of obsidian. The metal bars gleamed in the low light. 

He studied the magic-suppressing cage, pleased with the high-level security measures used. There was no doubt that she was a powerful witch and she was feared by many in his ranks. Rumors of her Death Eater kills spread like wildfire in the early days of the war, so he could see why they had taken extra precautions with her capture. A smile spread across his face. She didn’t scare him. 

In fact, she did quite the opposite. He had become obsessed with finding her. Ever since she orchestrated the attack at the Manor — at his fucking home — he had wanted to capture her. Wanted to round his fist around her pretty little neck and watch as the light faded from her eyes. The thoughts plagued him day and night. He’d dreamt of her begging on her knees, pleading for his mercy as he tortured her for information. He had waited for that moment for so long that being in her presence was almost surreal.

The guard cleared his throat, snapping Draco from his thoughts. “All yours, General,” he said. “And be careful, this one bites.”

Draco waited for an explanation but the guard simply turned and stalked towards the exit. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Draco all alone with his prize. 

At first glance, he thought they were mistaken. She was small — so fucking small. Had she always been that skinny? No, certainly not. She looked like she had been starved for weeks and all of the color was drained from her body. Her skin was ashen, almost gray, and she was barefoot, clothed only in a dirty shirt and pants. Her collarbones jutted out from the neckline of her shirt at pointed angles and her cheekbones looked almost sharp to the touch. Her hair, that wild mess of curled chestnut that always bounced about, was matted and tangled and hung limply down past her shoulders. She clearly had not bathed in some time and he wondered when the guards stopped hosing down the prisoners during processing. Perhaps it was another change that Warden Flint instated. He would have to speak with him about reconsidering because she smelled terrible, he almost couldn’t bear it. He put his arm over his nose to cover the stench. It was thick and heavy in the air, filth and another scent that he couldn’t quite place. The uncertainty made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He studied her from the doorway, trying his best to picture the girl he once knew. The girl who shined. The girl who radiated power. The Golden Girl. 

It wasn't her. It couldn't be. He was going to fucking kill Theo. 

In four long strides, he was at the obsidian cell, reaching for her. His fingers circled the girl's small wrist and he yanked her towards him, pulling her arm roughly through the bars. He twisted it, her little bones creaking with the movement. With the inside of her forearm facing up, he smiled. Clear as day, etched into the grayed flesh of her arm was the word, just as filthy and cruel as he remembered it. He dragged his thumb along the scar, tracing the raised skin.

“Mudblood," he spat. "It is you, after all.”

He was surprised when she didn’t try to shake him off. It was like she was frozen. Catatonic. She just stared at him, with only a small ring of amber around her blown pupils. 

This was wrong. She was wrong. She was Granger… but she wasn’t. The eyes staring back at him were not the eyes of the witch he remembered. He couldn’t forget them if he tried, and fuck, did he try. Granger had soft eyes. Kind ones that sucked you in no matter how hard you tried to look away. He shook his head, feeling like he was going insane. She was too small, too gray, and her eyes were too fucking dark.

He looked at the scar again for confirmation. It was still there. It was really Granger. It had to be. His eyes dragged down her body and he squeezed her arm tighter, wondering how much pressure it would take to crush her bones in his fist.

She whimpered weakly and he couldn't help but laugh. "Oh, Granger. This is going to be so enjoyable... for me."

He thought back to their Hogwarts days, to the times he had watched her in class, crossing and uncrossing her legs under the workbench like a little fucking tease. Like she wanted him to look. He’d obliged, of course, because she was practically begging for it. So, each day for nearly five years, he let his eyes wander up and down her bare legs as she fidgeted, his thoughts spiraling with wonder. 

What he wouldn’t have given back then just to get under that fucking skirt. And now, destiny had provided him with this gift. This token of appreciation for his valiant efforts in serving the Dark Lord. He opened his mouth to speak, and she struck, the pain instantly tearing through his hand. She scurried away from him and crouched down in the far corner of the cell.

“You bitch!” He bellowed, popping the tip of his thumb instinctively into his mouth. “You fucking bit me!”

After a few seconds, the pain dissipated and he held his hand out in front of him to assess his thumb. There was a tiny puncture wound that looked like a perfect circle had been drilled neatly into the pad of his thumb. Blood trickled slowly from the wound and fell to the floor in small rivulets. Granger sniffed loudly from the corner of the cell, her nose pointed up in the air in an almost animalistic way. Slowly, she turned her head to face him.

Something was very wrong.

Her face split into an eerie smile, wide and insidious. The white of her teeth caught the light and Draco began to piece things together. Four pointed teeth were set in her smile, noticeably longer and sharper than the others. 

She had fucking fangs. 

So, it wasn’t Granger. Not really. Draco knew that when a person was turned into a vampire, only a portion of the original human remained. The rest was turned into a blood-lustful creature that could never be sated. He did not know enough about vampirism to understand the danger of the situation, but he didn't fucking care. He was the High General. He was untouchable. Invincible. Nothing would stop him. She was finally his. He snapped his fingers and called for the guard.

“Yes, General?” The guard answered immediately.

“She’s the one I’ve been waiting for. Fetch the shackles and arrange for transport to the Malfoy Manor dungeons. We’re finished here.”

***

Upon his return home, the Manor security informed Draco that the prisoner had been successfully transported. She was currently secured in the west dungeons, locked in shackles that were crafted to inhibit the wearer’s magic. 

Satisfied with his catch, Draco marched directly to his library. He needed to dig up some information about vampires. He had limited knowledge of the subject and knew only the very basics. He was aware that they drank blood and did not enjoy direct sunlight. But other than those few bits of information, he was essentially clueless. He needed to understand what he was dealing with.

It was easier to imagine interrogating her and killing her when she was just a witch. He knew how to kill witches; he’d done so several times now. Men and women, both magical and Muggle, were easy to kill. And he was good at it. He excelled at it, even. He honed his skill on the battlefield and cultivated it with finesse. He made it look effortless. There had never been a Death Eater so skilled and magically adept as he. His ability to cast simultaneous killing curses with ease helped him sail to the tops of the ranks. So, at a very young age, he became the Dark Lord’s right hand, and there he sat quite comfortably for the last three years.

Now, a man of only twenty, he was the most feared General that the Death Eaters had ever seen. He was unstoppable and had a near-perfect track record, with only one failed mission to date. And he only failed because of her. The fucking mudblood who always seemed to be one step ahead of him. Always sticking her nose in places she didn’t belong, too damn smart for her own good.

Let’s see how smart she is now.

After she led the attack at Malfoy Manor, Draco tracked her from Wiltshire all the way to the northern Scotland countryside to no avail. The trail ran cold by the time he reached the North Sea coastline. Determined, he continued on, pushing his army to the limits as they scoured the country for her. He didn’t care if he was caught for using the Death Eaters to settle his personal vendetta. He had questions that needed answers – answers that only she knew.

He wondered how long it would take to crack her. She was so frail now, so little, he could probably snap her neck like a twig. He needed to be careful during his interrogation — he didn’t want to get ahead of himself and kill her before he found his answers. After that, he could dispose of her properly. 

Possibly. 

Because things had changed a bit since she was an immortal fucking vampire witch. What would he do now? Drive a stake through her no longer beating heart? Where was the satisfaction in that? It was too quick — too immediate. He wanted to drag it out, to leave her wondering why he tortured her, just as she left him wondering for three bloody years. 

As he researched, he discovered that many things he heard about vampires were actually myths. Vampires did not catch fire in the sunlight, nor did they sleep hanging upside down from the rafters like bats. One thing that he did know for a fact was that they were utterly obsessed with blood. It was an infatuation, a thirst that could never be quenched. The bloodlust was a compulsion that could not be stopped. 

Draco slammed the tome he was reading closed. Aside from a text written by Flamel that he found earlier that evening, he discovered that there was little information on witches who were turned into vampires. Probably because witches were too fucking smart. But the Granger he knew was brilliant; she would have never let herself be taken by a godsdamn vampire. He stood, sneering to himself, furious that she had him so worked up. He needed to rest. He could deal with the muddy blood-sucker in the morning.

***

Featherlike touches grazed his skin, trailing down his neck. His eyes slowly opened , heavy with sleep. Through the haze, he saw Granger hovering above him. She was straddling him, her warm hands flat on his bare chest. The moonlight cast shadows on her face but he knew it was her. Her curls flowed around her face and she smelled like warm vanilla sugar. She was no longer frail and sickly-looking. She was clean and healthy, like the Granger he remembered from the past , nothing like that bloodsucking thing that was masquerading as Granger in his dungeons. 

His hands automatically went to her waist and he squeezed. Her skin was like silk under his rough fingers. She rocked her hips back and forth, grinding on him in a steady rhythm. He groaned at the feeling, reveling in the way she felt on his body. She leaned down and buried her face into the crook of his neck. She was kissing him.

Licking.

Sucking.

Biting . 

He tried to shove her off of him but she was too strong. She pinned his arms at his sides while he thrashed underneath her, using all of his power to escape her hold. Completely unperturbed with his flailing, she continued to roll her hips on him, riding the friction. She smiled, mouth stretching too wide for her small face, and it was in that moment that Draco was filled with absolute terror. Bright crimson was smeared all over her chin, teeth, and lips.  It was blood. His blood.

He screamed.

***

Draco jolted awake, sitting upright in his bed as he gasped for air. His hands instantly went to his neck, to the spot where she bit him, but there was nothing. Just smooth, intact skin. There were no bite marks, no wounds or blood. Not even a scratch was found on his porcelain skin. He fell back onto his pillow and exhaled through his teeth. It was only a dream. A stupid fucking dream about his bloodthirsty little prisoner. No, it wasn’t a dream, it was a bloody nightmare. 

He threw the covers off and stepped right into his boots, not bothering with his robes. There was no time to fuss, he needed to get to the dungeons now. Needed to see for himself that she was still locked up. It had felt so real, like she was actually in bed with him. But she was locked in her cell, bound with obsidian shackles. Escape was impossible. He simply could not make sense of it.

He marched down to the dungeons wearing nothing but his trunks and boots. He probably looked insane, with mussed hair from tossing and turning and sweat dripping down his bare chest. The portraits on the walls whispered as he walked by, commenting on his improper dress and disheveled appearance, but he paid them no mind. He was too busy seething at the thought of wringing Granger’s fucking neck.

He rounded the corner to the dungeons, his boots thudding on the concrete with each heavy footfall. The guards were present at their stations and they instantly stood to attention when they caught sight of Draco thundering down the hall. He pushed by them and stomped towards her cell.

Draco kicked the metal bars and shouted, not caring if anyone witnessed the scene he was making. “How did you do it?”

She was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, and facing the wall opposite him. Slowly, she turned her head to face him, her expression blank and empty.

“You will answer me when I speak to you!” Again, he kicked the bars, chest heaving.

She only hummed absently in response and nodded her head once. It was as if she were in a trance or bewitched. If the dementors hadn’t been removed from Azkaban, he would have thought she had suffered a visit from one during her capture. She was acting so strangely, even for a vampire.

He stared her down, trying to figure out just what this little beast had planned. What game was she playing? Draco’s eyes were hard and hot on her body. He wanted her to feel his anger, wanted it to burn. Still, she sat completely frozen. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling the strands in his knuckles. She was driving him mad.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I am in charge here. You will not make a fool of me!” He growled.

He spun on his heel and stormed out, heading back to the library to continue his research. He had clearly missed something. 

***

Draco turned the page and slammed his fist onto the table. Nicholas Flamel’s Origin of the Others had been long, monotonous, and entirely unfuckinghelpful. All he gathered from it was that vampires came from a rare line of veelas that shared ancestry with hags, and no one cared to stop the interbreeding. It was foul. Vampires were beasts. Impure.

Just like dirty little mudbloods.

As he expected, there was little to no documentation of mudbloods and vampires. It seemed that information on vampirism was kept secret for whatever reason. Probably because the creatures were so scarce in numbers now, as they were all forced underground ages ago, and no one had reason to look into them much anymore. There was only one small section in Flamel's work that Draco found, stating: ‘A being with both magical and Muggle blood may have unpredictable reactions when mixed further with vampirism.’

Draco tossed the book onto the table. “’Unpredictable’ in what way, Flamel? Completely useless fucking text,” he muttered.

“Oi! Quiet down. Some of us are trying to learn over here.” Theo eyed Draco with a disapproving glare.

“Oh, fuck off, Theo. You’re insufferable.”

“You love it. And look, I’ve actually found something worthwhile. It says here,” he tapped his index finger pointedly on the book in his hands, “if a vampire has not fed for an extended period of time, they may go into a dormant-like state and have decreased activity to preserve energy.”

“Yes, as I presumed,” Draco hummed as he reached for the book he’d just discarded onto the table.

 “But wait, it gets better,” Theo grinned. “Apparently, if they go without food for long enough, sexual release can happen at the first feed.”

Draco froze as icy cold shock ran through his veins. Theo couldn’t possibly know about his nightmare, could he? Did he help her get out of her cell? What was he playing at? Perhaps Theo wanted Granger to kill Draco so he could move up in rank and take his place as High General. His paranoia won over and he whipped his wand from his holster, aiming it directly at Theo’s chest.

Theo sat up and threw his hands in the air in surrender. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, there, mate. Let’s not get carried away. I was only suggesting that you may want to feed your little prisoner. She might be of more use to you then.” He smirked, eyes alight with mischief. “It might even be fun… if she’s hungry enough.”

Draco lowered his wand, letting the paranoid thoughts fall to the back of his mind. “I see.”

Theo smirked, devilish excitement dripping from his smile as he nodded at Draco’s understanding.

“Well then,” Draco said as he holstered his wand, “why don’t we pay my prisoner a little visit? But first, we must stop in Knockturn. I’d like to pick up something to give my interrogation techniques a new edge.”

***

They apparated with two loud cracks onto the landing that separated Diagon Alley from Knockturn. Draco picked a nonexistent spec of lint off his robes and Theo straightened his collar, regaining their bearings after traveling from Wiltshire. 

After they were sufficiently put together, Draco and Theo made their way to Borgin and Burkes for some light yet very illegal shopping. All too often they found themselves negotiating in the backs of seedy shops, so they quickly fell into their usual rhythm. Once they entered the shop, Draco snapped his fingers, extinguishing the lights while Theo secured the doors with a locking charm.

Dark magic rolled off their bodies, triggering the store’s security wards. In a matter of seconds, the old shopkeeper scurried from the back room and fell to his knees, head bowed in allegiance.

“G-g— General Malfoy, sir. And Lieutenant Nott. How— how may I be of service to you?” 

Draco sneered at the man groveling at his feet. After a quick scan of the room, he noted that the shopkeeper was the only person in the building and it was safe to proceed with his plan.

“I am in need of blood – human blood. As much as you have.”

The old man’s eyes grew wide with fear as he processed Draco’s demands. He stood shakily to his feet and scampered away to do his master’s bidding. When the shopkeeper returned, he held three milk carton-sized glass bottles in his hands. Each bottle was filled to the top with a thick, red substance.

Draco smiled almost as wide as Granger, the witch-slash vampire, had when she bit him. When she fucked him in his nightmares. He shook his head, reminding himself that it was only a dream. He dropped a bag of galleons onto the countertop and placed the bottles into a secure pocket of his robes.

“I expect you to maintain a stock of this should I need to acquire more for my… pet. And next time, there better be more than three measly bottles.”

“And, as usual, we are counting on your discretion. It would be a shame if anyone were to find out about our little shopping trip,” Theo added with a predatory wink. 

The shopkeeper trembled with fear, replying with several stuttered yeses and nods. And then, they were on their way back to Malfoy Manor with a plan and three full bottles of blood to play with.

Chapter Text

Theo left Draco for the rest of the evening to tend to his other duties, which meant that Draco could do whatever he fucking wanted with his little prisoner. He could either way, of course, but now he would not have to worry about Theo looking over his shoulder the entire night. He was only going to interrogate her…among other things.

Draco stood outside Granger’s cell and waited as patiently as he could manage. When she didn’t immediately acknowledge his presence, he sighed, annoyed at her lack of decorum and respect. Yes, she was likely starved and catatonic, but he was the High fucking General; how dare she ignore him?

She was facing the wall again, sitting silently in the dark cell. A sickening stench met his nostrils, accompanied again by the strange smell he couldn’t quite place. He choked out a cough and did his best to keep from dry heaving. Before he was going to do anything, he needed to get her cleaned up. He could hardly stand being around her in this state. 

She was disgusting.

He called for the lead dungeon guard, Osmund, to double-check her shackles before opening the cell. After determining both shackles were safely secured around her wrists, Draco informed Osmund that he would be taking the prisoner to another location for questioning. 

“General, would you like me to escort you to the interrogation room?"

“That won’t be necessary, thank you, Osmund. I plan to move her to a more secluded area, away from prying eyes and ears.” Draco nodded his head towards the other cells that lined the hallway, each filled with supporters of the Order.

“Don’t wait up. I expect that this interrogation will not be quick,” he called over his shoulder, dragging Granger down the corridor by her arm. 

She shivered under his touch but Draco didn’t think she was shaking in fear. It seemed more like she was trembling from weakness, exhaustion, or even starvation. Right when they reached the staircase that led to his quarters her knees buckled. He caught her before she hit the ground, with one arm circled behind her back and the other stabilizing her upright. Her eyelids fluttered closed and he rolled his eyes.

Good fucking Salazar, she was dramatic. 

He wondered when she had eaten last. From the looks of it, it had been quite some time, which was perfect for Draco. He planned to use her hunger to his advantage. What would a starving vampire do to guzzle down three bottles of fresh blood? He couldn’t wait to find out.

Draco scooped her up into his arms and cradled her to his chest as he climbed the stairs. She was so small in his arms, practically weightless. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. He hoped she was because the Dark Lord would certainly punish him if he let a prisoner die without being properly questioned first. Draco convinced himself that his sole purpose for purchasing the blood was to keep her alive long enough for interrogation, but he knew better.

He needed this.

He kicked open the door to his ensuite and carried Granger to the tub in the center of the room. Her body slumped down when he placed her inside, the shackles clicking on the porcelain as he rearranged her limbs. With two taps of his wand, the faucet turned on, and the tub was soon filled with warm, soapy water. Draco frowned at the heap of skin and bones before him. He did not think this through. He had been so focused on finally having her within reach that he did not realize how useless she would be in the bath.

“Get up,” he spat. “I’m not fucking bathing you.” He shook her shoulders violently. “I said, wake up!” 

He shook her again, harder this time, but she only slumped further into the tub, her chin nodding down to slip under the water. He quickly readjusted his footing and moved to pull her back up to a seated position. A deep sigh left him as he contemplated his next move. He had intended on waiting until she was clean before he gave her the blood, but she was so damn useless and weak that he needed to adjust his plans.

In one swift movement, Draco pulled the bottle from his pocket with one hand while still holding her upright with the other. Once he removed the cork stopper with his teeth, he felt her perk up in his arms. She was already responding so nicely. Draco shifted his hold on her body and gripped her tightly behind her neck, his fingers now intertwined in her matted hair. With her head secure, he tilted her chin up to the ceiling and held the bottle to her lips. Tipping the bottle back ever so slightly, he allowed two small drops of blood to fall into her mouth. It breathed life into her. Wild, ravenous, hungry life.

She began thrashing and screaming, scratching at Draco’s hands with her sharp, claw-like nails. He doubled down his hold on her, using one leg to anchor her to the tub while keeping his grip on her hair. He almost vomited when he realized that he was standing in her filthy fucking bathwater with her. 

“Stop moving! Stop it now! If you keep still, I’ll give you more!”

That stopped her. She stilled immediately and only moved her eyes to him, focusing intently on his face, her gaze flitting from his lips to his eyes and back again. She was studying him, weighing the truth in his micro-expressions. She stuck her tongue out and twirled the tip around the point of her fang, then tilted her head up again and obediently opened her mouth wide, waiting for the sweet salvation that Draco held in his hands.

Again, he tilted the bottle, pouring a steady stream of thick red liquid onto her tongue. Mouth open, she smiled. It was softer than the feral, wide grin he had seen earlier. She almost looked human again. He watched her throat bob and felt his cock jolt to life in his trousers. Her body shuddered and squirmed as the blood flowed into her mouth, feeding her life. She started whimpering and rubbing her thighs together as she swallowed. The sudsy water rippled around her body as she writhed in his hands.

So, this was the sexual release that Theo was talking about.

Draco watched the spectacle with a heavy-lidded gaze, his breaths becoming shallow. Her pupils constricted to a normal size, and the sweet caramel color of her irises returned. She almost looked like Granger again, like the witch he remembered. His thoughts were a jumbled mess as memories of Granger flooded his mind. He saw flashes of her in all her glory, storming his manor years ago with The Order.

--Two Years Prior--

It was an awful night. The Death Eaters had just suffered a devastating blow after losing ground in the Forest of Dean. Draco was back at Malfoy Manor, wrapping his wounded arm with a bandage in the makeshift infirmary when the first explosion happened.

He rushed from the room, wand out and ready for combat. Immediately, he noted the several low-ranking officers lying dead in the corridor. They were under attack and the intruder had already breached the wards. But how did they get inside? He stepped over their bodies and moved stealthily down the hall, careful not to make a sound. A flash of purple light sparked at the end of the corridor and smoke started to rise, obscuring his view.  Draco ran towards the light, his wand raised and ready to fire when the unmistakable pop of apparition sounded directly behind him. It was close, so close. 

Impossible . The Manor was heavily guarded against apparition. Draco spun on his heel, ready to curse the intruder in their tracks. Unfortunately for him, she was faster. 

Hermione Granger stood before him, a war heroine in the heat of battle. She was the textbook image of pure, raw magic. Her curls were wild, tumbling down past her shoulders. She wore tight combat clothing that clung to her figure with heavy dragonhide boots and an all-black cloak fit for a warrior. There was a twinkle in her brown eyes, wide with courage and power.

She was breathtaking , entirely in her element, and aiming her wand directly at his fucking jugular. 

He was dead man. No one had been able to escape once Granger had them in her crosshairs. There were shouts coming from behind him now as his guards entered the west wing. Granger broke eye contact, her gaze locking on the bandage wrapped around his arm, now almost entirely saturated with fresh blood. His wound must have dehisced in the shuffle, but he would have to worry about that later if, by some miracle, he survived. 

Familiar voices carried down the corridor. Dolohov and Mulciber shouted orders over the commotion of the attack. He smirked; his Death Eaters would make quick work of her. He only hoped that they would reach him in time. Draco wondered why she hadn’t killed him yet and he opened his mouth to speak. Before he managed to get a word out, she pounced, tackling him to the ground. They disapparated before they even hit the floor. 

Draco found himself lying in the grass on the outskirts of his estate, his limbs tangled in Granger’s. Quickly, she moved to her feet and shuffled away from him, wand still aimed at his throat. He put his hands up in a last-ditch effort to bargain for freedom. Draco Malfoy was not one to surrender, but he would rather die than be captured by The Order. Maybe he could strike a deal with her. Who was he kidding? She would never let him go. He held his breath, resigned, and hoped that the Order’s Golden Mudblood would deliver her final blow quickly.  

He couldn’t make out her facial expressions in the moonlight but he could sense that something was off. Why did she apparate them just outside the Manor grounds? If she wanted him as a prisoner, why wasn’t she taking him back to headquarters? And if she wanted him dead, why hadn’t she killed him already?

And how was she able to apparate on Malfoy grounds at all? It was impossible. Unless she had some secret power that other witches and wizards did not.

Granger continued to slowly back away, her wide eyes fixed on his. He noticed blood smeared on her chin and neck. Was she injured? That must be why she couldn’t apparate them too far. Surely, she would find a way to have him transported to The Order now. Her eyes focused yet again on his bandaged arm, the blood now dripping from the soaked gauze. Her chest was heaving and her breaths were labored.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

To his surprise, she lowered her wand and spoke, voice barely above a whisper. “Run.”

And then, she disapparated into the tree line, leaving him alone (and alive) on the hillside. 

--

He hadn’t seen those eyes in two years. He had been waiting for this moment. Waiting for the time that she was his. Sure, the Dark Lord had his reasons for wanting her. She likely knew essential details that would help the Dark Forces infiltrate the remaining sect of The Order. But Draco didn’t care much about that, though he knew he should. He had his own questions that burned inside of him, and now he could finally get some answers.

She finished the first bottle of blood, the last bit dribbling down her chin as she sighed happily. That was when he realized again that he was in her dirty bathwater.

Disgusting.

In one swift movement, he belted one arm around her waist and kept the other entwined in her hair as he pulled her from the tub. He dragged her little body across the bathroom to the shower — he would get her clean one way or another. Draco stepped inside the shower with her, turned the faucet on, and tapped the shackles on her wrists, ensuring again that they were secure. He propped her up against the cool tile and made sure that she could stand on her own before he finally stepped out.

“Clean yourself up,” he sneered as he wiped the sweat from his brow. 

She hesitated for a moment, eyes wide and afraid, and she almost looked human again. Almost. Then, she cocked her head to the side like a curious animal, and any shred of humanity he thought he saw was gone. His shoulders fell as this new version of Granger stared back at him. She raised an eyebrow, testing him, teasing him. A soft smile fell back on her lips as she stepped under the spray of the showerhead, still fully clothed. Eyes locked on his, she slowly removed her top, then her pants, and let them fall to the shower floor. She was completely bare now, standing naked underneath the showerhead, letting the warm water wash away the dirt. Draco stared at her unabashedly, taking in the way the drops of water cascaded down her delicate curves. She didn’t look as skinny and frail as she had the day before. She looked warm, healthy, and glowing. Like the Golden Girl should look, he thought. The blood had obviously helped her recover a bit already. He let his eyes wander, raking over her body from head to toe. He couldn’t help himself. 

She was stunning.

His breath hitched, and suddenly, it felt like the heat had been turned up in the room. His cheeks were burning and something deep in his stomach fluttered to life. He needed to leave the room before he stepped into the shower with her to… interrogate her more thoroughly. He would have to control himself and wait until she was cleaned and properly clothed. Then maybe he could think more clearly.

Draco nodded his head towards the ensuite door. “I’ll be right outside the room. I expect you to behave yourself.”

He spun on his heel and beelined for the exit, not waiting for her response. The door was left open ajar, just enough for him to monitor her from the sitting area. He watched from under heavy lids as she washed herself, rubbing the suds all over her body.

She was magnificent.

Only ten minutes later, Granger emerged from the ensuite, all traces of filth gone. She was clean and shiny and glowing, her scent now fresh and inviting. His mouth watered at the sight. He sat on a chaise in the center of the room, swirling the firewhiskey in his glass, ice cubes tinkling on the sides. 

She had a towel wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak and her wet hair hung limply around her face, dripping water onto the floor.

“Thank you.” Her voice was meek. Quiet.

Not Granger.

He sneered and set his drink onto the table with an already impatient thud.  “Ah, it speaks.”

She didn’t jump, didn’t even flinch. She just stared blankly at him like his head was transparent and she could see right through it to the wall. It was unnerving. He wondered if she was fading again. Maybe she needed more blood to be more human. It didn’t make any sense to him, but she was a strange little creature, and he was willing to try just about anything at this point.

“Accio blood.” A second bottle of blood soared to Draco’s waiting hand and he popped the cork off with his teeth. “Come here,” he snarled.

Cautiously, she stepped towards him, eyes fixed on the bottle in his fist. She was sniffing the air as she walked, as if she could taste the scent. Once she was finally right in front of him, he grabbed her by her throat softly but with enough pressure to maintain control. The towel slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor in a heap at their feet. A little gasp escaped her and he licked his lips at the sound. He was fighting with every ounce of self-restraint in him to keep his eyes from roving over her body.

“Open up.” He held the bottle above her mouth, almost tilting it enough to spill some liquid out. Immediately, she obeyed, and he wondered what else he could make her do. If he starved her long for enough, how much would she want it? He bet he could make her beg for it. The sight of her like this, with her mouth open wide and tongue stuck out, waiting patiently like a good girl, was doing something to him. Something he was not at all prepared for. Her hands were on his, just resting over top of them like he was the only thing keeping her grounded to the Earth. While he certainly wouldn’t mind having another witch in such a compromising position, he absolutely did not want this thing stirring up unwanted thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to push the creature back inside of her. Then he could at least pretend she was still Granger. He tipped the bottle and out came a steady stream of thick, sticky blood that flowed right down her throat. She gulped and gasped, lapping at the blood. Soon, her gasps became panting breaths, and when the pants turned into moans, Draco was fucking done. He needed to start his questioning before he pushed her up against the wall and did something he would never forgive himself for.

He tipped the bottle upright and stared into her eyes. “Why?” He breathed shakily.

“Why what?” Her voice was louder now, still a bit breathy like she had just woken from a pleasant sleep, but not weak and shy like it was earlier. She was sated, full and happy and warm and Granger.

Fuck this.

Draco proceeded to do exactly what he knew he should not. He pulled her closer to him, hand still wrapped around her dainty little neck as he brought her face to his. She was so close now he could feel her breath on his cheeks.

“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb with me, Granger, it’s uncouth. I’ve fed you, brought you back from the brink of starvation. I’m being incredibly generous, wouldn’t you agree? Now, as you are my prisoner under my control, you will do as I say. So tell me — why?” He shook her once and growled. “Why did you spare me?”

She shrugged.

“I refuse to accept a bullshit non-answer.” He dragged her to the chaise and sat her down, glaring at her with his mercury eyes. “Why don’t you pretend you’re human for just a moment and use your words,” he snarled.

There was a pause, stretched out and pulled taught in the air between them. “I—I don’t...I’m not sure.” She tried to look away but he placed his hands on the back of the chaise and leaned into her, caging her in. He once again found himself mere inches from her face. Like she had some magnetic pull on him.

“You’re not sure?” He sneered with feigned disbelief. “Hermione Granger is not sure?”

Her eye seemed to twitch slightly with the use of her full name. He wondered if Hermione Granger was even inside there at all.

“I don’t remember much… from before. I think that might have been the night I was turned into… whatever I am now… because I get little flashes sometimes. Memories of this place. Of you.” Her eyes softened on his, and he felt a tugging deep inside of him, drawing him to her. He was entirely helpless to the feeling — he couldn’t explain it. He was like a moth to a flame, ready and willing to dive into her and let himself be fully consumed by her heat. His eyes raked over her body once more, and his last shred of self-control dissipated. He simply could not fight the urges any longer.

Draco crashed his lips to hers before she could even take another breath. Her head tilted back onto the chaise, inviting him to deepen the kiss. His mouth left hot, wet kisses along her jawline and down the column of her throat. She was responding so nicely to him, arching her back and keening into his touches. Savoring the moment, his mouth continued its descent between her breasts, his hands squeezing them gently as he traced each nipple with his tongue. He dragged his tongue back up her body to find her lips again, kissing away her panting breaths. She tasted so much better than he could have ever imagined. A breathy moan escaped her lips and Draco felt it deep in his core. The noise rattled him — awakened something inside him that had been dormant and undisturbed for years. 

He wanted to devour her. 

His kisses grew frantic and hurried, with one hand in her hair as the other dropped to his belt, unfastening the buckle in one fluid motion. She was writhing under him, kissing him back with unexpected fervor. A sharp pinch to his mouth made him jump back from her and he touched his fingers to his swollen lips.

She bit him. Again. And he wanted to be mad. Wanted to be furious. Wanted to tell her vampires were foul creatures and that she was nothing more than a bloodthirsty fiend. But the tugging inside of him was relentless as it drew him closer to her once more.

Her eyes were focused intently on his bleeding lip as her chest heaved in air. He swiped the blood away with his thumb and slowly raised his finger to her mouth. An offering. A thanks. For saving his life for some reason unbeknownst to anyone but the Hermione Granger who no longer existed.

His thumb slipped between her lips with ease and she eagerly took him in, sucking gently to clean the blood from it. She was buzzing with excitement, a vision of total euphoria. He had been wrong. So, so, wrong. He didn’t want to extinguish the light from her eyes. He wanted to be the reason she glowed. 

In an instant, his lips were on hers again. She kissed and licked him back, and he happily savored the taste of blood on her tongue, knowing it was his blood giving her pleasure and life. Little whimpers and moans spurred him on as he placed his knee in between hers, parting her legs just enough for her to meet the friction of his thigh with her center. She gasped at the contact and he leaned in closer to give her a better angle. She was wet, dripping onto his trousers as she canted her hips upwards, riding his thigh. Fucking finally, her hands went to his waist as she deftly unbuttoned his trousers.

He shuddered with anticipation, completely entranced at the sight of her hand disappearing into his trousers and her cunt riding on his leg. He was on fire, body burning with a need he had never known before. She slipped into his waistband and gripped his hardened length in her hand. Even if it wasn’t the Granger he wanted, this version would do just fine. He could pretend she was the old Granger; he didn’t even have to try, his body was begging for her.

She was pliable under his touch, a petite little witch who was both needy and ready to please. He groaned into her mouth as she stroked him again and again. He needed more. Needed to feel her from the inside. He freed his cock from his trousers . She spread her legs wider for him as he lined himself up at her entrance. In one smooth motion, he slid into the hilt with a strangled groan. Her hands clawed at his back to pull him closer her. She must still have some human left in her because she was so warm – so soft and inviting.

He wanted to stay that way forever, buried deep inside the Golden Girl’s perfect cunt. Pressing his forehead to hers, he kept up a steady rhythm, rocking into her body. Pressure began to build as he continued on at a bruising pace. He groaned again and buried his face in her neck, dizzy with pleasure. She smelled delicious now, like cinnamon and sugar and sex.

So sweet and warm. So good. So perfect.

There was a prickle at his neck, faint and quick. Hardly noticeable. He continued pushing into her, too distracted by the way she moaned underneath him to focus on anything else. She was close, he could tell, as she began bucking her hips up into his on her own accord. He let her fuck him back — it just felt too good. He wasn’t sure he would be able to stop. With one final grunt, he slammed his hips to hers, spilling his come inside of her with one final thrust. He could feel her body spasming in response, and he gave himself over completely to the feel of her walls pulsing around him.

It was pure fucking bliss.

Gravity pulled him down on top of her. His large body covered hers entirely, weighing heavy on her as he buried his face farther into the corner of her neck. After what felt like ages, he peeled his body off of hers at a glacial pace, not wanting to break the contact too quickly. When he finally pulled out of her, he leaned back to look at the result of his hard work. He wanted to see Granger’s face when she was sated, knowing that Draco Malfoy was the one to satisfy her.

Dizzied, his hands gripped the chaise as he attempted to steady himself. His steps faltered as he stumbled clumsily while he leaned over her. There was a metallic clanging sound near his feet and a silvery glint caught the light enough to draw his attention to the object. One cracked obsidian shackle lay broken on the floor next to his foot.

She managed to break free from her bindings, but how ? What kind of magic was this? Draco’s mind instantly went back to his research, to the information he learned about magical unpredictability and mudblood vampires. Her magic was a combination of rare breeds, all mixed together to create a breed all its own, something far different than your normal witch. Perhaps she was not bound to rules that applied to witches and wizards.

Is that how she was able to apparate into the manor all those years ago? Because she was impervious to wards and typical methods of magical suppression? Who knew what she was capable of now?

His lids grew heavy as he swayed in place, hand on his neck and ready to pass out at any given moment. Draco’s gaze sluggishly dragged from the broken shackle back to Granger. On her face was that same wide, eerie smile that she wore in the dungeons when she wasn’t Granger. Only this time, her lips, mouth, and teeth were completely covered in blood.

His blood.

Draco’s hand shot to his neck as he grappled at the broken skin. She punctured him right at the junction of his collarbone and neck. His nightmare had come true. It had been a premonition, something in his deep conscience that tried to warn him of this very moment. Like his body knew what would happen.

Dizzied, near total exsanguination, and fuzzy from post-orgasmic bliss, he wobbled where he stood and dropped to his knees, then crumpled to his side on the floor. Draco Malfoy, a man who was once so powerful and harsh, had been reduced to a pile of flesh and bone with only a sliver of life remaining in him. 

Granger stood to her feet and wrapped herself tightly in the towel. She effortlessly removed the remaining shackle from her small wrist, letting it fall to the floor with a clink. His body shuddered with weakness and he thought he may blackout at any moment. She leaned down so her face was just inches from his. He could feel his breaths turning shallow as the life left his body with each passing second. He was dying, beaten by The Golden Girl yet again.

“See you around, General.” She winked an eye and spun away into a cloud as she disapparated.

His vision faded to black just before the burning in his bones started. 

Chapter Text

Draco’s head pounded, a sharp throb pulsed through his mind like his skull was cracking in half.

This was it. He was dead. He had passed alone on the floor of his sitting room at the hands of Hermione Granger, the Brightest Witch of Her Blessed Order now turned muddy blood-sucking creature.

And if, by some miracle, he was not dead, he was absolutely, positively, utterly fucked. The Dark Lord would certainly kill him for losing his prisoner. What kind of a High General lets his captive break free? An incompetent one. Draco wondered what his punishment would be. He assumed it would be death at the hands of the Dark Lord, but surely he would suffer some form of torture before he met his demise. It was inevitable. The only question was, how would he meet his most certain death? Would he be held under the cruciatus until gray matter seeped from his ears and nose? Perhaps the Dark Lord would string him up from the gallows in front of The New Ministry to make an example of him. A public reminder to all that no one was safe from The Dark Lord’s wrath, not even the protégé, who was once given the highest form of praise after he assassinated Headmaster Dumbledore.

Or maybe the Dark Lord would have Draco’s head sliced clean from his body by the guillotine. He was the highest-ranked General in all of Wizarding Britain, and he lost his fucking prisoner. The consequences were inescapable, as was the shame of failure.

Draco was a dead man. Unless… unless he could hunt her down and trap her like the animal she was. Finding her was vital to his survival, and Draco Malfoy was nothing if not pragmatic and self-serving. He had searched for her for years before and he could do it again. He would track her to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took. And when he found her, he would wring her fucking neck until she gasped for air. Then, when her vision faded to the smallest pinpoint, he’d release his hold and let her recover just enough to live another miserable day. All to repeat the cycle over again. He would not fall victim to her seduction tactics again.

Now that he had concocted a loose but effective plan, he needed to get off the fucking floor and stop being a pathetic mess of a human.

She would pay for what she did.

He tried to blink open his eyes but the light from the wall sconces was practically blinding. Why was it so bright? His corneas felt like they were burning out of their sockets, shriveling up into dust like he had stared directly into a blazing ball of sun for too long.

His body ached and burned. Everything hurt. Even the slightest of movements wracked his body with pain. It was as if his bones splintered into tiny jagged knives, slicing the viscera and muscle with each miniscule motion he made.

What had she done to him?

Draco rolled to his side and retched once. Twice. A third time. The pain was blinding. Staggering. All-consuming. His dry heaves echoed in the room as he continued to retch painfully. There was an ear-splitting screech that bounced off the high ceilings and reverberated back into his head, banging on his eardrums. It was loud, so horribly loud. Draco clutched his head in his hands, covering his sensitive ears as his body writhed on the floor and contorted into the fetal position. The stabbing pain told him he was alive, but it was so unbearable that he wished he was dead.

The heaves finally subsided and he licked his dried, cracked lips, expecting to taste the bitterness of bile from vomiting. Instead, he tasted something entirely different. Something metallic and thick and sticky on his tastebuds.

The screaming that filled his ears finally ebbed to a dull sob, and he realized that the sounds had been coming from him — he was the source of the wailing and crying. He was in absolute agony as pain rocked his body all the way down to the marrow of his bones. It ripped him open from the inside.

After lying still for several minutes, he felt like the pain began to level off, allowing him to adjust to his new, hypersensitive state. His body still hurt but it was no longer outright debilitating. When he finally opened his eyes, everything was so bright and clear that it almost made him retch again. The details of the room flooded his senses as he took in his surroundings. The colors of the typically dark and muted sitting room were now vibrant, almost blinding. His eyes darted to the walls, searching for the source of the overpowering light. The curtains were drawn, with very little light filtering through the thick fabric. There was only one lone sconce that was lit, a low flame flickering from it. Such a small flame should not be capable of providing the blinding light that was currently filling the room. It didn’t make any sense. It should be almost pitch black, but he could see with such astounding clarity that his eyes were able to focus on each individual fiber that made up the plush carpet under his body. It was so bizarre.

His head still pounded and he made his way to his hands and knees, resting on all fours as he prayed to Salazar to have mercy on him. Or, to put him out of his misery — he wasn’t sure. It was at that moment that Draco noticed the body lying next to him. It was a man, similar in stature to Draco, face down on the floor and wearing a guard’s cloak. Draco crawled over to the body and pressed two fingers to the man’s neck. He was cold to the touch, pulseless, and unmoving. He turned the body over to get a better look at the man and the horror sank in. It was Osmund, his dungeon guard, lifeless and covered in dried blood. His eyes were open wide, pupils fixed and devoid of all color. Claw marks marred the paperwhite skin of his face. Draco winced when his eyes landed on Osmund’s neck, the cause of death now vividly apparent. The body had been torn open at the throat like something had ripped his esophagus out with its teeth. He was both angry that someone had killed one of his best guards and also worried that they may still be lying in wait to do the same to him. Did Granger do this? Why had she left him once again? And why was his body burning with a fire that said he needed to find her?

Draco reached his hand to Osmund’s face, hoping to give the guard some dignity in death and close his eyelids. His breath hitched when he caught sight of the hand hovering just above Osmund’s face. His fingers – long, bony and pale – were wrong. He wiggled them, just to be sure they were actually connected to his body. The Malfoy signet ring, a permanent fixture on his left hand, glinted and gleamed in the light as the fingers moved. He tried again, unable to comprehend the situation. When there was no doubt that the hand moved as his brain commanded, Draco startled and pushed himself away from Osmund’s corpse. Draco’s strange, skeletal hand was caked in thick, crimson blood — Osmund’s blood. His usually pristinely clean and neatly trimmed fingernails were now long, pointed, clawlike nails. Underneath each nail was the unmistakable evidence of his crimes: human flesh and blood. It was undoubtedly the skin that had been stripped away from Osmund’s marred face. In that moment, Draco was finally able to place the metallic tang on his tongue – it was the taste of fucking blood.

He couldn’t believe his eyes — couldn’t believe his tastebuds. He refused to. His senses were betraying him, he was sure of it. The copper scent of the dried blood was pungent and heady. The smell completely overwhelmed him, like it set off something in his body that he was powerless to fight. It was the very same scent he remembered from his first time seeing Granger in Azkaban. Only this time, it smelled delicious.

Draco scrambled to his feet and steadied himself on the wall. His legs felt shaky and unsure as he caught his balance. Slowly, he stumbled over to the connected ensuite and made his way to the mirror. The reflection before him made his insides twist into a knotted ball of abject horror. He retched again at the sight, vomiting what appeared to be blood into the sink.

In the mirror stood Draco, tall, blonde, and fierce as ever, but much like his hand, he looked wrong. So very, horribly wrong. It was a version of himself that he had never seen before. Somehow paler, pointier, and more severe. Draco was unable to recognize the reflection before him. It was not him – it simply couldn’t be. He felt like he was staring into a window to some alternate dimension where he looked like this, where he looked like the other. Smeared on his cheeks, nose, chin, and mouth were deep stains of crimson. Smattered blood that marked him for his crimes. His hands went instinctively to his face, where he lightly traced a finger across his blood-stained lips. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth. As he suspected — and feared — four long, pointed teeth jutted out from his gumline, two on the top and two on the bottom.

Fangs. He had fucking fangs.

That muddy vampire witch had turned him.

Draco roared in frustration, rearing his fist back and slamming it into the mirror. The glass splintered into tiny shards that scattered along the countertop and tumbled onto the floor. Rage flooded his vision, a madness dancing in his eyes as thoughts of retribution spun in his head. He was going to fucking kill her, which had always been his intention, of course. But now, things had changed. He didn’t want to just eliminate her, he wanted to fucking annihilate her. There was just one colossal problem with his plan now: could he kill his own sire? He didn’t care; he would either murder the bitch or die trying. Either way, it would be well worth the risk.

***

After the longest shower he had ever taken, he finally felt human again. Well, as human as he could possibly feel now that he was so glaringly inhuman. He managed to dispose of Osmund’s body with a swift concealment and disillusionment charm. Draco really would miss him; he was one of the best manor guards on the security team.

“Poor old boy, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Draco levitated Osmund’s exsanguinated body out the window to the gardens for a quick but acceptable burial. Casting felt so strange. It was all very sensitive, like he had taken a magic enhancement potion. His magic was on overdrive as it vibrated through to his bones. His hawthorn wand responded to him nicely, properly, but he felt a strong pulsing sensation move through his body when he whispered even the simplest incantation. It thrummed inside of him like a life force, renewed and rejuvenated. It was a heady, drunken feeling. He felt all-powerful, like fucking Merlin himself.

Merlin with fangs, he sneered. Vile and impure, a creature masquerading as a revered High General.

A fucking disgrace.

He needed to snap out of it. There was no time for wallowing in self-pity. Not when Granger was gallivanting around as a free witch, probably luring other unsuspecting victims into her muddy vampire clutches.

He was going to end her. Determination seeped from his pores as he devised a strategy. He conjured parchment, a quill, and an ink well to set his plan into motion.

Once he finished scrawling his message onto the page, he quickly scanned the missive before sending it off to its destination.

Lieutenant Theodore Nott,

I’ve gone to France to visit with Narcissa. According to the mind healers at her facility, she has become increasingly vocal about her involvement in the Dark Army’s forces, though no one has believed her ramblings to be true.  Yet . Which is why I need to leave right away. Pardon my hasty exit and disregard for typical protocol, but this warrants my immediate attention. I expect you to take over in my absence and serve as Acting High General. Send any and all questions to the Black-Malfoy family liaison and they will relay the message to me until my return to Britain.

-General Draco L. Malfoy

Satisfied with his message, he tapped his wand to the parchment and watched as it neatly folded itself into the shape of an airplane. The missive flew out Draco’s bedroom window in search of Theo. The chances of Theo simply accepting Draco’s missive without 300 additional questions was slim to none, and Draco knew that the clock was ticking. There was very little time to waste — he was already behind. Thankfully, he had already cast enough scouring charms in his chambers to clean up all evidence from the murder of Osmund, so the only thing left to do was to prepare himself.

Draco cast a glamour over himself, watching as a shimmering blanket of magic concealed his new unsightly features. He couldn’t very well chance being caught looking like a ghoulish, pale-faced creature roaming about the Manor. Once he was pleased with his spellwork, he donned his full Death Eater regalia like he was going to battle. He basically was, he mused, readying himself to combat an all-too-powerful escapee. He couldn’t wait to show Granger that he could bite, too.

He needed to ensure that his magical stores were equipped to handle a fight just in case she managed to take him by surprise. It was extremely reasonable to assume that Granger would attempt to seduce him again, so Draco needed to be sure to keep his wits about him. He accioed the remaining bottle of blood originally obtained for Granger and popped the cork off with shaking hands. In three long pulls, he drained the contents of the bottle and discarded the evidence. The extra boost was almost instantaneous. It was exactly what he needed.

His hands stilled and he wiped away the beads of sweat that formed on his brow. His body hummed its approval and he felt like he was completely invincible. Power and magic coursed through his veins, giving him the much needed strength to find Granger. He couldn’t wait to have her in his hands, his fist around her neck as she cried for him. His cock twitched in his trousers at the thought, consumed with the memory of her petite body writhing underneath him, naked and hot and wanton. Moaning for him like she wanted him. Begging him for more.

Fucking Salazar, he needed to get a grip. It was imperative that he remained focused, he refused to let her escape unscathed. He simply would not allow it. He craved vengeance like he craved the blood he had just sucked down. He shook his head violently, as if he could physically dispel the thought of her from his mind.

Draco slipped his mask into place and headed to the apparition point outside of the estate, intent to begin the hunt for his own personal Undesirable Number One: Hermione Fucking Granger.

***

Once Draco made his way to the hillside outside of his estate, he began casting the tracking spell he had created for The Dark Army. It was a piece of very intricate spellwork that he had designed himself to trace one’s magical signature. He should have no problem tracking her down – all he needed was intention and a hefty dose of dark magic. Luckily, he had plenty of both. He closed his eyes in concentration as he pressed his wand to his temple.

“Inveniet eam.”

Visions of pine trees, tall and dark, floated into his mind, followed by the clear image of a familiar cottage on a beach. She was on the coast in an abandoned Order safehouse — one his team had raided years earlier. His brow furrowed as the images of Shell Cottage played in his mind – it was almost too easy.

Predictable little witch. How very unlike her.

He wondered if Granger’s intelligence had suffered since she had been turned into a creature, because the Granger he remembered was far too clever to choose such an obvious hiding place. Unless she wasn’t hiding at all… maybe she wanted him to find her. He ground his teeth at the thought. Who did this witch think she was, setting a trap for the High General? She would pay for her misguided audacity.  

Draco focused on the location of the safehouse and pushed his intentions to the forefront of his mind, willing his magic to guide him safely to his destination. Channeling all the dark magic he could muster, his body followed the trace and materialized just outside of the dilapidated cottage. Using the tracking spell typically depleted his magical reserves a great deal, especially when combined with cross-country apparition. But now, in his new body, with his newfound abilities, it felt no different than a local travel. Satisfied and drunk on power, he smirked to himself. This was going to be too easy.

***

Draco arrived under cover of the thick tree line that bordered Shell Cottage. The building was derelict and rundown, clearly no longer used by The Order since the raid. Well, no longer used by active Order members, he sneered, picturing the former war heroine turned vampire-witch. He wondered if The Order was privy to the fact that their precious Golden Witch was now a fiending, bloodthirsty creature. He had so many questions, burning questions that he would be sure to get answers for this time around.

He aimed his wand at the cottage and cast a homenum revelio, wondering if the human detection spell would still function in the same manner when searching for something that was only part-human. To his relief, the spell was successful, and two faint lights glowed at him from the decrepit structure.

Who was inside with her? Another vampire, perhaps? Or maybe she lured some poor soul into her clutches to feed from. If that was the case, Draco was more than ready to interrupt her dinnertime. He twirled his wand between his fingers as he formulated a loose but foolproof plan to incapacitate her. Magic sparked from his fingertips with each movement, power coursing through him in anticipation. She would sense him coming but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need the element of surprise to best her. He was more than confident that he could overpower her this time. All he had to do was keep his cock in check so that he could think clearly. He refused to let her seduce him again.

Assuming that the Order’s anti-apparition wards were still intact, Draco quietly snuck around to the back door of the cottage. According to the detection spell, the people inside the cottage were located on the second floor in a room overlooking the sea. The first floor was completely unoccupied. He peered through the dirty window and saw nothing but darkness. It was pitch black and very obviously empty, so he decided to proceed as planned. He charmed the glass to shatter in silence as he smashed his elbow through the pane, a trick he had learned in the early days of the war when he was sent on low-level scouting missions. His body thrummed with excitement – it had been too long since he had been in the field. Perhaps he should talk to the Dark Lord about heading the reconnaissance team again, maybe that would satisfy his hunger for hunting. Or maybe what he felt had nothing to do with hunting at all, and everything to do with his prey. Fuck. She was already in his head and he hadn’t even entered the shack. He took a breath and climbed through the window, careful to avoid the broken glass scattered on the floorboards. He waited for a beat, taking in the sounds of the cottage, listening to the way it creaked and groaned in the whipping winds from the sea.

There was a creak in the ceiling above him, a sound that was distinctly different from the wind crashing into the side of the building. It was her – he was certain. He could feel it. He could feel her. The force that pulled them together was stronger than ever, filling him with an overwhelming sense of need. He couldn’t understand it, but it was almost as if he could taste her on his tongue. His mouth watered at the prospect as he stifled a groan.

Draco strode confidently to the staircase, eager to find the little witch and have his way with her. A thought crossed his mind that he very well could be walking directly into an ambush but that did not stop him. Nothing could at this point. He had his mind made up and his sights set on Granger; he would have her no matter what it took. The hunger for retribution was far too strong to ignore.

As he climbed the crooked staircase, he fantasized of all the ways he would make her suffer. A simple killing curse would not be used. It was too easy, too immediate, and impersonal. And this was as fucking personal as it gets. She ruined his fucking life, turned him into a bloodsucking monster who was just as vile as she was. Draco couldn’t wait to see the fear in her eyes when she took her last breath.

What memories would flash before her eyes in her final moments? Would she see images of her wasted mudblood life? Would she see Weasley? Or Potter? Or would she see him hovering above her as he slid between her legs mere nights ago? He smirked to himself, none of that mattered now. She was his to take – his to destroy – and Draco was going to make damn sure that Granger’s last memory on this Earth would be miserable and painful.

His feet moved on their own accord, carrying his body on autopilot to the closed door at the end of the hall. Magic hummed within him, his body eager and ready for its prize. She was just behind that door. Would she scream? He hoped she would – he liked it more when they screamed. He wanted to hear her voice shake as she begged him for mercy.

The time for waiting was over. He fixed a haughty sneer onto his pale face and smashed his boot into the door, kicking it off its hinges with a new strength he didn’t know he possessed. His freshly turned body continued to surprise him.

There she was, standing all by herself, helpless and alone. She was staring out the window, looking over the sea as the waves crashed into the shoreline. She didn’t even turn to look at him. It was like she wasn’t afraid, like she couldn’t care less that the door had just been splintered into tiny wood fragments and scattered all over the floor.

Stupid little witch, what was she playing at?

“Ready or not, here I come,” he growled, voice thick with vitriol. With a flourish of his wand he vanished his mask. He wanted to make sure that his face was the last thing she saw.

Her head turned ever so slightly to the side, just enough that she could see him in her peripheral vision. The cool ocean air blew through the open window, her hair and nightgown flowing gently in the breeze. The wind carried her scent to him – that addictive, sweet smell of vanilla and sugar. But there was something else. Something new. Something different.

He took a step towards her, his body again moving automatically with complete disregard for rational thought. He couldn’t help himself. Couldn’t fight it. She looked too fucking delicious. The moonlight cast her body in a delicate silhouette, accentuating her soft curves and bouncy curls. She wore a long, white nightgown made of gauzy fabric that flowed prettily over her petite body. Her chestnut hair fell in soft ringlets and flowed down to the middle of her back. For a moment, he thought she almost looked like the Granger he remembered. Though she was more fair-skinned than that version of Granger, she was breathtaking, a vision of pure beauty. He wanted — no, he needed to have her. But something was off; he could feel it in his bones.

“Took you long enough, Malfoy,” she said in a singsong voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. She stood unmoving, still facing away from him, refusing to make eye contact.

The absolute audacity she had. Who the fuck did she think she was? How dare she, a filthy mudblood, address him by name — sans title, at that. The utter disrespect, the complete lack of decency. Almost instantly, he saw red as anger quickly replaced all feelings of desire and fear.

“Watch your fucking mouth, witch. You will speak to me with respect. I am the High General of The Dark Lord’s army. You would do well to remember that.”

A delighted giggle left her mouth. “You’re no such thing. In fact, you’re nothing now.” She continued laughing in amusement as her giggles filled the silence.

Wanting no part of her mind games, he advanced, taking another step towards her with his wand drawn. Finally, she caught her breath and turned to face him head-on.

“Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. You’re mine now and forever more. Or should I say, you’re ours now?” She placed a pointy, bony hand delicately over the swell of her belly and smiled, a wide grin splitting her face in two.

He slowly lowered his wand as the shock sank in.

“What’s wrong, Malfoy?” She cooed with feigned innocence and pouty lips. “Afraid I might bite?”

He was too stunned to speak, frozen in place as his world came crashing down. When he finally managed to speak, he could only muster a whisper. “Impossible,” he breathed.

She took a step towards him causing him to stumble away from her. In the blink of an eye, she stood before him, cradling her rounded belly protectively in both hands. She was mere inches from him now, so close that he could feel her breath on his face. She eyed him from head to toe, sizing him up. Something changed in her gaze and Draco watched as the tension left her body.

“You’re not going to hurt us, are you?” She asked quietly, not expecting an answer. Like she already knew his intentions had changed.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, she tugged on his arm and pulled him close, guiding his hand to rest on her stomach. He moved to pull away but she held her hand over his, the light pressure somehow grounding him. Draco felt the faintest of movements beneath his trembling hand and his mouth fell open on a gasp as his eyes grew wide. A warm, pulsing feeling coursed through his body – he couldn’t explain it. Suddenly, a sparkling, golden ray of light emanated from the signet ring on his left hand. The light swirled and twisted around their bodies where they stood, shifting the feel of the room from cold rage and hatred to something softer, something glowing. The ancestral magic in the ring thrummed around them as if it was pleased to have recognized its descendant.

“It can’t be. It’s not real,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

“Oh, but it is, my darling,” she hummed, her entire demeanor now shifted. Smiling sweetly at him and batting her lashes, she added, “Meet your heir, General.”

Draco’s wand dropped to the floor, forgotten, as he fell to his knees before her. Gently, he cradled her belly with both hands and looked up at her. When his eyes met hers, the whole world stopped spinning.