Vacivitas

Chapter Thirty

At this, he does look at her. His expression is dark but undecipherable, cast in shadows. He doesn't speak. She narrows her eyes, peering closer at him, at those thousand lifetimes.

He really is just a scared boy.

"Do you know what you're doing?" she asks.

He stares at her for a heartbeat longer, clever enough to glean what she truly means. She sees Sixth Year Malfoy standing before her like a haunt from the past, and it makes that nostalgic twist curl in her stomach.

"No," he says, returning to appraising the fire. "I don't."

Hermione resumes pacing. Of course he doesn't know what he's doing. None of them had–not since the adults who were supposed to protect them and fight for them threw them into a lion's den to win their war for them. They were all just kids. In some ways, she and Malfoy still are, in spite of the way the last two years have hardened them. Malfoy's done terrible, horrible things. He's killed and tortured and maimed.

But he's still just a kid.

"Do you regret getting me out of the pit?" she asks, continuing to pace. "It seems like your life has gotten worse since you did."

He stays silent for a long time, long enough to cause Hermione to lift her eyes off of the floor she's pacing on to look at him.

Malfoy's staring right at her.

"I have many regrets, Granger. You are not one of them."

There it is again. That look. The look he has while he tastes her blood. While he watched her sing.

She's so tired of her face feeling hot.

"I thought–" She clears her throat against her sudden nerves. "I thought Carrow was going to be searching my memories."

"He did." Malfoy moves away from the Floo, hands on his hips as he starts to pace, too.

"Without Legilimency?"

"He doesn't need it."

"How can he do that?" Hermione frowns, perturbed. "Only Voldemort can do that."

"I can't tell you that."

She stands still and watches him pace, analyzing his words and his actions.

"That's why you're so nervous when it comes to Carrow. Because he's a vampire, too."

He returns to the fire, hands still on his hips. He's quiet, no words coming to his lips. Hermione doesn't speak, either, hoping that she'll get some answers if she doesn't shatter the moment.

"He's my sire."

Hermione tilts her head to the side. "Your sire?"

"He's the one who turned me. That's all I can say."

Hermione's gaze searches the air between them, the gears turning in her head. He can't say more than that because he's clearly not allowed to, just like with an Unbreakable Vow. But Hermione can figure this out. She always figures everything out, and she's always right.

She resumes pacing.

"Carrow turned you, so he has power over you," she says. "He compels you to do things and you can't resist the compulsion because he's your sire. It's biological and magical, like the relationship between an Alpha werewolf and a Beta."

He nods.

"So, the day he came to the Manor and asked to see me, he was trying to compel you to show me to him. But you fought against it. And then when you came back from the palace that night, you–" Her voice falters as she remembers that night. "You were compelled by him to–to sleep with me, or force me–and you weren't able to fight against it as easily because you had been crucioed. Which is why I was the one who had to stop you. And then tonight, you were resisting again, which is why he got angry."