AN: I made a promise to my readers that I would always be very, very EXPLICITLY clear if I posted a story without a happy ending. This story does not have anything resembling a happy ending. I tried to do a horror story for Halloween and I just ended up somewhere very sad. Regardless, I ended up loving this even if the storyline took off without me and broke my heart. I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: Major Character Death, Obsessive Behavior, Suicide

Maybe if he'd had someone to teach him better what a man should be, things would be different than they were now. Maybe if Snape had told him more about what happened to Potter's mother or he'd been sorted into a different house or the Dark Lord hadn't found a way to come back, he wouldn't be confined in a dismal room in his childhood home watching the woman he had given everything to protect writhe from the strain of the torture curse she was currently under. Maybe it wouldn't have ended like this, with the smell of rot and no sun and mad cackles filling all the space up and sucking in all the air but-

Now he was here, trapped inside his own body by the force of his father's imperious curse to stay still and impassive, as his obsession and his love screamed for help and bled on the carpet. His stomach roiled with what felt like lava and bile, but he remained standing without fail, unable to move in the way that he clawed at himself to. Snape must have warned Lucius about his feelings, because as soon as Bellatrix had determined to torture Granger he'd been hit in the back by his father's unforgivable.

Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth where Draco had bit his tongue in his struggle to escape the hold of the curse. Any chance his father had of ever gaining back Draco's respect or friendship died along with the light in Granger's eyes as his mad aunt carved roughly into her arm.

He struggled against it but it was as hopeless as this reality he was locked in, where the Dark Lord would soon be summoned and every single step he had taken to protect her would burn to nothing but ash. Granger finally, FINALLY passed out from the pain, cheeks wet with tears as her arm wept blood from a wound she likely would not live long enough to see heal into a permanent scar.

The alarm went off that the dungeon wards had been breached and his father's focus wavered. Draco wrenched himself from out of the man's mental control as his aunt fled the room towards the dungeons, spewing obscenities and threats. He hit his knees with the force of throwing off the spell, quickly reinforced his occlumency walls against any further attack, and crawled the few feet that separated him from Granger. As soon as his hand closed around her wrist, he apparated her to his wing of the house and into his bedroom.

His father taught him how to hate a mudblood.

He learned about the abominations of mudbloods and muggles in the most innocuous of ways. It wasn't as if his father and mother ever sat him down and told him that they were bad; that would have been vulgar and obvious. Rather, it was something that was understood.

Draco was six years old in a dancing lesson when he decided that the steps of a classic waltz were boring to his young sensibilities. He added a spin where one was not and he was immediately struck hard enough on the leg that his knee buckled and he collapsed.

"Don't flail like a mudblood on the bad end of a crucio," his father chastised, pulling his cane back and allowing the boy to wobble back to his feet. "We are Malfoys and Malfoys dance properly and with grace. Again."

When he was nine, his favorite house elf grew too old and spilled his mother's tea while pouring. Narcissa looked at the shaking elf's hands with disdain.

"About as poised as a common, filthy muggle," his mother had sneered. "Out with you."

He didn't see the house elf again and he didn't question how filthy a muggle really was for a very long time.

By the time Draco arrived at Hogwarts at 11 years old, he had still yet to meet an actual, real life mudblood. However, he knew to be wary. Mudbloods were a disease, literally, in that if you spent time with or touched one, you became a blood traitor. It seemed that whatever filth they carried was transmittable, and Draco didn't want to catch it.

In third year, Granger hit him in the face. He had spent three years at Hogwarts diligently not being infected by mudblood and then in one horrible moment, her skin touched his and it was all for nothing. He quarantined himself in his room at Hogwarts, locked his roommates out, and cried quietly while he waited for the disease to overtake him.

He hadn't told anyone; the shame was too great. He wondered if he'd be able to hide or manage what he'd become when the filth took him over. He wondered if he'd be brave enough to do the honorable thing and die rather than shame his family if he could not.

Draco called his personal house elf to bring him a draught of poison that would send him off to endless sleep, claiming it was for an enemy and forbidding the creature from confiding in his parents. He settled himself onto his bed and wept as a full day passed without food or company, watching for any symptoms to manifest.

Nothing happened. Her touch didn't infect him and he didn't become a blood traitor. Despite his confusion and a sense of unease, he determined perhaps one had to willingly touch a mudblood for the infection to stick.

Fourth year, Draco walked into a corridor after the Yule Ball to see Blaise Zabini buried inside a dirty, little Hufflepuff. Cringing with disgust, he retreated to the common room to wait for his best friend. He was terrified, with his head in his hands when Zabini sauntered into the Slytherin House common area.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Draco had yelled, seething and fearful of the fate of his friend. "What have you done to yourself? I don't know how to fix this, you prick!"

Blaise had been momentarily shocked before he laughed and asked what the hell the Malfoys had taught him.

"It's fine to want them, Drake," the boy told him. "You can touch them and you can fuck them. You just can't like them."

Draco watched Blaise for days after that, but nothing changed in the other boy's body, attitudes, or mental state. He tried to assimilate this new information in a way that made sense and failed. If you could touch them in the most intimate way possible, if you could literally be INSIDE them and not be infected, then what was the disease that mudbloods brought? It occurred to him for the first time that maybe the infection they offered was less physical and more idea based, and the reality of that made him want to scream.

He wondered if his father had ever touched one accidently.

He wondered if his father had chosen to fuck one. That thought made him vomit, but whether it was the thought of Lucious Malfoy seeking pleasure with a mudblood or the hypocrisy that act would signify, he was unsure.

Summer before fifth year came and Draco met the Dark Lord. He vomited after that too.

His father came home over Christmas Holiday with still wet muggle blood on his socks and Draco choked when he saw it was red, not brown. It looked just like his own.

At school during 5th year, Draco kept his sneer in place and his hair perfectly coiffed and his spine pure blood straight. He joined the Inquisitorial Squad and latched onto the authority like a lifeline so he could have control over something. With Lord Voldemort at the manor, his father's increasing rage and his mother's increasing worry, he felt less like the prince of the Malfoy line every day. He felt like a fraud and a show pony and he was tearing himself apart from the inside because nothing made sense anymore. No matter what happened on the inside though, he let himself ice over to the outside world. Draco was all hard lines and sharp edges and he intended to stay that way.

Being on the Inquisitorial Squad meant he had to watch Potter and that gave him an excuse to watch Granger. She was smart. She was pretty. She was good and kind and loyal and just vicious enough that a Slytherin would still find her appealing. When the incident with Marietta Edgecombe happened and he saw that viciousness in action, his pants tightened so quickly and violently that it was physically painful.

Sometimes, when he was alone in his bed at night with the curtains drawn and the silencing charms up, he'd forget that she was a mudblood and it was her face, her body he'd see when he stroked himself to completion.

More and more, he'd remember she was a mudblood and just not care.

By the end of fifth year, Granger became a symbol as the antithesis of everything he had been taught was true. He was taught dark, and she was light. He was taught blood would show, and hers didn't. He was taught she was the infection, but she was his cure.

His soul was becoming increasingly blackened and distorted, his disillusionment reaching heights he didn't know was possible, and he was pretty sure she was the only thing that could save him. Malfoy's were known for fixations and obsessions; he was a dragon by name, made to hoard treasure and steal what he wanted. By the time he even knew what was happening, she mattered more than everything else and he'd do anything to have her in any way he could. The fact that he had never spoken to her in any meaningful way was inconsequential. He knew her better than he knew himself; he had watched her and learned her. She was salvation and she didn't even know it.

She was also a mudblood and therefore his albatross. How do you protect a mudblood when the entire party line was built on pureblood propaganda?

His godfather taught him how to love a mudblood. The man had watched Draco's fixation unfold and sought him out to warn him against it. Snape told him his own story with the same air as a man walking to the gallows, airing his sins and shame to perhaps the only person left alive that the potion master harbored any affection for in the hopes that Draco would let this go now, before he got in over his head and he couldn't get back out.

Snape had obviously failed to protect his mudblood, but Draco was determined to do it better.

His father went to Azkaban and that was just one less thing on his shoulders.

He may have been marked as a Death Eater as a punishment, but he was a Malfoy and a Slytherin and not above using anything at his disposal to secure his goals; even his humiliation. He kept his head high and haughty, feigning ignorance that the task assigned was set to kill him, and asked for a reward if he were to succeed.

The Dark Lord laughed and gave her to him. Hermione Granger was to be captured, not killed on sight, and brought in with the option to flip sides; IF Draco succeeded.

He wasn't stupid; Granger would never flip, he knew that. But if no one fired killing curses at her at the Dark Lord's order, she would be much more likely to survive the war. She would likely never willingly be his to hold and own and climb inside of but she was his to protect whether she consented or not. He'd have to believe against all reason she was clever enough not to get captured. And he'd have to kill Albus Dumbledore.

Despite his godfather being determined to save his soul under Dumbledore's direction, despite his 6th year being the epitome of hell as he tried desperately to fix the vanishing cabinet, despite spending every free moment he had stalking Granger, he completed his task.

"I can help y-" Dumbledore had started, but Draco had cut him off with a calm 'Avada Kedavra' before he could finish. The Old Draco Malfoy could have hesitated, could have balked at the thought of maiming his own soul. But his soul wasn't his anymore, it was hers, and if he had to slice himself open to protect her, he would do it every time.

He didn't go back to school for seventh year. He had secured Granger's safety as best he could and at the same time he had made himself a murderer, a sin she was unlikely to ever forgive. Maybe one day, when the war was over, he could explain himself. If the Dark won, he'd still be protecting her anyway and she'd have to hear him out. He'd make sure if she was captured then, he secured her as a war prize. He had secured himself a lot of clout with the murder of the great Albus Dumbledore. If the light won, he'd be in hiding as a fugitive and maybe he could send her an owl and explain what he did and why. He doubted it would change anything, but he needed the hope. She was the embodiment of it and she was, after all, the only thing he had in all of his wealth worth having.

Draco stood on shaky knees and settled her onto the dark green satin sheets of his king-sized bed. Blood seeped onto the expensive fabric and stained it irreparably, but her blood didn't seem dirty to him anymore. It seemed beautiful.

Frantically, he ran his hands over her exposed skin, accessing the damage to her person. The after effects of the cruciatus ran through her limbs, causing her to twitch and whimper, but other than that and the wound on her arm that was still unreadable through the blood, she appeared to be whole. He called for his private house elf and demanded blood replenishers, pain potions, bandages, dittany and the anti-seizure potions that had been developed to combat the after effects of the torture curse.

The elf popped away and Draco transfigured a pillow into a large bowl before casting an aguamenti. He pulled the flat sheet towards him and used it to begin cleaning the blood off her arm. He could have simply scourgified her arm, but it might have hurt her or further irritated the wound and he wouldn't have it.

The word on her arm was slowly revealed to him and he had to throw the sheet down on the bed next to her and run to the wash room so he didn't actually vomit on top of her.

Mudblood.

How many times had he hurled that very same word at her in an attempt to make her cry, show her how small and insignificant she was? There was no way his Aunt hadn't used a cursed blade. Now it was there as a permanent reminder.

Draco heard the elf pop back into the room and he returned, taking the potions from the little creature before he settled on the edge of the bed again and brushed Granger's hair back from her face. He bandaged her arm as best he could after applying the dittany and then sat back and stared at her for a few moments.

Finally, he pulled his wand out and gently touched it to her forehead. "Rennervate," he whispered.

Granger's eyes popped wide open and she gasped, eyes roaming wildly as she took in her surroundings before landing on him and swiftly shifting to confusion and suspicion.

"Malfoy?" she croaked, trying to sit up and groaning when pain wracked her body on her attempt.

"Wait, Granger, take these before you try to move." He handed her all the assorted potions and when she looked at them with unease, he tried fervently to bury the pain in his chest at her distrust. He had earned it, after all.

"Here," he mumbled, opening each bottle and taking a small sip of them in turn. When he had finished, Draco handed them back to her and she swallowed them down, wincing when the anti-seizure potion's taste hit her and sighing when the pain potion began its work immediately.

"Where am I?" she asked, moving to sit up and gingerly stretching out her shoulders.

"My chambers," he answered, unable to stop himself from watching her slight muscles roll and pop in the thin t-shirt she was wearing.

Granger visibly started and then swallowed hard. "Why am I in your chambers, Malfoy?"

"I..."

Draco wasn't sure how to answer that. There was so much history to explain. How could he possibly make her understand when the Dark Lord could be beating down his door any minute. The thought of the Dark Lord, though, gave him an idea.

"Are you any good at Legilimency?" he asked abruptly.

Granger shifted on the bed, visibly uncomfortable before she squared her shoulders and answered his question. "I've become rather good at most mind magics by necessity. My memory charms are- they are very effective and my occlumency shields are strong enough to withhold assault. I can only perform Legilimency with a weak Occlumens, however."

He was not a weak Occlumens. Another necessity of her protection was learning how to make his mind impenetrable to the Dark Lord, which was thankfully a skill he had been studying since he could talk. But he could willingly take his shields down so she could see the answer for herself a lot faster than he could tell her, and as a bonus she wouldn't be able to question his honesty.

"Come on then," he told her, turning on the bed so he was facing her and handing her his wand. "Read my mind."

She stared down at the wand in her hand in shock and looked back at him incredulously. "You just gave me your wand. You- you're unarmed. You know I could just fight my way out of here?"

Draco winced. "Please don't. If I could get you safely out, I would, but I can't apparate anywhere but within the manor because of the wards, you can't apparate at all, and there are at least a dozen Death Eaters between you and escape."

"Right," Granger said in slow understanding that implied she didn't understand at all. "And why am I reading your mind?"

He reached out to rub a thumb across her cheekbone, ignoring it when she flinched. "So you'll know why I'm helping you."

"And I have your, Draco Malfoy's, permission to rummage about in your head to find the answers I seek?" She clarified, voice filled with doubt.

"You can have anything you want, Granger," he told her, licking his lips nervously. "Just... get on with it before the Dark lord gets here."

Granger bit her lip but gently reached out to grasp his chin, tilting his head towards her. He bit back a groan at the feel of her warm, soft fingers on his face, reveling in the only feel of her he was likely to ever get.

"I'll be gentle," she assured him softly, brown eyes meeting grey. "Legilimens."

Draco dropped his shields immediately and pushed all of his memories and thoughts of her to the forefront. He didn't allow himself the luxury of hiding anything from her; not his hatred of her when they were young, not his fantasies of her as they grew. He held nothing back. He wanted to, oh how he wanted to frame himself the hero, but while he could lie and cheat to anyone else, Granger was his only salvation. He'd always be raw and without pretense before her.

The whisper of her gently sorting through his mind was soothing in a way he hadn't felt since he was a small child. Even as she touched on his most embarrassing moments, he sunk into the feel of her inside his head like a warm bath. His personal wards pricked, alerting him that someone was coming, and he gently and reluctantly pushed her back outside his shields and sent her back into the real world.

When his eyes adjusted, her face was flushed and her eyes were wide with any number of emotions he couldn't name. "I wasn't quite done," she blurted out, and her face reddened further.

"There wasn't much left," he told her honestly, rising from the bed and smoothing down his shirt, putting on his pureblood armor as he prepared to meet his 'guest.' "But I told you, you can have it all, whatever you want. Right now though, someone is coming."

Fear flashed across her face as she shuddered, and without thinking Draco reached out and smoothed a hand across her forehead. She flinched a little, but let him do it, watching him with cautious eyes as his mouth tipped up in a half smile. Then a knock sounded at the door and he let his face blank, holding out a hand for his wand.

He moved impassively towards the door, glancing behind him to see Granger laying down again and feigning unconsciousness.

He pulled the door open to see the stringy hair and insane eyes of Rodolphous Lestrange. "Uncle," Draco greeted in a bored tone. "What is it?"

Lestrange glanced behind him at the bed and flashed a nasty grin. "Good. The Dark Lord said to commend you for your quick thinking in securing the mudblood when the other's escaped."

"Weasley and Potter escaped?" He verified, knowing that the woman currently laid out on his bed would be thankful for the information.

His uncle grimaced. "Unfortunately," he confirmed. "Bella and your father were considered responsible and tortured for their failures, although you know how Bella feels about torture. Not much of a punishment, really. He probably would have killed them, had you not salvaged the mudblood at least. That was quick thinking, by the way, because they came looking for her before your old traitor house elf apparated them out of here. They didn't get quite that far anyway, not all the way to the room she was in, but they were close."

Draco had not been thinking much of anything when he apparated Granger to his room, other than getting her away from Bella and treating her wounds.

"Dobby got them out then?"

"Yes. But we've got their pet," Rodolphous sneered, gesturing to the woman in his bed. "Don't you know animals are supposed to sleep on the floor, nephew?"

Draco swallowed his rage and his retort and shrugged instead. "Perhaps. But bed warmers don't. Speaking of, any news on when her trial will be? I'd like to know how long I have access if she doesn't give in, you know. Prioritize my plans."

Rodolphous let out a loud, nasty laugh. "Not until the morning, Nephew. You've got time to explore any holes you wish to."

He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat and smiled. His uncle laughed once more and sent the bed an over-exaggerated leer before he told Draco to 'have fun' and retreated from his quarters.

When they were alone again, he leaned his head against the door and let his shoulders drop, trying to ignore the shaking of his hands that always came after he was forced to dirty her name. He wanted her, sure, but when the other Death Eaters talked about her like that, it felt sacrilegious to him, like someone was tarnishing the only pure thing he had. It killed him and it made him WANT to kill.

"I apologize," he started, turning back to the bed where Granger had sat back up and was watching him while biting her lip. "It's necessary to maintain a cert-"

"It's fine, Draco," she interrupted, and he visibly stalled at the sound of his name on her lips. "I understand now that you don't mean it and why you think it's necessary. Honestly, I'm so overwhelming thrilled that Harry and Ron made it out that the rest of it is just, I don't know, static. Except perhaps the trial part. We need to talk about that."

Draco made a noise of assent and crossed back to the bed, sitting down beside her and struggling not to take her hands in his. "Do you want to see the rest of what's in my head?"

Granger shook her head. "No, I- I think I've seen enough to understand." She hesitated, but seemed to make some sort of determination and moved forward. "Draco, this isn't- It isn't healthy. It isn't good for you. This isn't really what love is supposed to be."

He nodded without hesitation. He knew that; it just didn't matter.

"I never, ever would have wanted someone to kill for me. Nor someone to die for me. I never would have wanted you to risk your soul and yourself for me, or even worse, to hurt others."

He nodded again. "I knew you wouldn't," he told her without inflection. "I did it anyway, knowing it'd make you hate me."

Granger sighed and reached out to hold his hand in a show of support that made him close his eyes at her touch. "I don't hate you. I- I worry for you, I suppose. Pity you, if I'm being blunt. You really aren't well, Draco. You know that, don't you?"

"I love you," he told her instead of answering, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek and leaning into it. She felt so good, like real pureness, like grace.

Granger hesitated before her eyes softened with a mix of pity and sorrow. "I know," she said quietly, bringing her other hand up so that she cupped his face. It was more than he ever hoped for, more than he could ever deserve, and he drank it up greedily.

She moved her hands away and sat back and it was as if the sun had died.

"Tell me about the trial," she said, fiddling with her hem nervously. "I assume this is what you meant when you secured me a capture, not kill, order."

Draco nodded as he reached out to interlace their fingers, unable to help himself now that he had experienced it, and she allowed the touch. "He's going to ask you to join our side, instead of staying loyal to the light," he told her, half drugged into submission by the feel of her skin. "If you did, he'd expect information from you and then you'd be given to me to do with as I see fit. Muggleborns aren't allowed in the ranks without the sponsorship of a pureblood and even then, they have to be exceptional. He'd give me the option to enslave or sponsor you. Of course, I'd choose sponsorship; I'd never do that to you."

She squeezed his hand before letting out a shaky sigh. "So when I don't join his side?"

"You could though," Draco begged, grabbing her hand tighter and looking up at her feverish eyes. "You could join us and we could bring him down from the inside. I promise, I'll help you. I'll defect and surrender myself to the order and they can do whatever they want to me and-

"Draco," she interrupted softly, nudging his knee with their hands to get his attention. "I'd have to give him information; information that would endanger my friends and order members. I can't do that."

He grit his teeth and bowed his head, fighting rage and sorrow as they battered at his insides as the day he fought so hard to make sure never came was rapidly approaching. He couldn't get her out of here, not with the anti-apparition wards the blocked both him and the Malfoy house elves. There were so many Death Eaters stronger than him and more capable with dark magic between them and any sort of exit. Maybe if they didn't know he had her or if she was less important, he could pull it off. As it was now though, he knew his rooms were being watched. He also knew she wouldn't give in, he knew that, but he couldn't help but hope. Hope. It was all he had left, and she was it.

"Please," he whispered helplessly. "Please, I'll give you anything..."

"What happens when I don't join his side?"

"Granger-"

"Draco. What happens?"

The room became unbearably still as he took a deep, shuddering breath. "Execution. When a person is offered the chance to defect and refuses, it's a lot more formal than a simple Avada in the heat of battle. Instead, the person is sentenced and since it amuses the Dark lord, the accused picks the method of execution from three spells-"

He stopped talking, unable to stomach the thought of her suffering any of them. But Granger was relentless. "What spells?"

"Please..."

"What. Spells?"

Draco shivered, but he answered her. "Entrail-Expelling Curse. Sectumsempra. Or Interim Ure, Dolohov's curse. Means 'Inside Burn'."

Granger nodded, and though her face paled, her eyes sparked with determination and bravery. His chest ached. "Please," he begged again, falling forward so that his head rested in her lap and his arms were clinging to her waist. "PLEASE, just- Consider what I've said. It isn't over. You don't have to give him anything good, just make it SOUND good."

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. The Dark Lord would accept nothing that wasn't obviously damning for the other side. She could maybe hold back some things, but in order to survive, she'd have no choice but to sacrifice others.

She paused an interminable amount of time before...

"Okay, Draco," Granger murmured and though he couldn't see her face, he felt her fingers stroke through the soft hair atop his head gently. "I'll think about it."

Part of him knew she wasn't telling the truth. Part of him didn't care.

'Lie to me," he thought, breathing in the scent of her, the heat of her. 'Tell me the sweetest lies from your lips and I promise to believe them.'

They didn't talk much after that. His house elf delivered their dinner to his chambers and they ate together, something Draco had never gotten the chance to do before. The way she ate was something he knew intimately, having watched it enough, but seeing it up close was something else entirely. She was dainty and prim with her hands, wiping her mouth between each bite and politely chewing ever so slowly.

After dinner, he offered her the use of the washroom and she accepted. He sat in an armchair with his fists clenched and his flesh unbearably hard, listening to the sounds of her splashing in the bath and imagining what it would look like, what it would feel like to be in there with her. Rubbing his hands across his face roughly, he banished the image and moved to his closet instead, transfiguring a sleep shirt and trousers for her use. He called for his elf and had the creature take them to her then changed into a pair of pajama bottoms and waited for her to emerge.

When she finally appeared with wet curls and smelling faintly of rose water, Draco swallowed heavily. Isn't this what they did when preparing a sacrifice, bathed it in herbs and offered it a last, good meal?

He shook his head slightly to clear the thought from his head. He wouldn't think of that, not now, not tonight.

"I'll take the chaise," he offered, directing her to the bed where he had changed the sheets and removed the evidence of where she bled onto his blankets.

Granger paused and then shook her head. She crossed the room and reached out to entwine their fingers.

"I-"

She stopped and swallowed heavily before continuing. "I don't know what tomorrow is going to bring..."

'Lie,' a voice in his brain whispered.

'Shut up,' he whispered back.

"But I don't want to spend tonight, at least, alone. I mean, nothing..." She paused, flustered, before continuing. "Funny, but maybe we could just-"

"Yes," Draco interrupted her. There was no reason for her to finish. 'Anything,' he thought once more. 'You can have anything.'

He let her pull him into the bed and he laid his body against hers, pulling her into his chest as she grabbed onto him with desperate hands and fingers. She seemed to be looking for something to cling to, something to hold onto, and he'd always be whatever she needed.

She sobbed quietly into his skin and he let her, hoping somehow that her tears would sink into him and the water would cleanse the black on his soul, the black he had infused there to protect her. She fell asleep with tears on her cheeks and he fell asleep with her on his chest, in his lungs, in his heart.

She offered him one, chaste kiss in the morning. He wondered what it felt like when a dementor pulled your soul out of your mouth. He wondered if it felt like this.

2 days Later

River:

"Hello Potterwatch listeners! It's River here, and thank you for tuning in. As a reminder, the password for the time being is 'Mad-Eye' and this correspondent reminds you, on that note, to always remember, 'Constant Vigilance.'

Before we continue with our usual programing, we have sad news today. The Wizarding World grieves the loss of one third of the Golden Trio. While the Chief Death Eater is known to send the remains of our fallen comrades to us with their bodies severely mistreated, Hermione Granger's body was found yesterday unmolested in an alleyway outside the Leaky Cauldron following her capture and detainment at Malfoy Manor. Royal has more details for us. Royal?"

Royal:

"Thank you, River. Ms. Granger, who has fought bravely beside Harry Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World, on many occasions, was found with her person and clothes cleaned and was arranged to look as if she was comfortably resting. It is estimated that at the time of discovery, she had been dead 6 hours. She was the victim of a specialized cutting curse (which is utilized exclusively by Death Eaters) to the neck. Known Death Eater Draco Malfoy was found with her, the recipient of a number of severe curses, and dead of the same specialized cutting curse Ms. Granger was murdered with. Malfoy's wand was recovered with his body; the last spells from the wand indicate a duel was fought, followed by cleaning spells likely used on Ms. Granger, and the cutting curse which ended his life. Malfoy had been dead 3 hours upon discovery. It is unknown if the curse that ended Malfoy's life was self-inflicted or if an unknown assailant used his wand to do so."

River:

"Royal, do we have any additional information on how Hermione Granger died or why Draco Malfoy would have fled with her body? Had Malfoy changed sides before his death?"

Royal:

"We have no additional information on Ms. Granger's death and as far as we are aware, Malfoy's only loyalty was to his Death Eater allies and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. How he ended up dead beside the body of the Brightest Witch of her Age and the Brains of the Golden Trio is a mystery."

River:

"Well, the wizarding world will undoubtedly mourn her passing. Now I'd like to take a moment of silence to honor all the other heroes who have died whose names we will never read about in..."

AN: Loosely inspired and title from "Say You'll Haunt Me" by Stone Sour

"Say you wanna stay,
You want me to,
Say you'll never die,
You'll always haunt me,
I wanna know,
I belong to you,
Say you'll haunt me..."