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There’s Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Witch (WIP) by Onefaceinspace

Another excerpt from my WIP :) Enjoy! <3

"I've come to ask if you've made a decision," Malfoy said, straightening his shoulders and folding his hands behind his back. "You do recall my offer from the other night, don't you?"

Hermione nodded, still unsure if she'd come to a decision or not.

"I would like," she paused, "some more time to think about it."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Granger, in case you hadn't noticed," he gestured to the slow dripping IV bag of blood attached to a mobile pole that was attached to Hermione's arm, "this is a much freer option, and in case you don't recall, much more...beneficial for you."

He chose his words carefully, but the meaning stirred the heat in Hermione's cheeks. Malfoy confirmed her internal dilemma was written on her face with a sly smirk.

"What's in it for you?" She asked, setting her book on the large round table in the center of the library. Although Theo had supplied her with a constant source of dripping blood via IV, Hermione still wasn't receiving enough to sustain her strength and her magic; she once tried to transfigure a brush into a comb, but it had taken nearly all of her energy, and the comb still had bristles poking out of it at odd angles.

Needless to say, the IV was nothing like a fresh blood source. Hermione suspected the lack of energy wasn't to do with the slow drip; rather, the blood was old - stale. She wasn't sure if blood had a shelf-life, but she couldn't think of any other logical explanation. Even gulping it in copious amounts as she did with the pouches every night - Theo usually allowed them to her with dinner, but she preferred to save them for when her bloodlust woke her, as she knew it always did, and she could satisfy her thirst with a bloody tasty orgasm.

Yet, it did nothing to satiate her bloodlust like the taste of fresh, magical blood from the heir of the Malfoy family, one of the most ancient and powerful of the Sacred Twenty-Eight - of all the wizarding world.

She made a mental note to write it down and tell Theo about her theories. Hermione already began keeping a journal to document her experience; Rosmerta Nott's journal had been nothing short of informative as she navigated her newfound reality.

In short, she was immensely grateful for the journal.

"Nothing," he replied coolly, stuffing his hands in his trouser pockets as he usually did in his typical display of arrogant nonchalance.

"Bullshit," Hermione spat. "Everyone knows the Malfoys don't do anything without ulterior motives. There has to be something in it for you."

"Who said anything about ulterior motives?" His voice raised slightly, then he inhaled sharply. "Forgive me," he muttered. Then a bit louder, steadier, he said, "Fine, since you already find me so duplicitous, then I'll tack on something for me."

Hermione crossed her arms, a question and a statement all in one.

"A favor. To cash in at a time and place of my choosing."

She supposed that was fair. At least this way, he couldn’t say she owes him. "Fine," she agreed. "Are we done here, then?"

"Not quite." Malfoy took a step forward. "I believe I should explain to you exactly why I've chosen to grant you my very generous offer."

He knew her. So well, in fact, that he turned her natural curiosity - her desire for more knowledge, more information - into his own weapon. Was it possible to both hate and admire him for it? Hermione felt something broiling in her gut, something angsty and tense.

He won this round.

"Since you're making it a habit of offering yourself willingly, be my guest."

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There’s Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Witch (WIP) by Onefaceinspace

Oh look, another rough draft slipped from my document and onto this post. Whoops! Enjoy <3

"Theo and I don't blame you, you know," he offered unexpectedly.

Hermione shook her head, meeting his cold gaze. "Don't pretend to care about me now, Malfoy." She began walking away, desperate to put as much distance between herself and the pale-haired Slytherin.

Yet he proved to be relentless. She heard the thud of his footsteps on the ground behind her as he followed.

"Who says I don't?" He shouted behind her as her steps quickened.

She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "You."

His head jerked back. "Explain."

Hermione scoffed. "Explain? Do you not remember relentlessly torturing me and my friends at Hogwarts?"

"Ah yes, The Chosen Git and his Weasel."

She rolled her eyes; the inkling to suffocate him was tempting.

"That doesn't prove anything, you know," he called once more behind her as she turned to walk away again.

"All right, I'll humor you," Hermione muttered and walked back to him. "How so?"

"That was the past," Malfoy said matter-of-factly, crossing his arms in that smug son-of-a-bitch way he always did. "That was then, this is now. People change."

"Not everyone." There was venom in her voice.

"Well, I suppose I deserved that." Malfoy relaxed his arms and stuffed them into the pockets of his trousers, gazing upwards at the constellations. "I haven't exactly had the chance to make up for...Everything."

Hermione quirked a brow. "Make up for what?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I should've known you'd want specifics," he said, except he smirked. "Granger," he began seriously, his body straightening. "I'm sorry for relentlessly torturing you, as you so truthfully put it, during our school years. You didn't deserve that."

She shrugged one shoulder. "I accept, I guess."

"No," Malfoy shook his head, "that doesn't cut it for me. I don't want half-assed forgiveness."

"Well I don't want a half-assed apology."

"I know! That's why I'm trying to--" Malfoy huffed and closed his eyes, taking an additional steadying breath. "Granger, please believe me when I tell you I'm being sincere. And to prove it to you, I'd like to offer you a deal."

"A deal?"

"Well, it's mostly for your benefit. I get nothing, so it's not really a deal, but I wouldn't necessarily put it in the same realm as a favor."

"What is it?" Hermione waved her hand impatiently, urging Malfoy to get the hell on with it already.

"I want you to drink my blood."

Hermione shook her head. "No," she said immediately. Her salivary glands felt differently, however; she felt her mouth pooling like it did when her parents cleaned her teeth and her mouth was open for long periods of time -

"See, I thought you'd say that--"

"Absolutely not, Malfoy!" She shouted, disturbing a nearby owl in its slumber as it cooed in the nighttime and fluttered away.

Malfoy's chest heaved as he took a large breath. "Hermione," he started, his voice dangerously low.

"I'm not scared of you," she spat, still walking away from him.

Malfoy caught up within a few lengthy strides and spun her around. Using his wand, he sliced his palm, letting the blood seep through his wound before holding it out to Hermione.

Her eyes fluttered the moment they laid on his palm, and she took a step back from him.

"Malfoy," her voice a near whisper, "what are you doing?"

"You know you want it." He stepped closer to her, and her back met the trunk of the tree previously belonging to the owl. His voice dropped to that dangerous growl. “You know you want to taste me."

Hermione took a shuddering breath when his hand found her waist, holding her there. Malfoy knelt on both knees, holding up his right palm for her to -

"Drink," he commanded, and as if under the Imperius curse, Hermione jerked forward and grabbed his hand in between hers, bringing the callused skin of his palm to her lips.

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There’s Nothing Scarier Than a Hungry Witch (WIP) by Onefaceinspace

Another glimpse into my work in progress! <3 Enjoy!

Hermione's torso shot up straight, jolting her from her sleeping position. Her pillows were crushed from the thrashing of her fists, and her jaw felt oddly sore, as if she had been masticating in her sleep.

She felt incurably thirsty. Her throat itched with a scratchy rawness that felt entirely foreign to her. She reached for her bedside carafe of water, pouring glass after glass until it was empty.

Hermione waved her hand wordlessly; a summoning spell so well-rehearsed it was second nature. Her wand appeared in said hand in an instant, and she refilled the carafe.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Her thirst remained, if not more intense. Subconsciously, in the back of her mind, a more coherent version of herself was scolding her for using magic at a time when she most definitely shouldn't be.

Images from her dream flashed in her mind, and Hermione's mouth began drooling with the intensity of a starved animal having its first feast.

Blood. She needed blood.

She reached for her bedside drawer, for the small pouch that Theo supplied for her with the instruction to "sip sparingly." The stores wouldn't last long, and they needed as much time as possible to find a cure; Hermione had to make the store stretch as much as she could.

Hermione scrambled out of bed at the sight of it and ripped open the packet, gulping down the entire store of blood before she could think better of it. She dropped the empty container and it hit the floor with a soft thud. She gingerly touched her lips and found them damp, her fingers covered in a dark red liquid that shimmered and sparkled in such a way that increased the flow of saliva in Hermione's mouth.

More. She needed more.

She cursed herself for not having the foresight to protect the small pouch that was supposed to last her the next seven days. A week's supply at a time, to ensure Hermione didn't blow through it all at once.

Before she could think, Hermione wrapped an oversized knit cardigan around herself and rushed to her living room. There was one image in her mind, taunting her thoughts and enticing her temptation.

She shouted the location of Nott Estate, feeling both ferally aware and out of control of her own body as it moved mechanically from the Floo parlor, past the sitting room--she failed to notice the murmurs behind the closed doors, glowing lights appearing underneath the cracks--and to the terrace.

Hermione took the marble stairs down from the balcony and down to the gardens. Her feet moved with a purpose, only one destination in mind. All she saw was red, everywhere she looked, her tongue continuously finding itself slithering across her lips with an insatiable hunger.

She followed the same path through the gardens that she did with Theo only days before, her legs on autopilot as they carried her through the expansive family cemetery.

Hermione approached the mausoleum and uttered the password Theo did during their previous trip to the tomb. She descended the staircase with urgency and managed not to trip and fall on her way down.

What happened next hadn't registered in her mind until it was too late. Her mind had been too occupied, too focused. Her tunnel vision gave her one image, one goal, and she had failed to remember the wards placed on the secondary entrance to the tomb.

All it took was one second for Hermione to reach out for the door and place her hand on it before her entire body convulsed with a sudden jolt, as if she had been electrified.

The pain was excruciating, like nothing she'd ever experienced before. It felt like Bellatrix--no, worse than Bellatrix.

Her insides burned as if they were engulfed in flames, intense heat searing into her veins and her bones with every movement. There was a high-pitched nose, a piercing scream. Was that her? The noise intensified, and she felt it reverberating within her bones, aggravating the heat within her and stoking the fire.

And then she blacked out.