Chapter Three: Incident

Draco Malfoy sat in bed, looking around at the room that Molly Weasley brought him to when he first arrived at the headquarters.

"Now, usually all of the young men have to share a room, but under these circumstances, I think you'll get more sleep in a room by your self," she hadsaid to him in her usual motherly tone.

Not much sleeping going on in it, though, he thought bitterly. He had been awake for hours, ever since he was woken up by a tapping in the ceiling. He tried to go back to sleep at first, but when he couldn't, he turned on the light and searched for the origin of the noise. Looking up to see where the noise was coming from, Draco noticed an intricate design in the Spackle that he hadn't before seen before. His tired eyes followed the bumps and made out a scene with a dog and a rabbit, and something else that looked almost like a centaur.

What am I doing? he asked himself. I must be going insane. And what is that bloody noise?

He got up on his bed and reached his long arms up to the ceiling, somehow thinking that if he could touch it, he would be able to find the source of the tapping. Now that he was up there, however, he realized that the noise was closer to scratching than it was tapping.

He lowered his hands and sat back down on his bed.

Stupid rat, he cursed. Can't you just leave me alone and let me sleep?

After his realization, he pulled the covers over his head and tried to go back to sleep.

"You're going to let them kill me?" Draco asked his father angrily. "I'm going to die if I don't succeed at your 'task'?"

Lucius said nothing, but glared into Draco's eyes sharply.

"What is this task, anyway?"

"That's more like it," Lucius said a smirk much like Draco's, but more sinister. "I knew you'd come around… with the proper push."

Lucius paused for a chuckle and to cast a spell so that no one would overhear what he was about to say.

"The Dark Lord has appointed you to be the backbone of this great mission. You are, ultimately, going to end the life of that madman headmaster of yours. The plan is complex and brilliant, so brilliant that only the most genius of wizards could some up with it – and you'll see that I've added my own touches here and there," he added with the most Malfoy arrogance anyone could imagine.

"You will be responsible for fixing a certain cupboard that already resides at Hogwarts. You see, this cupboard is a sort of transporting device, and the match to it belongs to a very close friend of mine…'close' being loosely translated…anyways, Mr. Borgin of Borgin and Burkes should be quite happy to help us out," Lucius paused, stood suddenly from the chair he had been sitting in, and strode with an extremely large gait across the large room.

His long pale fingers rested on a thin, 15 inch-long silver gilded box, which he snapped open, his back hiding the insides from his son. Draco was slightly curious at this, for he had never seen the box before and was unsure of where it had come from. Pondering the box's contents, Draco did not notice when his father spun silently on his heel and appeared to Draco holding a wand made of very light wood that looked practically unused.

"This wand," Lucius reveled as he breathed in sharply and exhaled slowly, as if he was savoring the thought, "will be used to implant the Dark Mark on your forearm."

Draco tried not to appear as frightened – no, terrified – as he felt. He did not want to complete this task, and less did he want to receive the Dark Mark. But still, he willed to live more than he would have liked to at the moment.

Seeing Draco's explicit expression of anxiety, Lucius hushed his voice in an attempt to be calming.

"Now, boy, don't you get your stomach in a knot. The Mark will be temporary…provisional, if you may."

Lucius, as he often did, paused to take in the confused look that his son's face had procured, relishing the feeling of superiority as if it were his mistress – his third mistress, anyway. When Draco made no attempt to ask for clarification, Lucius went on.

"The Mark will, just as a normal one, appear on your left forearm. It will not, however, fill you with the ultimate feeling of servitude and devotion to our Dark Lord, nor will it allow you to become an associate of our inner circle. This Mark will be, ultimately, for show. You will love the feeling of control it gives to know that, at first glance of your new tattoo, even the most powerful of honorable wizards will bow to your command…"

He spoke on about the greatness of this mark, but Draco drowned this out. He didn't want to have a Dark Mark, not even a provisional one, but he did like the fact that he wasn't going to be forced into receiving the real mark. Not yet, anyways…

"Do you know what 'provisional' means, Draco?" Lucius said in a harsh tone, which cued the young Malfoy in to the fact that the rant was over. Not waiting for a reply, Lucius went on, "It means that it can be taken away. It means that, on the slightest mistake, you will be stripped of the Mark and will not be able to regain it."

Draco reeled from this comment. If he didn't have the mark, maybe that meant he could get out of performing this task…

As if Lucius read Draco's mind, he commented, "And no, Draco, that does not mean that I will remove you from your task. It just means that you will have to carry it out without the help of this friendly stain."

"Now, are you ready for the spell?"

Draco looked up, surprised, to see his fathers ice-colored eyes glaring down at his. He didn't answer, trying to think of a way to postpone his father.

His thinking was too slow when Lucius grabbed Draco's left hand, which caused a cold chill to course through his body. Lucius' white wand touched the skin of Draco's forearm and a silent incantation caused a burning sensation to envelop him. Searing through his mind, a red-hot spell made Draco wish he'd never been born.

Cold – freezing – sweat fell in a trickle from his forehead to his pillow, and Draco gasped a breath of the warm summer air that filled the room.

He felt… foggy.

His eyes slowly opened and scanned the room. Suddenly, he jumped from the bed as the sheets fell to the floor.

The room didn't just feel foggy – it was foggy.

Draco detected a faint smell of honey, and realized that someone must be showering down the hall.

Merlin, how did it get so steamed up in a room two doors down?

Draco stepped lightly with his bare feet. Turning the door handle as quietly as possible, he moved silently down the hall.

He stopped in front of the door to the bathroom, and wondered momentarily if he should do anything.

He knocked lightly on the door twice.

His ear pressed against the wood, which was warm and damp from the steam. He heard nothing but the rush of water.

He knocked four times in a row, harder this time.

When he still heard nothing, he called out, "Hello, anyone in there?"

No reply came, and Draco's chest tightened with fear and anxiety. He turned the door handle, surprised that it wasn't locked, and pushed it open lightly, peering in through a small crack.

When Draco saw that the room was filled with even more fog than the rest of the house and that the shower curtains were pulled shut, he once again tried to get the bather's attention.

"Hello?? Anyone in here?"

His steps were rather heavier now as he strode toward the running shower and pulled open the curtain.

Draco's eyes took in the scene of the small, lifeless form sprawled on the floor of the shower.

"Granger?" he whispered in shock.

Draco's tall frame swooped down to shut off the faucet, and, crouching on is knees, he tried to revive the fainted girl. His eyes traveled briefly over her body. She had thin legs and a flat torso that made it's way up into a chest that, until now, Draco had thought not to exist. He let his eyes rest on her for a moment but with much convincing, he forced himself to look only at her eyes, which were rolling in the back of her head.

Quite frightened, Draco's mind raced as he decided what to do.

He slid one of his hands behind her bare back, and the other he placed under her knees. Her light frame made it easy for him to lift her, and in a quick moment's time, he was striding down the hall as her wet hair soaked into his clothes and caused droplets to drip down his arm.

Draco went to the room that he was almost positive was Hermione's, and was not surprised to see a dark space with two beds in it, one of them empty.

As carefully as he could, he laid her into the empty bed and pulled a sheet over her naked form.

To the right was a bed in which a chest rose and fell, and in the dark Draco could just make out a head of long, red hair.

"Weasley! Uhm… Ginny!" he whispered a he shook her arm. When no response came, he spoke louder.

"Ginny! Wake up! Hermione is… I think she's fainted or something…"

"GINNY. WAKE UP N-"

She shot out of bed and cupped her hand over his mouth.

"Good God Malfoy! What are you-"

She could see the fog in the room now, and could tell that Malfoy was dripping wet.

"It's Hermione," Draco said urgently, "There's something wrong."

Just as the words were out of his mouth, a figure switched on the light and appeared to Draco and Ginny as Mrs. Weasley.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" she demanded, misjudging the situation and assuming that Draco was just visiting Ginny in the middle of the night. Molly soon realized that something was wrong, however, seeing the worried looks on the faces of the young people before her.

"It's Hermione," Draco repeated, "I think she's fainted."

Mrs. Weasley's response was frightening at best. She gasped loudly and located the bed with Hermione in it before she hobbled quickly over to the helpless girl.

Draco explained thoroughly how he came to find her in her situation as Molly, Tonks, Arthur and Remus bustled about.

They were floo-ing to St. Mungo's Hospital in a matter of minutes, and within a half hour, the whole household sat around a hospital bed with a groggy – but thankfully awake – Hermione.

Everyone had explained to Hermione the events that had passed. They told her about the fainting, the fog, and about the fact that Draco Malfoy had found her in the shower unconscious. The fact that he, Draco Malfoy, had come in on her in the shower and seen her naked body. The fact that he had carried that naked body in his own arms to her room.

She looked over at Draco, who was sitting in the corner staring at his hands. He looked embarrassed. But not as embarrassed as she felt. And not nearly as confused.

What in the world caused this to happen? she asked herself. I have never fainted before. Why did I now?

Hermione realized suddenly that she was staring at Draco, and that he had looked up at her also. She had no idea how long they'd been making eye contact and she felt warmth rise into her cheeks as she turned her head away.

He saw me naked. Draco Malfoy saw me, naked.

Hermione's mortified thoughts broke off when a small female healer with short, black hair walked in the room.

"Hermione Granger, correct? I'm Healer McClellan," she offered her hand, and Hermione took it. "Good news. It looks like this accident has made no damage, and you should be able to return home in the next few hours. There is, however, a bad side. Your fainting was most likely caused by stress, so I have to urge you to take measures to relax yourself, or else this is bound to reoccur."

Hermione shook her head in understanding, trying to come up with a reason for the stress.

Well, a boy has just seen me naked…

True to her word, Healer McClellan had them leaving the hospital by floo less than an hour and a half later. Molly was the first to go, and after that Hermione, then Arthur then Remus then Tonks, followed by the others.

As soon as Hermione stepped out of the fireplace, she sensed something wrong. The whole living room, usually mildly hideous, was even more a mess. Everything was strewn about, and it looked as if there had been a break-in.

"What the bloody hell?" she heard Malfoy curse. "What happened here?"