Chapter Seven:
The Curse Begins
Lying in bed, Hermione turned heavily on her side and tucked her hand under her pillow. Her blank eyes looked past the moth-eaten curtains to the starry sky outside the window. It was a cool summer night. For some reason she didn't fully understand, she craved that overwhelming darkness. It soothed her, and made her feel strangely elated as if she remembered it from some distant memory.
Her tired eyes flickered from the window to the dark red potion on her side table, labeled in a scrolling script, "Draught of Dreamless Sleep." It was half empty, and there was a little spoon beside the glass potion bottle. She couldn't remember for how long she had needed that potion, and for how long she had been having those nightmares. It started a few months ago, and began to worsen and get clearer each night. They came to her, stifling her in her sleep, visions of things she knew she had never seen before but things she feared that were actually happening somewhere far away. And always, always she would see him in her nightmares - his gray eyes and pale blond hair the last thing she saw before she sat up in bed, screaming.
A sound of rustling bed sheets and creaking bed frames startled her. She turned her head to see that it was just Ginny tossing in her sleep, so Hermione slowly relaxed against her wild thoughts again. With another glance at the dark red potion, she boldly decided she wouldn't take the potion again tonight. Her nightmares were terrifying, but they were strangely addictive. The things she saw - she knew they were real. They had to be. Hermione breathed in sharply. It was careless. It was reckless. Harry would be so disappointed in her if he knew what she was doing. But she had to see his face … just one more time.
A small voice mumbled incoherently beside her. "Go to sleep, Hermione," Ginny murmured, before burying her face in her pillow.
Hermione breathed in deeply. Ginny was right – she had to sleep, she felt exhausted. She pulled the covers up, and snuggled against her warm bed. She refused to take that powerful sleeping potion anymore. Trying not to think anything at all always calmed her enough into sleep. Her eyes lazily watched the moth-eaten lace curtains, fluttering in the warm summer air from the open window. Her breathing deepened – the sight of the fluttering curtains was nearly hypnotic.
By now, she almost always knew when she was started dreaming. Swirling, hazy visions blew across her eyes, until finally it rested on one. She was standing in a dark dungeon next to a man, who was much taller than her. A cold laugh came from behind her, taunting and delightful. Someone else was cackling next to her ear. Hermione felt beads of sweat all over her face, she felt like her heart would explode from pain. She looked down at the grimy floor, watching someone twisting on the ground, screaming. Her heart thudded wildly against her heart, but somehow she was strong enough to calm herself, to keep herself from yelling for help. The man standing next to her slowly lifted his wand, ending the curse – the screaming stopped, but the frenzied echoing of the screams around the dungeon did not cease. The man standing next to her - his hands were shaking slightly. She tried to look up into his face, but she couldn't. Her eyes fell on the white-haired old man in front of her, who was deathly still.
"It's done," The man standing next to her said in a low throaty voice – and roars of cheering went up all around the dungeon. Hermione looked wildly around at the hooded people around her. It felt like she was the only one who could hear the despair in his voice when all the others heard triumph and courage from his two words.
Suddenly, the hair on her neck prickled, and she stopped moving out of fear. She felt someone gliding next to her, laughing coldly. "You shall take his place, Draco," The cold voice said, "Now, stand on his corpse as I grant you the Death Mark." He touched the old man's face with his feet, "The slippery fool has proven most useful to me only in death."
Suddenly, she felt herself dissolve into the man standing next to her. Sycophantic laughter filled her ears, and she felt she would go mad from shock and anger. What had she done? She had killed her own father. And her mother was next. But the Dark Lord was searching her mind now; she had to close her anger from his probing red eyes.
"You have proven yourself," the Dark Lord whispered in her ear, "You are now … my most faithful servant."
Hermione stared at the cold stone ground, saying nothing. The cackling laughter of Bellatrix turned to a whimper of confusion at the change in ranks. The Dark Lord laughed at her, "You doubt him, Bellatrix? You don't think him deserving of the Death Mark - the highest honor of any Death Eater?" He laughed again coldly, "You doubt his faithfulness? No one of my Death Eaters but he has tortured and murdered a father for his great and noble master. It has been foretold that he will even more useful as the next year wears on. You will see. He shall bring to my feet our greatest traitors. Harry Potter will be mine … He will not disappoint me. Never doubt my judgment again, Bellatrix, because no matter how he has wavered in the past, Draco will obey me - for I have kept something very precious to him to ensure his … loyalty."
The laughter around her screeched painfully. Hermione felt herself standing next to him once again in her own body. She finally saw his face; his gray eyes were tortured and pained. He looked hopeless, helpless as he walked to his father's body. Hermione couldn't watch him take the Death Mark over his father's corpse. Suddenly, like the end to all her nightmares before, Draco's gray eyes caught hers as if he could really feel her there. For the first time, he almost willed her to leave, telling her not to come back and see anymore of what was happening to him.
She closed her eyes, and forced herself away from the room, feeling a suffocating fear for him as felt him disappear into a swirling gray mist.
Gasping, Hermione sat up in bed. She looked around and saw the faint moonlight stream through the window in her room at Grimmauld Place. Crickets were heartily chirping outside, and Ginny was mumbling softly in her sleep. But her dream - it was all so real. She knew that what she saw was real. It was haunting her – all these nightmarish memories that belonged to someone else. Why was she seeing them? Why did it get clearer and more terrifying each passing night? The panic of not knowing what was happening to her mind chilled her bones. Was she going crazy?
Still panting from fear, Hermione determinedly pushed off the covers and padded to an old dresser across the room. Turning her head carefully to make sure Ginny was still asleep, she pulled the gold handles and the drawer creaked open. Pushing aside the soft neatly-folded clothes, she pulled out a familiar gold chain. She breathed a sigh of relief as she felt the heavy gold locket against her skin. It felt almost like it was calling to her. A wave of relief swept past her. After every nightmare, holding the locket close to her was the only thing that brought her any peace.
Lighting a melted wick on a brass candleholder, Hermione held up the soft candle light as she walked in front of a gilded mirror. She stared at her reflection in the grimy glass. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her bushy hair was held back from her face, falling in loose curls over her periwinkle nightgown gathered delicately at the shoulders. As if in a trace, she peered in the mirror, tying the golden chain around her neck and holding the heavy locket in her hands, watching it shimmer in the glass. Mesmerized, she traced her finger against the S made by the glittering sapphire stones. Before the Horcrux in it was destroyed, all she could feel was a cold despair coursing through the chilled gold. But now, she could feel strange warmth from it, a sort of hopefulness that she would see him again. She wondered if it was actually her feeling those strange emotions, or if Hermione could sense in the locket Rowena's soul's longing for Slytherin.
Frustrated, she ran her fingers through her hair, feeling so overwhelmed by confusion. She didn't know what was happening to her – but she knew it was something bad, something dangerous. She was afraid she was possessed.
Seeing things was never a good sign, even in the Wizarding World.
Against all reason, she wondered if the both of them were cursed by some evil force in the Cave - and that was why she could see his darkest moments.
She wondered if she should confide in Harry and Ron, but a strange panic of guilt for burdening them with too much stopped her dead. She couldn't let them worry about her now when they had gone together to hunt the rest of the Horcruxes and the Deathly Hallows. She understood when Harry said he needed Ron with him, and he needed her and Ginny safe, away from all the danger. She'd never forgive Harry for that, of course, but she understood him. Days of moping around Headquarters turned into dreary months of waiting, until her nightmares of Draco began to keep her company in the isolating house. Before long, they became her single-minded pursuit – her obsession. She had to keep seeing more. She had sometimes feigned sleep midday, trying hard to catch one more fleeting glimpse of his face. Terrifying and addictive, she couldn't resist it.
And now, suddenly, she felt a strange fear that something terrible was about to happen to him. A choking panic bubbled up inside her that that what she saw tonight was something that was going to happen. In the dusty mirror, she saw her eyes widen in fear even as she tried to force that feeling of dread back into her mind. She sucked in breath sharply. There was no time to waste thinking anymore – she had to warn him somehow.
Feeling slightly reckless, Hermione picked up the brass candleholder, and tiptoed out of the bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. Stepping outside, she walked swiftly down the dark corridor and treaded softly upstairs, finding herself in an abandoned room on the third floor. She wiped the hazy clouds of cobwebs she had charmed on the doorframe and walked inside. Walking less consciously than before, she quickly placed the candleholder on a table. Pulling out a roll of parchment from a desk in the middle of the room, she nervously dipped a quill in a nearly-dried bottle of ink, finally writing the letter she had wanted to send for months. It was hard to write anything at first, until she remembered how she always talked to him - always eager to confuse and bother him with a mix of casual teasing with a well-hidden layer of self-righteous concern.
To My Twitchy Little Ferret,
I don't know what's been happening to me lately and while I'm trying to sort it all out, I think you deserve to know some of it. I can't tell you anything in the letter in case it gets intercepted. Meet me tomorrow in the Hogs Head at noon. You'll know it's me writing this because I know that you once sought solace in the arms of a ghostly little girl. I'm sure you've tried to make sure that doesn't get around often.
From Your Very Concerned Friend
Hermione read it over, ensuring it was cryptic enough for spies but not for him. She fought off the urge to laugh at the lightheartedness of the letter despite its grim nature. She walked downstairs, where Errol was asleep in his cage. Poking him gently with a finger, she opened the door and stuck the note inside.
"Errol, Can you give this to Draco Malfoy?" She asked quietly, making sure Mrs. Black's portrait didn't hear her, "And make sure no one but him reads it."
Hooting sleepily, Errol bounced out the cage, following Hermione as she opened the front door. He paused a bit at the doorstep to shake himself awake before flying off brightly into the night sky. Sighing, she walked back upstairs thinking she could try to sleep a little more. She entered her bedroom, closing the door softly, creeping slowly back to her bed. She climbed back inside the soft sheets, and blew out the candle, engulfing the room in darkness. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to sleep, finding that sending that letter to Malfoy eased a bit of the strange aching in her heart. Staring blankly at the melting candle on her side table, Hermione wondered if he was all right. If all the nightmares she had seen of him this last few months were really happening to him. She felt herself fall into an uneasy stupor. She hadn't closed her eyes for nearly an hour before she heard something fly in through the window.
Hermione jumped up out of bed, seeing Errol get caught in the curtains, struggling until she helped him. He hooted happily, and she knew that he had delivered it to Draco. But checking his talons, she saw it was empty.
No reply.
Sighing miserably, she sat back on the bed, petting Errol, thinking that it was stupid to expect him to reply as quickly as Ron or Harry. She was just about to miserably settle back into bed, when -
All of a sudden, she saw another feathery owl flying to her, sitting reserved and formal at the windowsill. She jumped up, walking nervously over to it – it was a large Eagle Owl – his owl. Feeling a burst of excitement, she reached for the talons, seeing a small letter clutched in its grasp. She touched the taut letter gently, raising her eyebrows incredulously at her own strange delight on feeling it. Ripping it hastily, she pulled out the arrogantly beautiful parchment written in a neat scroll in shining black ink. Breathing in deeply, she read:
To My Favorite Dung-Brained Otter,
Really witty. Any plans to write for The Prophet? Don't send your owl anymore - It's too stupid. And I honestly can't believe it took you this long to figure out what's been happening. You'll know it's me writing this because I have it from my ghostly source that you once slept with a signed picture of Lockhart under your pillow. Oh, and she informed me you always took unnaturally long baths in the Prefects' Bathroom. I bet that isn't common knowledge. Give my regards to the wonder league.
And make it one-thirty.
Hermione couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. If a piece of parchment could smirk at her, dripping wet with an infuriating arrogance, that one would. What did he mean by that - "I can't believe it took you this long to figure out what's happening" - was there something he knew? Did he know she could see him in her visions? That wasn't what bothered her now. She couldn't believe Myrtle had spied on her in the Prefects' Bathroom!
She swallowed thickly, reading it again. So she would be meeting him tomorrow. At one-thirty. It would be nearly a year since she last saw him. She would warn him about the visions she had seen and maybe distract herself from that ominous fear that something terrible could happen to him soon. Trying not to be so morose, she wondered how he would look, if he looked as grave as he did in her nightmares. In her visions, his eyes were most different – dull and melancholic without the familiar contempt flashing in his eyes. Perhaps his contempt and sneers were reserved only for her. How romantic. Wait a minute, did she just think that Draco was romantic? She shook her head irritatedly. Trying to concentrate on a familiar picture of a grinning lanky redhead with a smattering of freckles, Hermione steered her rebellious mind away from Malfoy as best she could.
"Uh ... Is that Malfoy's owl?" Ginny asked sleepily behind her. Hermione jumped nearly three feet in the air, her heart thundering erratically at the sudden noise. She turned around – Ginny was climbing out of bed, knitting her eyebrows confusedly. Looking back at the proud Eagle Owl on her windowsill, Hermione searched for an answer, trying to lie but she couldn't find the strength.
"Hermione, what's going on?" Ginny's voice was sharp, and her hands were across her chest, making her look like a scarier Mrs. Weasley. "You can tell me, you know. Whatever it is, I'm sure I'll understand."
Hermione breathed out heavily. If there was anyone she could trust about this, it would be Ginny. She tried to find her voice, readying herself to tell that story she had kept painfully to herself for the last year. Everything that had been tormenting her – the memories of Draco destroying the Horcruxes – the statue of Ravenclaw – the vow in front of the Mouth of Truth – the ghosts of Salazar and Rowena that burst through them from the locket after they kissed – her nightmares the last few months about Draco that made her wonder if they were cursed and in grave danger – and warning him tomorrow at the Hogs Head - everything she could finally set free from her already heavy heart.
She sat on the other side of the bed facing Ginny, whose face softened. Hermione smiled ruefully, shaking her head in disbelief at the sheer number of secrets she had been keeping to herself lately, "Oh Ginny," She grimaced, "Where do I begin?"
Author's Note: Next Chapter: Secret Meetings. In which they meet again and Hermione learns something very devastating about what happened at the Cave. Decisions have to be made. Can they put aside their differences and work together before the curse takes their lives?
