Chapter Ten
They were assigned to the northern face of the castle, along with Ron and Millicent. Draco and Millicent walked ahead together, keeping up a steady stream of chatter. Hermione was roughly able to make out the phrases, 'new season line', 'St Barthelemy's for the holidays' and something about Millicent's questionable taste in boyfriends.
"Amazing how they can speak so much and say so little," Ron muttered.
"It's a talent," Hermione concurred.
"You feeling alright?" he asked, giving her an odd, sideways look. Hermione nodded. "Fine. Why?"
"Well for one you've been missing meals. And Lavender says you were a bit snippy yesterday. Harry reckons it's probably the heat. Or woman's stuff. Ginny always gets twice as annoying when she's down with woman's stuff..."
"It's the heat, Ron," Hermione said, tiredly. "I'm fine, really. Just run down."
They arrived at the edge of the forest, where a faint trail began and winded deeper into the trees. It wasn't so much a pathway as a well-trodden dirt track that Hagrid and Fang took whenever they ventured into the forest. Hagrid had in fact shot down the delivery macaw not far from where they stood.
"We'll split up. You two take the top of the path, Weasley and I will stay on the bottom end," Millicent barked. "If there are no objections?" It wasn't really like she was giving them options.
There were no objections. Ron gave Hermione a reassuring look as she and Malfoy set off ahead.
It took her ten minutes to locate her first batch of Tangleweed. Malfoy walked silently beside her, no doubt waiting until they were well and truly beyond eavesdropping distance before speaking his mind. They were relatively deep in the forest, deeper than most students would have ventured during school hours.
With any luck, a female Centaur would gallop out of the trees, declare Malfoy to be a too tasty mortal morsel to pass up on and take him away, Hermione mused. The thought was actually rather funny and she stifled a snort of amusement, while Malfoy gave her a suspicious sideways glance.
She ignored him. The Tangleweed was her main concern for the moment.
Despite its preference for warmer climates, the Tangleweed appeared to have little liking for sunshine. Juicy, fat tentacles lay in a deceiving, placid mess on the ground, but as soon as Hermione approached, they whipped into the air with a faint hissing sound, no doubt alerted to her presence by the vibrations of her footsteps.
The creature resembled cacti, for the most part, and was a rather pretty shade of violet, with deep purple barbs that were oozing a thick, white sap.
It was a small, juvenile batch, and Hermione had no problems subduing and then uprooting it. The thrashing of the creature in her gloved hands was quite unpleasant, though, and she grimaced.
"Have you written to Borgin yet?" Malfoy finally spoke. He was lounging against a tree, watching the last struggles of the dying Tangleweed with a detached expression.
Here we go.
"I'm going to, very soon. I'm just…I just have to plan a bit more first. I've been doing some reading." Even to her own ears, her voice sounded small and subdued.
Malfoy made an exasperated, overly-dramatic sound.
"What?" she snapped.
"Give me the bloody contact and I'll arrange it myself. We'll have this cursed spell undone in one visit, and at half the price."
"I'm not giving you the address, Malfoy. Your father gave it to me because he probably doesn't trust you to initiate the meeting without mucking it up." The Tangleweed had finally stopped its thrashing and Hermione gladly tossed it into the bucket.
Malfoy seemed to have located some previously undiscovered internal reservoir of patience. He actually sounded polite when he next spoke.
"Only because my father knows that Slytherins are in the habit of snooping around each other's belongings. Blackmail is the oldest trick in the book. Even the first years know that. My situation is precarious enough without giving some ambitious housemate a reason to start rumours."
Hermione thanked God, for the umpteenth time that she had been Sorted into a House where the first years were more concerned with the correct and precise placing of Dungbombs for maximum effect, rather than internal power struggles.
"I've made a draft," she finally admitted. Actually, she had made a dozen drafts, but he really didn't need to know that.
He raised a hand to his chest in mock surprise. Hermione noticed he wasn't wearing the gloves Lupin had provided. Probably because he wasn't intending on doing any work, the wanker.
"Goodness, a draft. Don't you ever do anything without planning it to death first?"
"Fuck off, Malfoy."
He quit grinning. Now he was thinking, which was frankly worse. "Tell me honestly, Granger. Do you really regret what happened?" There was a telltale twinkle in his eyes which told her he was baiting her.
Hermione went red to the roots of her hair. Her embarrassment was tempered by the fact that she could feel his gnawing anxiety. It was balled up deep inside him, neatly obscured behind his colossal ego. She wanted to hit him in the head in the hopes of shaking free any threads of decency and compassion.
Honestly, he was turning her into some sort of violent, bipolar person - tired and withdrawn one minute, enraged and aggressive the next.
"Yes," she said, remembering that he had asked a question.
"I said honestly."
"And honestly, yes! I regret every disgusting, vomit inducing moment of it!" She hadn't meant to shout.
For some unfathomable reason, he looked pleased with her show of spirit. He nodded. "Give me your draft. My owl can reach Borgin faster than any school bird, and he's more secure by far."
"Fine, but if word gets out and it's all over the papers tomorrow, I'll find some way to exact my revenge, Malfoy."
"Come now, it hasn't been all bad, has it? Where's that scholarly interest of yours, Granger. Haven't you been experimenting?" He waggled his blond eyebrows suggestively. The whole act ought to have been ridiculously charming. But Hermione was wise to him.
"What with making deals with your crazed father, and getting accosted and manhandled by you in dark corridors, I haven't had the time," she spat at back him.
Malfoy feigned a look of innocence. "My tattoo's been doing all sorts of funny things," he informed. He sat on a moss covered log and pulled out a waxy, green apple from his book bag. Hermione remembered then that he must have missed lunch because of detention.
"Funny how?" she asked, both suspicious and curious.
He looked like he was posing for a portrait - 'snarky, evil, tormenting, git eating apple'.
Hermione couldn't help herself. She was tired and irritable and her gaze was too stubborn to control. Her eyes strayed to his cheekbone, where all trace of his nasty, split lip had long since been mended. The soft, sensual curve of his mouth was its usual quick-to-smirk self. He bit hard into the apple, revealing an upper row of perfectly straight, white teeth. A sliver of apple juice oozed from the corner of his mouth, and he flicked at it with his tongue.
Look away you idiot.
Suddenly she was rather sorry that fourth year detention had caused him to miss lunch. Who would have known that Draco Malfoy eating fruit would have been such a spectacle? She could probably charge admission. Lavender and Parvati would request that he have a go at giant lollypops. He'd welcome the attention, sitting there with a smirk and his strong, pink tongue attacking hapless, helpless, candy.
Oh...
"Do that again," he requested. She hadn't realised he was staring at her nearly as oddly as she had been staring at him.
Hermione blinked. "Do what?"
"Look at my mouth. You do that quite often."
She made a sputtering sound, suddenly thankful for the heat which had already rendered her face flushed.
"You're barmy! I wasn't looking at your sodding mouth, Malfoy. We're in the middle of a class, if you haven't noticed. Watch yourself before people start wondering why you've decided to forget seven years of bigotry and rudeness by suddenly talking to me."
Damn her eyes, which seemed to have a will of their own whenever he was concerned. They strayed down to his mouth once more. It was too much to hope that he would have a giant bit of apple stuck in his teeth or some such thing, but his smile was flawless.
And annoying, don't forget annoying. She promptly removed him from her field of vision altogether.
"Hmm," he said, in a pondering tone, "left wing just twitched." He didn't sound amused as much as speculative. If he had a notebook, Hermione thought he might have jotted in it.
This was Draco the A-Student, Hermione realised, whom she grudgingly admitted was slightly easier to get along with than Draco the Stuck Up Prat. He could actually be quite funny at times, though she'd happily swallow her Head Girl badge rather than admit that to him.
"Do you mean to say that your wings...move?" she asked, sounding horrified.
"It's more like a sensation of movement. Like tiny, sharp little currents," he explained, sounding speculative. "Quite pleasurable, actually."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Trust you to derive some sort of sick pleasure from all this."
Her derision was lost on him. "Too, I happen to be left-handed," he added, flexing his left hand.
It was an utter travesty that he should have such beautiful hands, Hermione thought, watching as he rested his hand on his knee. The tips of his fingers were sitting just over the delta of his pants, and seemingly on their own accord, her cursed eyes strayed there.
It's official, Hermione thought, with despair. I've lost the plot.
"Ooh!" he suddenly said, pointing to a spot just ahead of her.
With some trepidation, she looked. There was an aggressive looking patch of Tangleweed that had just roused and was hissing aggressively at them.
"There's a rather large tuft," Malfoy announced. "Have at it, then. I'm not about to be outdone by Millicent and Weasley."
Neither was she, actually. Hermione sighed as she grabbed the bucket. The second batch of Tangleweed was a sturdy specimen. Approaching quietly, she quickly gathered up the largest tentacles and yanked as hard as she could.
It was like swinging a hammer. The roots gave way more easily than expected and a huge deposit of wet dirt went hurtling through the air, whereupon most of it landed over Malfoy and his stupid, green apple.
The self-satisfied look was wiped clean from his face.
Hermione laughed in utter, evil delight. It was probably the first time she had felt genuinely cheered since their return to Hogwarts.
He didn't look angry, rather it was the intense look she sometimes got from Ron or Harry before they chased her and tried to do something horrid like smearing treacle on her hair. The idea of Draco Malfoy doing such a thing was beyond ludicrous.
Still, she wasn't about to take her chances. Swallowing her giggles, she grabbed her bucket and trowel, and pressed on further down the path.
Malfoy didn't immediately follow and Hermione spent the next few, peaceful minutes trying to locate additional batches of Tangleweed. There were none. She looked up at the canopy of trees. The foliage was much denser now and it was unlikely that the lost saplings had made their way quite that far into the forest.
She began to backtrack and soon spotted a shady clearing just off the path, to her right. And slumbering in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by an impressive crop of mushrooms, rotting logs and dead leaves, was a healthy patch of adult Tangleweed.
Feeling rewarded, she walked up to what she assumed was the largest bunch, bent down and pulled at the base. Hermione soon discovered, not without some apprehension, that this wasn't a group of small plants, rather it was one, large, broad Tangleweed. And it was hissing and spitting loudly enough to scare the Bowtruckles from the nearby trees.
Hermione dug her foot in the ground for more leverage, adamant that no magical plant, incorrectly classified or not, was going to get the better of her that day. With her left hand still maintaining a firm grip on the plant, she attempted to reach into her pocket for her wand, thinking that a quick Impedimenta would do the trick.
One of the tentacles snapped into action, latching onto her right gardening glove and pulling it off. Another tentacle followed, and without the protection offered by the glove, the thorns sank into the tender skin of her wrist and latched on. On instinct, she pulled her hand back, causing the barbs to break free from the tentacle and embed in her skin.
It was like getting stung by a dozen bees, all in the one spot. Hermione yelped, alternating between cursing and stomping her foot on the ground. The Tangleweed seemed equally flustered and began thumping its meaty arms against the earth in an intimidating fashion.
There was a brief, tense stand-off.
The commotion brought Draco casually strolling down the path, carrying no less than four bushels of Tangleweed, roots up. He wasn't wearing his gloves, but he was, Hermione noticed, holding his wand. He was obviously subscribed to the 'I Don't Work Hard, I Work Smart' School of Thought. Coincidentally, Ron was also a member.
"Alright, settle down." He walked up to her, looking irritated. "That's what you get for wandering off on your own."
It wasn't nearly so bad. There were a dozen small pinpricks where the barbs had latched on, but there were also two deep gouges smeared with toxic sap. Her skin was already beginning to welt up.
Malfoy tossed his things to the ground and then grabbed hold of her wrist to have a look. He peered closely.
"Bleed on me, Granger, and you'll be sorry."
Hermione could smell apple on his breath. She frowned down at her small, pink hand, held in his much larger, pale hands, so white in comparison to the blood on her wrist. She was wearing a colourful purple, resin ring on her right index finger that her youngest cousin had given her earlier in the ear. It was a sentimental piece which she treasured, but for some reason, now, she felt embarrassed by it. That, and her ink-stained, bitten-down nails.
She was instantly cross with herself for thinking such things.
"Those gloves are useless. You'd think with the donations the school's been receiving from the Governors, we'd be able to afford better equipment," Malfoy was saying. He pulled out the embedded barbs, ignoring her when she winced.
When she looked up at him again, he was watching her as if she were a particularly interesting potions experiment which was coming along nicely. He still had a smudge of wet dirt over one cheekbone and on the bridge of his nose. It didn't make him look less elegant. If anything, the blemished reinforced the fineness of his features and the glacier-like clarity of his eyes. Hermione resisted the urge to thumb the streak of dirt away.
It was the same instinct that made her try and flatten Harry's hair earlier. The only difference was that Harry didn't make her feel like her stomach had become a nest of Doxies.
"Better?" Malfoy asked softly, so close that she could almost count the flecks of blue around his irises.
"Yes." Hermione tugged her hand away. It was still throbbing.
Now he looked covetous, as if he was once again being offered a treat he had little experience in, and was suddenly eager to learn more about. It was like their odd interlude at the Manor, only he was staring at her with more purpose. And this time, Toolip was not around to offer rescue.
Oh no, not again.
"No," Hermione immediately said, backing up, not quite knowing what she was denying him, but thinking that she would have to articulate her lack of cooperation before he carried out whatever it was he had in mind.
"Malfoy," she said again, and this time he shook his head, as if he didn't believe her. She made a protesting noise, smaller than she would have liked.
He pulled her to him, and it was like being pressed up against a cement wall. "Just a little reminder," he whispered, cajoled even. Hermione had no idea if the plea was meant for her or for himself.
Good Lord. He was kissing her. It was a deep, thorough kiss. As if he was trying to bring foggy memories and sensations to the fore, if only to assume better control over them.
He hated not remembering. Hermione knew this about him.
She felt clumsy and uncoordinated. His nose bumped against hers and his tongue slid past the clamped vise of her lips. He smelled like books and apple and wood smoke.
His hands, which had held her to him like a steel brand against her lower back were now relaxed as they slid up to cup the base of her head just under her ponytail. Pausing the kiss so that they could take in air, he moved his mouth down along her jaw to the soft, sensitive spot just under her ear.
Scream, her brain urged. Shove him off and run back to the greenhouse. There was a steady, whooshing noise in her ears which she guessed was the sound of her blood rushing to her head. Her soil splattered hands were clutching tightly at his back.
Abruptly, he stopped and pulled away. His pupils were dilated, and his eyes were now as dark as the rain clouds that hung in the sky over them. Feeling immensely light-headed, Hermione went with him, not trusting her knees to hold her up. The look he gave her was disturbing and intense. And angry. For a brief moment, he held her against him, her forehead resting against his shoulder while they both caught their breath.
Malfoy was shaking slightly, she realised. Hermione was in complete wonderment at the havoc that the spell was wreaking on both their nervous systems.
He took a step away from her and this time, she did not follow.
"Granger, you might just be Hogwarts' best kept secret," he quietly informed, with an easy cruelty that pierced through the heady intensity of their kiss. He adjusted the front of his pants without looking away from her, challenging her to be embarrassed.
She met his stare, letting her loathing bleed into her eyes. Everything he did seemed calculated. His deceiving civility and the kiss that followed had been an experiment, nothing more, a diversion to take away the humdrum of daily life. Hermione was quite certain that if she spent the next decade learning everything she possibly could about Draco Malfoy, he would still surprise her.
They didn't speak on the walk back to the castle, which felt like an eternity. She might have wondered why he would pass up on the perfect opportunity to further goad her, but when she turned to look at him, the dark scowl on his face waylaid any further thoughts on the matter.
Matching their mood, the heavy clouds overhead finally followed through with drizzle. The air smelled heavily of ozone by the time they reached the start of the path and were greeted by a decidedly grubbier-looking Ron, Millicent and their small pile of Tangleweed.
Ron looked thrilled to be caught out in the rain, a thankful reprieve from the stifling humidity. He grinned at her, turning his face up to the soon-to-be downpour. His enjoyment was contagious.
But even as Hermione waved back, Ron's face drained of all colour as he stared in mute horror at the treetops behind them. Hermione was vaguely aware that Millicent was shrieking and bolting for the castle.
Feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, Hermione turned around to have a look, but not before Malfoy knocked the wind out of her. And Ron too, it seemed. He was dragging both of them away.
"Malfoy wha-"
"Granger, shut up and keep moving!" Draco shouted. He was as white as Ron.
The reason for this was soon readily observable. In the trees behind them, steadily growing in size and height, was the Dark Mark.
Hermione felt her blood turn to ice
It blazed over the treetops in eerie, glowing silver. A smoky serpent slithered from the gaping mouth of the skull and wrapped itself around it, making the entire thing suddenly more solid, more corporeal. The Mark seemed to throb and hum, charging the air around them.
They couldn't have been the only ones to notice it. The thing had been launched high enough to be seen by at least half of Hogsmeade and all of Hogwarts.
From the direction of the greenhouse, Hermione could see Lupin barking orders. Students were running back to the castle at top speed. A smaller group of students, headed by Lupin, sprinted towards them.
Lupin's wand was still sputtering red sparks when he arrived. He had obviously alerted the rest of the castle. "Is everyone alright?" he asked, his eyes taking quick stock of Draco, Hermione and Ron.
"We're okay," Hermione said, breathless. "Is everyone else accounted for?" she immediately asked, her Head Girl common sense kicking in.
"Yes. You, Draco, Ron and Millicent were the last to return," Lupin informed. He herded the group further away from the edge of the forest, paying particular attention to Harry, who seemed intent on staying right where he was. Ron remained resolutely beside him.
Lupin looked ropable. "Everyone, report to the Great Hall and to your Head of House immediately, or you will face my intense displeasure. Is that understood? Harry!"
Harry was staring intently at Hermione "Did you see anything? Anything at all?" he asked her. She could only shake her head.
"Oh! Look!" Parvati gasped, pointing to the Mark.
The Mark was changing. The muted silver of the skull faded before becoming a bright, glowing green, and the enveloping serpent seemed to grow and expand with scales and clawed feet. Its blunt serpent's head lengthened into a snout. The forked tongue remained the same, however. It flicked repeatedly over the skull, leaving a whispery trail of silver smoke in the air.
The snake had become a dragon.
Hermione felt a sharp, painful burst of panic in Malfoy. It was like being kicked in the stomach. Unable to stop herself, she clutched at her middle and would have toppled sideways into Ron if Malfoy hadn't grabbed her shoulders to steady her.
"It's starting again," Blaise said softly, his dark eyes fixed to the sky. The rain was coming down heavily now, blurring the image of the Mark. It was almost like looking at a rippling reflection.
Lavender was clutching onto Parvati's forearm with both hands. "Professor Lupin, what's happening?" she whispered.
Harry was the one who answered. His expression might have been cast in granite.
"That's the Malfoy Standard! Lucius Malfoy must be free!"