The next morning found Malfoy and Hermione back in the book room, tossing books into a heap on the floor.
Malfoy leaned against the shelf. "Granger, isn't there a spell we can use to find out which of these books talks about Horcruxes?"
Hermione tapped her wand against her temple, her eyes taking in the small pile on the floor and the many books still to be examined. She closed her eyes and muttered something under her breath; then her eyes snapped open and she reached up to catch several of the two dozen books that fell from the shelves.
"Here we are," she announced, dumping half the pile into his arms.
For the next half hour, both of them flipped through the books, searching for new information. But the only information they found were things that they already knew.
"To undo the consequences of a Horcrux, the maker must feel painful remorse...nothing new," Malfoy commented, tossing the book aside. "I'm going to take a shower. Let me know if you find anything useful, Granger."
Hermione watched him crawl back through the tunnel, then resumed searching the books. Her eyes fell on one entitled Recent Revelations of the Darkest Art.
Romilda White, a professor of Potions at Beauxbatons Academy in France, describes her recent research on the Horcrux, the introduction read. Much of what she has discovered is new and has never been released to the public.
Hermione skipped ahead to chapter 2, which mentioned the different forms a Horcrux could take.
A Horcrux guarded by another form of dark magic, such as the blood offering or the security measure of a friend's assistance, is no ordinary Horcrux. Therefore, searching for a Horcrux like the ones described above will be much different than an ordinary hunt.
Firstly, that Horcrux can only be destroyed with the help of the Horcrux maker's ally, friend, or blood relation.
Hermione snapped the book shut, tucked it under her arm, and scrambled to her feet. This was it, this was the book they needed. She crawled through the tunnel, pushed the brick back into place, and ran to Malfoy's bedroom door. The shower was still running, but she would wait outside until he was done—
A flash of something silvery caught Hermione's eye. She cautiously pushed open the door of his study to find the Pensieve sitting on the desk.
She slowly stepped forward, her eyes wide. Where did he get a Pensieve? And why would he need one?
As she got closer, she saw that there was a memory already swimming in the basin. Letting her curiosity get the better of her, she bent forward until her nose touched the liquid, and she fell forward into the scene.
She landed somewhat clumsily next to the very room she'd just left—a room filled with hundreds of books. And standing in front of her was Malfoy and herself, flying books and shield spells spinning everywhere. She saw the pile of books fall and knock her to the ground, and Malfoy swore under his breath. He lunged for her and began to throw the heavy volumes aside. A red welt was forming on Hermione's forehead by the time he'd unburied her, and the Hermione who was watching the scene unfold clapped a hand over her mouth as she watched what had really happened.
Malfoy brushed a strand of hair off her forehead, checking for serious injuries. "Granger, get up," he said quietly, and when she didn't respond, he immediately put his arms under her and picked her up bridal style, moving swiftly toward the small tunnel.
How the heck is he going to get me through there? Hermione thought, following him closely. She got her answer a moment later, when he took out his wand and shouted, "Bombarda!"
Malfoy walked straight through the destroyed tunnel, carrying her the entire way.
When they reached the Room of Requirement, he gently lowered Hermione's limp form onto the couch and smoothed her hair off her face. He pointed his wand at the tunnel and said, "Reparo," before turning his attention back to the unconscious girl.
"Granger! Wake up!" He knelt beside her, searching her face. "Damn it, Granger, get up!"
Hermione's heart was racing as she stood behind him, completely unprepared for what was about to happen.
Malfoy reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Come on, Hermione, wake up!" And he bent down and gently kissed her lips.
He stood up and swore again, pacing the floor next to her motionless body. "You're a fool, Granger," was all he could say. There was a small rustling sound, and an ice pack appeared on the coffee table. Malfoy raised an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth twitched as the girl on the couch began to stir, and Hermione felt herself falling backward out of the memory.
Her head spun as her feet hit solid ground. Gripping the sides of the desk to steady herself, her heart raced as she heard a sharp intake of breath behind her.
She whirled around. Malfoy stood behind her, dressed in clean robes and hair slicked back. The little color he had in his face was gone, and his eyes were wide as he stared at Hermione.
"You—" he began, but Hermione ran past him out of the study, across the living room, and into her own room. Panting, she threw herself onto her bed, eyes wide and hands trembling as she gripped the edges of the pillowcase.
A thousand questions shot through her brain. Why the hell did Malfoy kiss me? What's going on with him? And the most unwelcome thought of all: Why did I feel the sudden urge to kiss him just now?
She was suddenly hit by another pain in her head, and she groaned.
There was only one thing for her to do.
Slowly and carefully, she stood up, grabbing her wand and stuffing it into her back pocket. She reached for the doorknob just as it turned, and Malfoy slipped in through the doorway.
"I'm sorry," she told him, looking at her feet. "I mean, I should never have gone in there in the first place."
Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. "I shouldn't have left it out in the open where you could see it." He uncrossed his arms to show her what he was holding. "Was this what you wanted to show me?"
She nodded and took the book from him, flipping through it to find the section she had read.
"You need to help me destroy it," she said, pointing to the page and meeting his eyes for the first time.
He swallowed and closed his eyes. "If the Dark Lord found out about this, he would kill me, Granger," he said slowly, opening his eyes.
"What about me?" Hermione asked suddenly. "If Voldemort ever got his hands on me, he'd torture me and then kill me! Do you think I haven't thought of that? Do you think I've been expecting Dumbledore and Harry and everyone else to protect me from Voldemort? Do you think that's why I haven't joined the Dark Side?" He looked slightly sheepish, but she held his gaze. "It comes down to whether or not you're willing to risk your life to do the right thing."
Malfoy crossed the room and gingerly sat down on Hermione's bed. He opened the book just as she sat down beside him. "Let's focus on finding the Horcrux first."
Hermione nodded. "You have to help me destroy it," she repeated.
"I know, I heard that part. But what is the Horcrux?"
"Remember the vision? Maybe it has something to do with that desk. Or maybe—maybe it was something that belonged to the blond girl."
Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. "I just can't believe that the Dark Lord ever loved anyone. Sometimes, I wonder if he's even got a heart."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "I know he doesn't have a heart. But he did once—and I think, if we can figure out who she is, we may be able to find out what the last Horcrux is."
For the next half hour, the two of them flipped through the book, occasionally pointing out details or side notes. When they'd been searching for almost an hour, they both reached out to point to a footnote, their fingers touched, the book shook slightly, and a thin sheet of parchment slipped out from between pages.
Both of them were too startled to move, but it was Hermione who recovered first; she bent down to retrieve the parchment.
"Abigail Watercolor," she read slowly. "Who's that?"
"I've heard the name before," Malfoy replied, staring at the parchment. "I think she was a relative. The Watercolors were Purebloods for thousands of years, until they started marrying half-bloods and Muggle-borns." He hesitated for a moment, then carefully took the parchment from Hermione, his fingers brushing hers.
"My family looks down on half-bloods and Muggle-borns because they supposedly pollute the bloodline. But the truth is—"
Hermione cut in. "Did you know that Voldemort was a half-blood?"
Malfoy winced at the name. "Yes, I know. I've been thinking about that for so long, and—I mean, you're a Muggle-born, and you're the brightest witch in our year. You've got everything going for you, you don't care what people think—"
"That's not altogether true," Hermione admitted, a half-smile quirking her mouth, but Malfoy continued.
"I can count on one hand the number of Purebloods I know who have what you have, Granger. So, what's the point of classifying yourself as a Muggle-born or a Pureblood? It all comes down to—"
"What really matters," Hermione finished for him, smiling.
He smirked and returned his attention back to the slip of parchment.
Hermione gasped. "What if Abigail Watercolor was that girl with Voldemort? Maybe this is our next clue!"
Malfoy, who was holding the book, closed it and turned it over to examine the binding. "Did you notice anything strange about how that parchment just…fell out of the book?"
"The book kind of…glowed, and then shook, but it happened when we—" Her eyes widened. "Our fingers touched. We were both pointing to a note on a page."
"Oh, shit," Malfoy muttered, gripping the book tightly. "Granger, nothing personal, but I don't fancy walking around holding your hand every time we look for Horcrux clues. There's got to be another way."
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "As if I feel any different. Malfoy, can't we put our prejudices aside when it could mean the difference between life and death for all of us?"
Malfoy scowled, but he reached for her hand and took it. Nothing happened.
"Maybe that wasn't it," he said, attempting and failing to disguise the hopefulness in his voice.
"There's a time for 'living on hot coals', as you put it, Ferret," Hermione growled. "And now is one of those times." She linked her fingers through his, ignoring the electrical shock that was going through her body.
With his other hand, Malfoy slowly turned each page of the book. Suddenly, he snapped it shut and turned to face Hermione, his eyes blazing.
"There is no way I'm going to look through every book in that library for a reference to Abigail Watercolor, Granger. I don't care how much we want the Dark Lord gone."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "We?"
There was a short silence. "Yes, we," Malfoy replied finally, smirking slightly. "How about using that spell again?"
Hermione nodded. "We'll check my study first, just in case there's a clue there." She got up and slackened her grip on his hand, expecting him to let go, but he stood up and followed her, still holding her hand.
Suddenly, there was a crashing sound from the living room, and Hermione squeezed Malfoy's hand.
"Granger?"
Something wasn't right. Her vision was going blurry. She slowly lowered herself back down onto the bed, and Malfoy sat beside her. "Granger, what's wrong?"
"I—I don't know," she said finally, eyes wide as she fought to stay conscious.
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