Feeling a little dizzy, Hermione sat down with a thump onto the cold marble floor. She steadied herself on the ground with one palm and glanced around. Malfoy was sprawled on the floor, still managing to glare at her despite his ungainly position, and, Hermione assumed, having had all the wind knocked out of him, since he had yet to make a rude comment. Hermione smirked at him in triumph. He'd totally deserved that after making such a fool of her earlier.
She peered around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. They'd landed in a quaint little shop. The walls were purple and covered in strange artefacts, masks, feathers, leather-bound books with French words written on their covers, posters with strange symbols Hermione didn't know the meaning of, and peculiar jewellery. The air smelt like burning incense and cotton candy. There was a large glass window out looking a street, and Hermione glimpsed ancient brickwork and cobblestones, the only clue that she was now in Paris.
There was a clerks desk behind her, on which rested a bell. Hermione struggled to her feet, making sure to kick Malfoy in the process, and made her way around beautifully carved wooden sculptures, and tables laden with more intriguing objects, to the desk. She pressed the bell, and the sound reverberated around the silent shop. Almost instantaneously the door behind the clerk's desk swung open and a tall, beautiful witch materialised. She was dressed in gossamer green robes, with ribbons and gemstones attached to her tightly braided hair. There were rings on every available digit, and she jingled musically as she floated into the room, due to the bangles which weighed down her wrists. She had dark skin, bright eyes rimmed with black eyeliner, and a mysterious aura. There was something about her which both scared and excited Hermione.
"Aha!" She cried. Her voice was smoky with a heavy French accent, "You must be Draco and Hermione, yes?" She asked, speaking at a hundred miles an hour. Hermione nodded, attempting to process what she had just said, and the lady continued, "I am the witch who is able to help you. I cannot tell you my name, but my clients call me Madame Qui Sait, the lady who knows in English, of course. Come with me, rapide, hurry, hurry."
"Get up, Malfoy." Hermione hissed to Malfoy, who gave her a very reproachful look from the floor where he was splayed, "You've always been such a drama queen." Hermione rolled her eyes.
"I think you've broken something." Malfoy sniffed, rising to his feet in the most dignified way he was capable of. Hermione gave him a sceptical look and followed Madame Qui Sait through the doorway she indicated. Malfoy trailed behind her, taking in their surroundings with disdain. They shadowed the woman as she led them through several corridors and down a flight of stairs into a basement which smelled of damp and the tang of magic. Hermione's eye was immediately drawn to the chair set up in the centre of the room, with rudimentary belt straps hanging off its arms, clearly designed to tie down the witches' patients. Hermione felt Malfoy freeze behind her as he took it in, clearly only just processing what he had signed himself up for.
In the corner of the room, there was a cauldron, with stacks of ingredients laid out around it. On some walls were thousands upon thousands of glass jars, each neatly labelled in spindly handwriting. Others were filled with bookshelves, packed with ancient books, which Hermione itched to get her fingers on. Hermione gazed around in awe. This woman was the best healer in France. She was possibly the best healer in the world. This was the opportunity of a lifetime. Hermione would give her left arm to ask her about her potions and ointments, to question her, to read the medical journals she could see on the top shelf of the bookshelf. Oh, how she'd love to sit down and have tea with this woman. She might be a wanted criminal within the French Wizarding World, but my lord, Hermione could learn a thing or two from her. Hermione's fangirling moment was interrupted by Madame Qui Sait, who pointed to the chair.
"Strap yourself in, Mr Malfoy. I have a few things to sort out." She cocked her head to one side as she scrutinised them, "I'll get you some painkiller. I'm warning you though, it's not going to do much." She bustled over to the tall shelf of glass bottles, leaving Hermione and Malfoy still standing in the doorway. Hermione turned around to see Malfoy inspecting the room with the same intellectual fascination that she had been seconds earlier.
"Are you sure about this Malfoy?" Hermione whispered, for what felt like the tenth time. Malfoy shot Hermione a look of irritation.
"Yes, Granger." he rolled his eyes, "My answer is not going to change no matter how many times you ask me that." As if to prove his point, he strode over to the chair, and sank into it, as though it were a chaise lounge he was reclining onto and not a stiff wooden chair. Hermione followed him, and stood next to him, watching as the healer scurried from shelf to shelf searching for the items she needed. While she watched, Malfoy strapped his left arm into the chair.
"Care to do the honours, Granger?" He demanded, gesturing to his other arm.
Hermione went to grab a stool from the workbench next to the cauldron, dragging it over to the spot beside him. She put her wand down on a nearby table, and perched on the stool. Malfoy watched her impatiently, tapping his leather-soled shoe against the wooden floorboards. She leaned across and buckled the belt around his arm as tightly as it would go, making sure his circulation was thoroughly cut off.
"And suddenly, I can breathe easier." She muttered sardonically. Malfoy tugged against the restraints.
"Wow, Granger, you're surprisingly good at that." Malfoy smirked, "Have you been practising?"
Hermione felt her cheeks flush at his insinuation. She stuck her nose in the air, pointedly ignoring him, as well as the chills running down her spine as her brain mulled on his implications. Malfoy chuckled hoarsely.
Madame Qui Sait glided back over to them, arms piled up with bottles and jars, her wand in her mouth. She placed on the table in front of them a bottle of pink liquid, a jar of orange goop, and a goblet, all labelled in french, that Hermione couldn't comprehend despite the years of French lessons she'd taken at muggle school. She briefly remembered that Malfoy was part French, and wondered whether he would be able to translate for her, before deciding that she wouldn't stoop so low as to ask him.
"Alright, mes cheris," the woman intoned, her voice husky, "I've got all the necessary equipment right here. The operation should take around an hour. Are you ready to begin, Mr Malfoy?" She asked.
Malfoy nodded grimly, his expression set.
"Roll up his sleeve, for me will you, Miss Granger," the witch instructed, as she unscrewed the orange jar.
Feeling nervous at the prospect of both touching Malfoy and unveiling his Dark Mark, which felt to Hermione like stripping him naked, Hermione across once again, and, fingers shaking slightly, fumbled with the buttons on Malfoy's shirt sleeve.
"Careful with that, Granger. You don't want to break things you can't possibly afford to replace." Malfoy snapped.
"And just how am I going to break a shirt just by touching it?" Hermione retorted.
"Who knows what you've got on your fingers, Granger." Malfoy shuddered.
Hermione decided to let his comment slide, as a product of the anxiety-inducing situation he was in, though God knows he was horrible enough to her even when he wasn't about to have black magic ripped out of his arm. Finally managing the buttons, she rolled up his sleeve as quickly as she could, anxious to not be touching his soft, warm skin any longer.
She nearly gasped as her quick movement revealed his dark mark, an angry red marr on his otherwise perfect, alabaster skin. Hermione held her breath as she peeled the shirt sleeve away from it, and folded it over many times. Malfoy's skin was warm and soft, pulled taut over his surprisingly muscular forearm. It was an attractive vision, with prominent veins. Evidently, Malfoy worked out. Hermione dragged her eyes away from her admiration of his arm, scolding herself for thinking such things, especially since the arm she was so fixated on was blemished with glaring proof of what an evil person he was.
Malfoy went very quiet. Hermione couldn't even hear him breathe. She pulled away hurriedly and refused to make eye contact with him.
Madame Qui Sait had pulled up a stool opposite to Hermione, which she now settled her settled herself on. She placed her hand on Malfoy's arm and framed the dark mark between her fingers. Malfoy winced. She grasped the jar of orange, dipped her finger in and pulled out a glob, which she spread across the area where the mark was. She reached over to the table and gathered up a knife, her wand and a goblet in which she had poured some pink liquid. She placed the knife and wand into her belt. Hermione noticed Malfoy eyeing the knife apprehensively.
"This is painkiller, yes?" she informed Malfoy, flourishing the goblet of pink liquid "Do you want?" She held it out to him.
"No," Malfoy shook his head briskly, "I want to feel this."
Hermione looked at him in bafflement. How bizarre. Why would the ultimate Hogwarts drama queen, Draco Malfoy, want to feel pain? It was completely out of character. She stared at him for a few seconds, as if he was a puzzle she couldn't quite figure out.
Madame Qui Sait was also regarding him, but she had understanding written on her face. "As you wish," she nodded, retracting the goblet, and setting it down on the table. "But you are warned. This operation is no stroll in park, you understand? A lot of pain. My advice is take painkiller. But I not press this." She now addressed Hermione, "No distractions, please. The process must not be interrupted, or the arm will, how do you say, fester. The black magic, once it has escaped, will begin to attack Mr Malfoy's arm, which is what causes the suffering. Okay, if you are ready, I will now begin."
The woman flourished her wand, and Hermione stared at her in transfixion as she circled her wand around Malfoy's arm, above the dark mark, her wand movement precise, and began to mutter under her breath. Hermione watched as a bead of sweat formed on her furrowed brow, and surveyed her look of extreme concentration in fascination as Madame Qui Sait began the process of removing Malfoy's dark mark.
Malfoy shaking slightly knocked Hermione out of her reverie, and Hermione she peered over at him. His brow was creased and his eyes closed, betraying the pain he was in. Hermione looked at the dark mark and nearly choked. Black tendrils were being drawn out of it, produced by whatever magic the healer was using. They were clumping together, forming a projection of a skull, a visual representation of the spell that Voldemort had cast, drawn out of his arm. Once no more black tendrils were escaping, and the symbol was hovering above Malfoy arm in its full form, Madame Qui Sait began performing spell after spell. Her constant murmured incantations and flourishing of her wand was the only sound in the room, aside from Malfoy's laboured breathing.
Hermione's mind was a hive of activity, as she watched the healer's flawless wandwork in awe and tried to devise how she was doing this. With every spell Madame Qui Sait cast, a tendril of black evaporated. The process was slow and painstaking, but when Hermione examined Malfoy's arm, she could see where the ink was beginning to erode, disappearing as the black tendrils evaporated. She studied Malfoy again. His head was now pressed back against the chair, his skull tilted upwards, his adam's apple bobbing slightly with every breath he took. Hermione's heart caught in her throat. She could see his teeth ground together; his face screwed up in pain. But still, he didn't make a sound. His arm was eroding, and he'd barely given the slightest indication of what he was going through. Hermione had to admit she was impressed. If it was her, or Ginny, or Harry in the same situation, their arm being eaten away by black magic, blood magic, she knew they would have been screaming. Hermione wondered what he must have endured during their Hogwarts years in order to be so immune to pain.
She was jolted out of her thoughts by his grunt, and without being able to stop herself, she placed her hand over his. His fingers were warm, heated from pain. Malfoy opened his eyes to glare at her, but there was no real malice behind it, his eyes were blind with pain. Hermione's heart softened as she gazed at him, guilt that he'd felt he had no choice but to do this flooding her, and sadness that he now had to undergo the pain of getting it removed. She was struck by the sudden longing to ease his pain, to remove it from him entirely.
Wanting to help him however she could, yet refusing to look at him and see his disgust directed at her, she took his hand in hers and turned it over so the palm was facing up. Malfoy had nice hands, she mused, becoming distracted, long, slender fingers, pale complexion, smooth skin. There was a callous beneath his forefinger, and that was it. She began to massage his hand in the way that Madame Pomfrey had taught her in sixth year, when she'd been preparing for the journey that she, Harry and Ron took to destroy the Horcruxes. She had wanted to be prepared for any eventuality. This was the way that cruciatus convulsions could be eased. Seek the points of tension and ease them. She massaged methodically, enjoying the sensation of his heated skin against her fingertips and trying to ignore this.
Minutes seemed to pass, as Malfoy's dark mark shrank slowly under Madame Qui Sait skilful wand work. It was about halfway gone when the three occupants of the room jumped as a loud ringing sound echoed around the room.
Madame Qui Sait, whose forehead was gleaming with sweat and whose fingers were shaking from exhaustion, span to Hermione, her eyes filled with panic. "I have no other customers today." She hissed. The two of them looked down at Malfoy's mark, and the black tendrils now extending from the mark across his perfect skin. The witch closed her eyes, and Hermione watched in astonishment as she performed wandless magic and the door to the basement slammed shut. There was pounding of footsteps from above, and Hermione heard shouting.
"It's the Death Eaters." Madame Qui Sait told Hermione fretfully. Hermione wasn't sure how she knew, but she believed her. "You two must leave. Immediately." She got to her feet, her eyes wild, her voice distressed.
"What about my arm?" Malfoy protested. In answer, Madame Qui Sait tugged her wand away. Hermione watched in horror as the skull shattered and poured back into Malfoy's arm. Malfoy gasped in agony.
"Get him out of here." She ordered Hermione, her eyes fearful. "You are a clever witch. You will figure it out."
"Are you going to be alright?" Hermione asked, her heart thundering in her chest as she helped her unbuckle Malfoy's arms from the restraints.
"They are nothing I can't handle." She told Hermione fiercely. There was a deafening crack as the basement door flew open, and Hermione didn't waste any time as she heard feet battering down the stairs. She frantically tugged Malfoy to his feet and looked around desperately for her wand. She spotted it on the table and dragged Malfoy across to it. As she seized it, and apparated herself and Malfoy away, she glanced up in time to witness Lucius Malfoy reach the doorway, his wand raised, his eyes narrowed in fury, his gaze colliding with hers and making her blood run cold. The next second, they disappeared.