Daphne sighs across from him during breakfast. Her attention on this morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. Which Draco was paying no mind to, for he was focused on spreading the marmalade on his toast.
"Any strange deaths that had happened in continental Europe since the one on Gregorovitch?" he heard Denmore ask her.
"No, but it says here that morale is the worst it's been since the first wizarding war." Daphne places her paper on the side of her plate. Green eyes grim as ever. "Mum and dad even said in their last letter that things weren't this bad the first time.
"With the way it's going, I'd be surprised if things don't go downhill around Christmas time," Millicent had surmised.
"It could be sooner, maybe." Draco could sense the Mudblood Entwhistle glaring at him a few people away. "I suppose that he knows."
Draco had paid no mind as he nibbled into his toast. He wasn't in the mood to challenge Entwhistle on that over breakfast. His plate was loaded just like Vincent and Greg's plates every meal. Though maybe more than that.
Two days would have been ideal, how Draco saw it.
Not two weeks to see if those runes worked. After a month of fixing the Cabinet at a snail's pace with the approach that he was doing, Draco was relieved that he had that to worry about without Quidditch practice in the way.
He never thought it would come to this, but he hoped that Potter would catch the Snitch and win the game. Draco wouldn't hear the end of it from certain people if Harper caught the Snitch.
As everyone's excitement of the coming Quidditch match rose, so did Draco's anxiety about fixing the Vanishing Cabinet with runes. On the following Wednesday, Draco watched as Granger bent down in front of the open Cabinet. Tracing the necessary Runes with her wand. Her features etched in concentration.
"For something so difficult, you make it seem easy," Draco noted as she stood up. Turning the paperweight in his hand.
"It's only after years of learning it that it seems easy," she replies, stepping aside so he could place the paperweight in there. Draco swallowed hard as he closed the door. It had only taken a minute before he could hear the woosh.
"A week, you said?' Draco had asked, opening the Cabinet. Seeing the runes glow on the empty spot where the paperweight was earlier.
"Yes," Granger answered, gazing at the glowing Runes.
"So," Draco closed the door as he began speaking, "the Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match is coming up in a few weeks. If I heard correctly, Weasley is still the Keeper for your team."
"Yes, he is." Granger had sounded somewhat defensive. "Good thing that your little song backfired after the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match last year."
"Come on, we were only showing your friend our support," Draco said jauntily. "I mean, he is our king."
"As if the content of the original lyrics weren't chock-full of taunts," Granger argued, her face almost Gryffindor scarlet. "As if you haven't gotten Harry and the Weasley twins banned from Quidditch when you threw the song in their faces after you lost."
It's not my fault his hot-tempered brothers couldn't take a joke, he had wanted to retort. However, Draco didn't feel like pushing his luck with Granger today. It was something he wasn't willing to afford and risk. Not now.
He'd be Merlin-damned if he allowed his mouth to ruin it for him.
When he'd opened the door, the paperweight was back. Lying upside down on the cabinet compared to when he put it there.
"One more week," he muttered. "I should be able to live for that long. Otherwise, I'm not going to hear the end of it if I fail."
"You're worried he's going to hex you or worse just for fixing something such as a Vanishing Cabinet?" Granger had asked, having heard his muttering.
Just as with that Wednesday when she heard him let slip about Snape. How was he going to spin this one? If he lets out the slightest hint what the true purpose of fixing the Cabinet is for, she'll take her suspicions to the Headmaster or anyone else that she trusts.
"Just that some people wouldn't be happy if I don't get it fixed soon enough," he said. Except some people was simply the Dark Lord himself.
Granger nodded, though he could tell by her eyes that she didn't quite believe him. "It's complicated, actually," he clarified. Swallowing hard and running his hand through his hair.
At that, Granger had raised her eyebrow. Making Draco wish that he hadn't said anything. He knew what his instructions were if someone were ever to catch on to what he was doing: to silence them by every means necessary. If this was the beginning of the year, silencing Granger would be no problem.
Now, it would be easier said than done.
Even if she was far from a friend or more, silencing her was out of the question.
"Just that some people wouldn't be happy if I don't get it fixed soon enough."
"It's complicated, actually."
Those were the words that Malfoy had given her regarding not hearing the end of it should he not get the Vanishing Cabinet fixed by a certain date. Something that she repeated to Harry and Ron over one of their Thursday free periods.
"It's like he was sworn to secrecy about it," Hermione had noted. Turning a page of her copy of An Advanced Guide to Transfiguration.
Harry frowned, seemingly skeptical. "Well, he wouldn't shut his mouth about it to Parkinson and Zabini in the compartment."
"Maybe he has to be vague," Ron pointed out. "That it will have fatal consequences if he did flat out say what he was going to do. Perhaps Voldemort made an Unbreakable Vow with him."
"Unbreakable Vow?"
"Yeah, well, if you break it, you die," Ron answered uncomfortably, "Fred and George tried to get me to make one when I was about five. I nearly did too, I was holding hands with Fred and everything when Dad found us. He went mental." There was a reminiscent gleam in his eyes. "Only time I've ever seen Dad as angry as Mum, Fred reckons his left buttock has never been the same since."
"Yeah, well, that explains it then," was all Hermione could say. Malfoy did seem nervous about it. If that was the case, "Maybe I better not take the risk of pushing it for the possibility of him dropping dead."
Malfoy's task aside, the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match was looming. More often, the Gryffindor Quidditch team was using the pitch for practice. And every time, Ron would come back a little green. Hermione knew that the actual practice wasn't the issue and that his increasing nausea was due to the game reaching closer and closer.
"You were able to block all but one of the Ravenclaw goals last year," Hermione had pointed out as they left History of Magic one afternoon.
"It's different with Ravenclaw," Ron rasped. "The Slytherins, on the other hand…" he swallows hard. "I'd be lucky if Crabbe or Goyle don't throw a bludger my way."
Of course, the Slytherins never had the decency or tact. Oh, how she wanted to slug Malfoy in the face for still defending why he made that song and those badges in the first place. A bloody joke, her arse. If it was one, it was a cruel joke, to begin with.
Where Malfoy was concerned, Hermione noticed that he was becoming rather grey. Almost sickly looking. Looking over at the Slytherin table, he wasn't even eating his food. Malfoy was just moving along his food with a fork. In fact, she had never seen him eat for the past week. She had half a mind to go to Professor Snape but thought better. Malfoy despised Professor Snape, and he wouldn't like it if she went to him to check up on him.
"When was the last time you ate?" Hermione had asked him the next time she had met him at the Room of Requirement.
"Oh, I never realized that you paid attention to my eating habits," Malfoy answered in a snort.
"I'm serious, Malfoy," Hermione pushes back. "You need to eat. Oh, Great Godric, you're just as bad as Ron sometimes. Only it's not this bad."
"And I thought Weasley had a bottomless pit from the little bit I hear," Malfoy scoffed. "Only Vincent and Greg would put him to shame."
"During dinner, I'm taking you to the kitchen," she said as they reached the Vanishing Cabinet. "And no, don't look at me like that, Malfoy, you need to eat."
True to her word, Hermione had managed to find him at dinner and dragged him towards the portrait of the plate of fruit that had led to the kitchens. "Is this where you get your energy, Granger? By being this forceful and domineering? How in Salazar do Potter and Weasley put up with you?"
"Except that they have never gone a week without actually eating," Hermione put forth. To be quite frank, she was pretty surprised that it came to this. She didn't realize she would find herself dragging Malfoy to the kitchen just so he could eat.
The portrait swings open after she tickles the pear. The kitchen was bustling with activity as the aroma of freshly made food had wafted through the kitchen. Most of the elves focusing on preparing the plates which contents would be sent to the tables. Even with all her efforts, Hogwarts still had that many elves as they did when she found out about Hogwart's use of them. Though she could still see the elf who took all those hats.
"Oh! What can Dobby do for – " Dobby stopped short when he saw her companion, and Hermione could have sworn that he was glaring at Malfoy. No doubt that Malfoy wasn't all that kind that him back when Dobby served the Malfoy family.
"What's with all those ridiculous hats?" Malfoy sneered. "If you were still in our house, mother would be having kittens."
"Dobby, Malfoy would like some dinner," Hermione prompted, feeling the blood reach to her face out of irritation. Unfortunately, he seemed to still hold his House Elf in contempt, though maybe it shouldn't surprise her.
"This is a bad idea," Malfoy tells her when Dobby walks away. "I mean, can you see me eating dinner around this?" He waves a hand over the other working House Elves. "I'm better off eating dinner at my table."
"Where you'll just ponder it as you always have? Also, of course, you'd think they be less than cattle with your upbringing," she challenged.
Malfoy raises his eyebrow. "Still on about that nonsense, are you? Spew or whatever it is?"
"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Hermione clarified.
Malfoy just rolled his eyes as Dobby came with a plate heaping with food and a goblet of Pumpkin Juice. "Why all the hats?"
"I've been trying to leave hats around in the Gryffindor common room, as House Elves need an article of clothing to free them," she said. "Obviously, Dobby took them first."
"The House Elves here are like Dobby," Malfoy put forth, pocking through his lamb and potatoes. "They were all dismissed from homes like mine, except Dobby was a fluke, actually."
"What?" asked Hermione, not quite getting what he was saying.
"All the Hogwarts House Elves here have been dismissed by households," Malfoy reiterated, moving his fork around his plate rather than eating it. "You can't really give them a bundle of clothing or leave it lying around. They are not bound here the same way they would be should they live in my house. Or didn't your Weasel friend neglect to tell you that?"
"Are you going to eat or not?" Hermione demanded. She wasn't in the mood to argue with him.
Dobby had also managed to get a plate for her, and by the time she started eating, Malfoy was beginning to wolf down the food on his plate.
Lord Voldemort had closed his copy of The Global Wizarding War Examined and sighed in frustration. It had taken him a month to determine who that young thief in Gregorovitch's memory was, and it had been none other than Gellert Grindelwald. Didn't they say that Grindelwald once possessed a wand that could have conquered death itself?
Again, he had been a fool for not connecting the dots sooner. There would be no possible reason why Grindelwald would have the wand now. For the wizard was entombed in the very prison he had built for his own enemies after his defeat at the hands of Dumbledore.
Dumbledore!
Didn't the old fool defeat Grindelwald in a duel in 1945? But, the Elder Wand was usually obtained in murder. Unless…
Voldemort had stood from his seat and approached the window. Gazing down at the garden below, which was dotted with the Malfoys' ridiculous, ostentatious white peacocks. Dumbledore was the only other wizard who would probably destroy him if he had the chance, therefore leaving him without a body again. Taking on Dumbledore for Elder Wand was a tremendous risk, though would it be one he would be willing to take?
He could continue his scheme as planned. Leave it to the Malfoy boy to kill Dumbledore and procure the wand later. However, that could go wrong should Dumbledore kill the boy. Still, everything had its risks.
If he didn't have to procure the Elder Wand through murder, maybe he could get a better understanding of it from the man who lost his duel to Dumbledore. With that epiphany, Voldemort had set for Nuremberg prison.
On the third Wednesday – a few days before the Quidditch match of the season – Draco could feel the knots tie up in his stomach as he approached the Room of Requirement. There was no sign of Granger, so perhaps she was already there. She was practically overbearing last week. Dragging him down to the kitchen just so he could eat. Draco couldn't bring himself to eat for an entire week, for he was too worried about the Dark Lord's rage should this fail.
It did feel good to eat something, though.
I want to fix something and not be found, he thinks as he paces before the wall. I want to fix something and not be found.
The giant double doors are there when he opens his eyes, and he makes no hesitation to step inside the Room of Requirement. Not to his surprise…
"Want to see if it worked?" was her question.
"Yeah," he rasped, clenching and unclenching his clammy hands. Swallowing hard if it hurt. "Let's see if your Runes really did the trick."
As he picks up that annoying gramophone, Draco expects the worst. Well, he had failed, didn't he? Failed in his original method of trying to link the two Vanishing Cabinets. Failed miserably with that silver and opal necklace. What's to say that it wouldn't be disastrous as well?
"Here goes nothing," he mutters to himself as he places the gramophone into the bottom of the Cabinet. Draco could have sworn that his pulse was pounding harder than it ever was as he closed the door. Hard enough to make him nauseous.
He must have been tapping his fingers on the door for half a minute when he hears that telltale whoosh.
"Did it…?" Granger had asked when he opened the door to see it gone. His nervousness and anxiety being slowly replaced by something that he thought he never felt: hope.
"I-it has to be," he says in response. There was no other explanation. Objects didn't vanish to the other side without his prompting before. This had to be it. This had to be. This had to be. This had to be.
When Draco opens the door to see the gramophone's needle steaming, he loses the feeling in his legs before collapsing. As if all that weight that had accumulated had been lifted from him. No longer aware that Granger was still there.
He had done it.
I won't fail you, father, he thinks feverishly. I kept my promise.