Hello! I hope everyone is doing well. Thank you for everyone who has commented, favorited or has just taken time out of their day to read this story! This chapter isn't as long as I like but sometimes I find that some chapters are just shorter than others and I just have to go with the flow. My goal is to post bi-weekly but that might not always be the case. I'll do my best though!
Again, my apologies for any mistakes.
Hermione ran until her lungs felt like they would burst. She made it to the shores of the Black Lake, her legs aching as she gasped for air.
She couldn't stop shaking. She was scared. Even more than the pain—her rage terrified her. It made her sick to her stomach how much she wanted to hurt him. She had never done that before. Last year, running for her life, fighting for her life—those experiences had never triggered that kind of reaction.
What was happening to her?
She ended up pacing the shores of the lake, muttering to herself. Thankfully, no one was around to see her like this. Finally, after a half hour, she dropped to the ground and sobbed into her hands. She cried until she was spent, hiccuping a little while staring at the obsidian surface of the lake.
The wind had died down and the sun broke, warming her chilled body. She couldn't feel it—not the cold, not anything. She picked up a few pebbles, tossing them into the lake, watching the ripples spread as she tried to put herself back together.
She heard a noise. Someone was coming. She tensed and peeked over her shoulder. Neville was walking toward her, carrying a cloth bag.
He stopped several feet away, smiling at her gently. "Hey, can I sit with you?"
She nodded and looked away. His kindness hurt.
He sat down next to her. "We missed lunch," he said, rifling through the bag. "Thought you might be hungry."
She took a shaky breath. "That was nice."
He shrugged and pulled out a couple of beautifully wrapped sandwiches. "I went to the kitchens and mentioned your name and the elves were so excited to feed us, I think they went overboard." He pulled out a glass jug of pumpkin juice and set it down between them.
Hermione peeked inside the bag. Sure enough, there was fresh fruit, pickles, cheese and large slices of chocolate cake.
"See? Overboard," he said with a soft laugh.
She gave him a watery smile. "Neville, thank you."
He nodded then flicked his wand. Her hands were instantly clean. She had forgotten how dirty they were.
They ate in silence, savoring the delicious food and as Hermione finished the last bit of cake, she felt better, more clearheaded.
"You don't have to tell me what happened back there, if you don't want to," Neville said quietly. "But I am here for you, if you do need to talk."
Hermione twisted the napkin in her hands. "Did Malfoy say anything to you?"
Neville shook his head. "No, he was pretty shaken though. He looked..." He shrugged. "I dunno. I didn't hang around long—pretty much ran right after you."
He took a sip of pumpkin juice. "I followed you. That's how I knew where you were here but I reckoned you needed some time to yourself." He paused, looking thoughtful. "But Malfoy—it sounds strange—he looked worried...sad, maybe."
She nodded once, then gathered the napkins, containers and silverware and placed them neatly in the bag.
"I want to tell you what happened," she said, rubbing her hands on her jeans.
She told Neville everything. Her mouth forming words, almost trancelike, as she described her dealings with Malfoy, her research and—ultimately—her reaction to him. When she was done, she stared at the lake, gazing at the rippling surface.
She stood up and walked closer to the shore, throwing a pickle into the water. It bobbed for a few seconds, then she saw the tip of a tentacle and the pickle was gone, leaving nothing but bubbles in its wake.
Neville came to stand next to her. "I'm glad you told me. And I'll help you, Hermione. I promise."
She stared up at Neville, her heart warmed by his kindness. Then, just to the right of his head, she saw a bird flying toward them. As it got closer, she realized it was an owl—big and shadowy and sleek. It came in fast, brazenly swooping down, barely missing Neville's head by an inch. It dropped a tiny envelope in her hands and soared away.
She exchanged a look with Neville before sliding a small card out. It had only a few lines of neat script written on it.
We need to talk. Meet me tonight at 11.
North Tower. Top-level.
Please.
-DM
She showed Neville the card and his face furrowed with concern.
"You're going?" he asked.
"Yes. I need answers," she said, slipping the card into the back pocket of her jeans. "It's Malfoy. He's behind this but..." She hesitated. "Something about all this doesn't make sense. I don't think he's trying to hurt me. I still don't trust him but he may be able to help."
"Well, you're not going alone," he said firmly.
"Neville, I doubt he'll want to talk to me with you glaring at him over my shoulder."
"I don't need to be right in the room with you. Ginny and I will set up posts—defensive positions."
She raised an eyebrow. "Defensive positions?"
He laughed. "Trust me. Ginny and I have a lot of experience with defensive positions," he said. "That's what happens when you spent last year under the Carrows' thumb." He bumped his shoulder into hers. "C'mon, let's go find Ginny."
Ginny's face was illuminated by the glow of her wand as she studied the Marauders Map.
"This way," she whispered.
She moved quickly down the dark corridor, with Neville and Hermione bringing up the rear. She froze and held her hand up. Immediately, Neville stopped, backing up against the wall. Hermione copied him, her heart pounding
Ginny scanned the map again. "Clear," she whispered.
"Are you sure?" Neville asked nervously.
Ginny gave him a withering look.
Neville hunched his shoulders. "Sorry."
They continued, darting through the drafty corridors. They approached the North Tower stairwell. Neville and Hermione hid in a darkened corner as Ginny went first, climbing the winding stairway silently. A moment later, a tiny white light floated down in front of them.
"That's our signal," Neville whispered.
They climbed up the stairs, the half moon lighting their way. They were midway up the tower when they paused at the one of the midlevel landings.
"I'll stay here," Ginny said, still scouring the map. "I'll send a white light if there's trouble. You both know what to do?"
Neville and Hermione nodded.
Neville turned to Hermione. "I'll be a couple of levels below you. I'll send a red light up to you from time to time to check in. Answer with a light of your own and I'll know you're okay."
"Got it," Hermione said, swallowing hard.
She followed Neville until they stopped at a landing a few floors from the top. He gave her an encouraging squeeze on her arm. She took a deep breath and climbed up the remaining stairs alone.
There, at the top, was Malfoy, staring up at the moon.
Hermione cleared her throat and his head jerked to the side. Slowly, he turned, looking both relieved and anxious.
He ran a rough hand through his hair. "I didn't think you would come."
She nodded stiffly, trying very hard not to fidget.
Malfoy looked down and took a deep breath. "This isn't easy to say but...I think I am responsible for what's happening to you, although not in the way you think."
He faltered for a moment, his face tense, hands clenched at his sides. "My mother was worried something like this would happen."
Hermione stiffened. "What?"
"That night, when you were brought to the Manor," he said, his voice quiet."When you got your scar." He took a shaky breath. "My mother thinks her sister cursed you."
Hermione's chest tightened. It was obvious that's what happened but it was still startling to hear out loud.
"My mother knew every bit of dark magic her sister liked to use," he said. "Except for that one. That one was different." He watched her closely, his expression inscrutable. "My mother suspected it was an old Black family curse. One that was rumored. Until now."
Hermione forced herself to hold his gaze. "Okay..."
Malfoy stepped closer to her and she had to resist the urge to step back.
"There were stories growing up about an ancient family curse. One that branded a person. Marked them. A dark curse used, we believe, during the old times—to keep the peasants and our enemies under control. To keep them scared."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Peasants?"
Malfoy gave her a wry look.
"Okay, so this curse is a form of control," she said, rubbing her forehead. "But you weren't the one who cast it so, obviously, it encompasses not just the person who cast it but other family members as well. But the question is why? As a form of control, it's not a very good one. I wasn't rendered defenseless."
"You were definitely not defenseless," Malfoy said quietly.
Hermione glanced up at him quickly, trying to garner what he meant, but his face was blank.
"The time it happened before—" she started to say.
"It happened before?" Malfoy cut in. "When? At the owlery? It didn't seem that bad then."
"That time didn't hurt. It just tingled a little," she said. "I meant, after I escorted Philip down to the dungeons."
Malfoy's head jerked and he cursed harshly under his breath. "It happened then?"
"Yes, after you and Philip left."
"You must've...what you must've thought—no wonder you reacted the way you did today."
Hermione's heart sank, remembering how she went after him. "I-I don't know—I don't know why I did that—"
"You thought I was attacking you, Granger."
"No, this was something else."
He stared at her, his grey eyes boring into hers. "You...reminded me of her. The look in your eyes, your voice. You sounded like..." He hesitated.
"Who?" Hermione whispered, though she was sure what he was going to say next.
He swallowed audibly. "Bellatrix."
Her stomach twisted. "What does that mean? Is a part of her...inside me?"
For once, Malfoy's expression was completely open. He looked helpless. Distraught. "I think so. When dark magic leaves a mark like that, a part of that person—their magic—lives inside you. And with someone as evil and deranged as my aunt..." He left the insinuation hanging between them.
Hermione felt nauseous. The idea of that woman, inside of her, burrowed deep like some parasite—Merlin, it was more than she could take.
"I do have some promising news," he said, cutting through the silence. "My mother found something—an old book, a diary really. My aunt spent a lot of time in the Manor's library and my mother was convinced something important was in there. We both spent the summer searching for it but we came up with nothing. My aunt hid it well but my mother..." He smiled softly then. "She doesn't give up easy."
Hermione's heart jumped. "A diary! What does it say?"
"We don't know yet. The text is written in a mixture of both French and Latin which shouldn't be a problem but there are other languages in it as well, maybe even some old slang. The good news is my mother think she's found the passages pertaining the curse. She thinks she's found a cure."
She gasped at that. "Really?"
"Yes, she's certain we can cure you," he said. "But the instructions seem very specific—"
"I can help!" she blurted. "If I have a copy of the text, I'm sure I can figure it out."
Malfoy was looking at her strangely and it took her a moment to realize she was smiling up at him. She quickly dropped her smile.
It was then that Hermione felt the familiar hot prickling on her arm.
"Oh no," she whispered.
Her breath hitched, the prickling sensation was now morphing into a sharp heat.
"Granger." Malfoy's voice sounded far away.
Suddenly, there was a pressure around her wrist—a hand, gentle and warm, holding her steady. The pain vanished instantly, leaving her breathless and dizzy.
She stared up at him, her mouth open. He was standing close to her now, his pale eyes bright in the moonlight.
He took a sharp breath, like he was going to say something, when a tiny red light floated up through the planks of the floor.
"What the hell—" Malfoy hissed.
His grip tightened around her wrist as he dragged her away from the light.
"It's okay," she whispered.
She drew her wand and cast her own red light. It drifted down and silently slipped between the wood planks. "It's just my friends. It's a signal to make sure I'm okay." She gave him a look. "I would be barking to come alone."
Malfoy stared at her, then glanced down at his hand still clinging to her wrist. He let go quickly, mumbling an apology.
"The pain, it went away when you touched me," she said. "How did you know?"
"My mother," he said, gazing down at the ground. "She translated enough to know that if you had a reaction, skin-on-skin contact would make the pain go away."
"Oh."
Were his cheeks pink? Were hers?
The silence stretched between them, awkward and stilted. Did he feel bad about touching her? Did it ruffle his pureblood sensibilities?
She rolled her eyes at herself.
"This is a very strange curse," she finally said. "What's the point of it? Why would touching the person make their pain go away?"
"I don't know," Malfoy blew out a breath. "We don't know what triggers your reaction either. Is it my mood? Is it your mood? Is it our proximity? There are still so many questions."
"There has to be some logical reason," Hermione said. "There always is."
"I'm not sure about that," he said. "These old, pureblooded curses—they were usually very twisted, short-sighted and stupid." The bitterness in his voice surprised her.
He took a deep breath, his expression shifting to the blank one Hermione was used to. "I'll owl my mother about sending me a copy of the diary. Then we'll work on translating it."
We? She blinked at that.
He must've read the confusion on her face. "It makes sense we work on it together," he said slowly. "Yes?"
She swallowed and nodded once. "Yes. That sounds good." She shifted her feet. "Well, I guess we'll talk soon?"
He was watching her again in that strange, careful way of his.
Her cheeks felt hot again. "It's been..." She paused, unsure how to finish. "Interesting?"
"Yes, interesting," he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
And with that, she turned and walked quickly to the stairs, back to her waiting friends.