Hermione felt like she was drowning. She was floating in an inky blackness that pressed in on all sides, forcing her to gasp for breath. She couldn't see or feel anything, and that made her panic. Her body felt hot and cold at the same time, and she frantically struggled upwards, searching desperately for a shred of light that would indicate a way to escape the prison that held her.
Without any warning, a word flashed into her mind, drowning out all of the pain and fear that ruled her senses. Her lips formed the words, and she threw every ounce of her will towards it.
Lumos maxima.
The darkness let out a shriek, exploding outwards from her body as a halo of brilliant white light began to radiate from her skin. She sucked in a grateful breath as oxygen returned to her lungs, affording her body a chance to calm her racing heartbeat.
The pain hadn't receded at all, however, and she sobbed helplessly as blood began to pour out of her mouth now that the inky darkness wasn't pressing into her lungs.
It tasted like cinnamon.
The blood wasn't human, and that made her panic taste even more acidic in her mouth. It was the molten silver of the fae's blood, streaming in metallic rivers down the length of her throat and soaking into her hair.
Desperately, she wracked her brain for something that could help, and sobbed with relief tinged with fear as another word burned itself into her mind's eye.
"Consano!" She blurted, hating the way that the word sounded coming out of her mouth. There was something ancient in her body that reacted to the word, and she couldn't describe the euphoric rush of power that washed over her.
Immediately, the blood receded into her body, and she could feel the pain dissipating. Her veins repaired themselves and she could feel her lungs sucking in breaths that were no longer agonizingly painful.
Remember, Hermione. Remember what you saw in the diary. Learn what you can.
Hermione spun in a panicked circle, trying to find the source of Narcissa's voice.
"Why kill me? Why wouldn't the Old Magic want me to live long enough to figure it out?"
You have broken the most sacred law between our two kinds. If you can repair what you shattered, then you will be able to save yourself. That is all the help that I can safely offer you.
"I didn't mean to break anything," Hermione whispered, fighting down a wave of tears that threatened to pour over her cheeks. "How do I fix this?"
You will right your wrong, of that I have no doubt. Hurry, you're losing valuable time. You have already found the key. I have shown you what you need to know.
"What is the key?"
Before Narcissa could answer, the endless nothingness below her feet opened up and she began to fall. She shrieked wordlessly as she plunged downwards at an impossible speed.
The emptiness swallowed her whole.
Her eyes flickered open, and her real body struggled to focus on the pair of vividly green eyes half a foot from her face.
"Are you alright?"
Hermione sat up with a gasp, her hair flying around her shoulders as she pressed a shaking hand to her chest. The young man who sat next to her suddenly jumped to his feet and ran over to Slughorn's drawers, returning quickly with a bottle of wine and a silver goblet.
Still too shocked to speak, Hermione accepted the offered drink and drank deeply, savouring the slight burn of the alcohol as it warmed her from the inside out. Finally, she found her voice and took a deep breath.
"Thank you."
"Are you okay?" He asked insistently, paying no mind to the fact that his hair was a rumpled mess and there was blood on his sleeve as he refilled the goblet.
"Y-yes, I think so."
"I'm Harry, by the way," he babbled, running a hand over his hair and grinning sheepishly at her. She realized that his hair was probably always like that, and the thought brought a small smile to her lips as she drank another measure of wine.
"I heard a thump, and –blimey- thought that you were dying! I tried to wake you up with smelling salts, and it didn't work-"
Hermione was suddenly struck with an ice-cold dose of panic as she remembered the diary.
Her stomach churned uncomfortably as she thought about what was contained in the book.
I hope he doesn't notice it on the table, oh please, oh please-huh?
She darted a furtive glance to the top of the table and experienced several competing emotions at once.
The book was gone.
She was relieved that the book wasn't on the table, panicked that the book was gone, and scared that Slughorn would discover that she was now privy to what she assumed was a closely guarded secret.
"Sorry, I didn't expect to see you on the floor like that, and I can't believe that you're alright, there was so much blood, but I must have imagined it-"
"Thanks, Harry," she murmured weakly, trying to rearrange her features into a neutral mask that didn't betray her inner turmoil. "I don't know what could have happened if you hadn't come along."
"Anyone would have helped," he said earnestly, peering at her through the spectacles that she'd just realized he was wearing. They threatened to slip off of his nose, and he impatiently pushed them back into place. The bridge that settled over his nose was tied off with twine, she noticed with some confusion.
"I don't know if they would have," she replied, glancing down at herself and noting with some surprise that there wasn't any blood on her or the floor. It had completely disappeared.
Her gaze flicked up to meet Harry's and she suddenly found herself speechless. She didn't know what to say, which was very unusual for her.
Was it because of the word that I said in the dream? Was that real? I could have sworn that I was experiencing the symptoms of consumption.
"I'm Hermione," she said finally, more to fill the silence than anything.
She felt herself warming immediately to the kind, strange boy as his face split into a wide smile and he sat back on his haunches. He refilled her goblet without asking, and took a swig out of the bottle for himself. Hermione felt a small smile spreading across her mouth; his mannerisms reminded her of Ron.
Her instincts were rarely wrong, and she felt like she could trust him. It felt so foreign to meet someone her own age at court who was willing to help a girl that he'd never met; she decided that she would give a newfound friendship a shot.
"Oh, you're old Slughorn's other student. I thought that you might be," Harry said thoughtfully, clamboring to his feet and offering her his hand. She took it gratefully and climbed unsteadily to her full height, sitting down on the stool that he'd very helpfully righted for her.
Her eyes widened.
The blood on his sleeve was gone. But, strangely enough, he didn't seem to notice.
"So, what happened?" He asked, his bright eyes watching her quizzically as she took a moment to regain her senses.
"Exhaustion, I suppose," she lied, fighting down the guilty little voice inside her that told her that it was wrong to lie to the boy who had so kindly helped her in a moment of need. But, as her rational side kicked in, she knew that it was the right decision.
I'm dying because of a fairy curse. I can't exactly tell anyone that.
"You're working on Draco's sickness right? I heard that from old Sluggy," Harry said casually, looking over at her with some surprise as she choked on her mouthful of wine.
She coughed frantically for a few seconds, wiping the spilled wine from her chin. "Old Sluggy?"
Harry grinned, nodding knowingly at her as his cheeks pinked slightly. "Sorry, force of habit. He's been my tutor for a few years."
"So you know him well?"
"More or less. I've heard quite a bit about you, but it looks like he hasn't mentioned me," he said frankly, his expression warming even further as she pinked with embarrassment.
"Oh god, I hope it's not unflattering."
"No, he thinks you're brilliant, actually," Harry admitted, smiling at her. "He also said that you're not from around here, so I was hoping to eventually meet you. It's a shame that it was under such odd circumstances."
"I agree," she admitted, still embarrassed that she'd fainted.
"It's nice to talk to someone who isn't caught up in the court drama," Harry said frankly, grabbing a goblet for himself and settling down in the chair across from her at the table.
Hermione flushed slightly, impatiently pushing her hair away from her face. "I don't think I warrant half of the praise, but thanks. I keep to myself, so uh, my life is pretty uneventful."
She took another long pull of wine. The lie tasted bitter in her mouth.
"Well, at least you don't insist on bowing and scraping," Harry said honestly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "It gets old, fast."
Hermione finally clued in, and her eyes widened. She hopped off the chair and looked at him with an expression that was half accusing and half amused. "So, are you going to tell me who you really are, my Lord?"
Harry's mouth dropped open for a split second before he sheepishly sighed. "My father's the Earl of Westmorland-aw no, don't do that, please-"
Hermione had grabbed her skirts and was halfway through a curtsy and a heartfelt apology for her rudeness when he'd reached out and gently snagged her arm. "What?"
"I'd like to be just Harry, if that's all right," he continued weakly, grimacing and ruffling his hair again as she straightened up and stared at him.
"All right then. Just Harry," she murmured, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth as she took her seat again, subtly glancing around for the book again.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
That's when she felt the pulsing in the bookshelf. Like a heartbeat, it let out small bursts of magic, a magical beacon that was so obvious that she was amazed that Harry couldn't hear it.
He was completely oblivious to it, which was made clear as he continued to talk animatedly.
Her relief was instantaneous, and she let out a long breath.
She hurriedly turned her attention back to Harry, trying to focus on what he was saying. "Sorry?"
"I was wondering if you know what Draco's got," Harry repeated; his emerald eyes were soft with concern. "We grew up together, so…"
She bit her lip, trying to find a way to ease his concern without revealing too much. "Horace has some ideas, but we're not sure yet."
He's too easy to talk to; I need to be careful.
Harry nodded, glancing down at his hands. "Right. That's what I thought. No one is willing to give me a straight answer, so thanks."
"Anytime," she murmured, once again trying to squash the guilt that was currently doing somersaults in her stomach. Harry glanced around the room, taking in the mess of books that she'd made.
"Are you feeling better now?"
"Yes, much."
Harry was clearly relieved, and she watched with amusement as he reached up to ruffle his hair again and forcibly dropped his hand. He hopped to his feet and, despite her protests, placed all of the books back on their shelves. Hermione found it odd that he knew exactly where they were supposed to go.
"Have you read them before?" She asked cautiously, trying not to be too obvious. Her pulse still hammered in her veins, and she wondered if Harry knew what Slughorn's secret was.
He shrugged, replacing a book titled "Occlumency: Seeing into the Soul" on the shelf. "Yeah, some of them. Sluggy likes to collect old, weird books. Apparently they're valuable."
Knowing Slughorn's penchant for expensive things, Hermione couldn't say that she was surprised. "Why are they valuable?"
"The Vatican would pay a lot to get their hands on them, I guess. The older they get, the harder they are to find."
"What happens if the Vatican buys them..?" She asked quietly, flinching as he walked past the spot where the odd diary was still pulsing. To her great relief, he didn't seem to notice.
He's not terribly observant, her inner voice observed drily.
"I think they burn them," Harry replied easily, dusting off the shelf before replacing the final volume. "They're interesting, but I don't believe any of it. Draco used to be obsessed with them, though."
"Really?" She squeaked; she hastily cleared her throat to lower her tone as he turned to look at her, his eyebrow raised in a silent question. She waved at him with a dismissive hand. "I'm fine. What did he like about them?"
"He always liked the folk stories about fairies. His mother used to read them to us," Harry replied, striding back to where she still sat.
Hermione mulled over the new information, feeling more than a little bit sick as she thought about how the fae had lured Draco into the forest.
Sounds like he was the perfect victim, she thought darkly, very determined to get the truth out of the odd creature that she'd mistakenly intertwined her life with.
Harry poured them both another glass of wine before he sat down, admiring the label on the ornate wine bottle. He let out a quiet whistle, shaking his head as he set it down.
"What?" Hermione demanded, raising an eyebrow at his odd expression.
"We're drinking a bottle that probably cost Sluggy about a hundred solid gold coins," Harry answered sheepishly, grinning at her over his goblet, "That vineyard doesn't produce much anymore."
Her mouth dropped open, and she hurriedly put her glass down on the table and pushed it out of her reach.
He laughed, brandishing his cup before he drank deeply. "We've already opened it, no use letting it go to waste."
"I don't know," she said sheepishly, staring into the burgundy liquid. It didn't look like anything special.
"Do you think it's good?"
"I wouldn't pay more than three for it," she replied honestly; she found herself grinning back at him before she knew it.
He peered into his cup and pushed his glasses up his nose again. "I agree. I'll have to replace it."
"Right," she murmured, still flabbergasted at the price of the dry wine. "So, you've known the Earl for ages."
"Yeah, I have. I dunno why he's turned into such a prat; he had his moments, but he wasn't a complete prick."
"I keep hearing that. He has an ailment of the mind, I suspect," Hermione said miserably, trying to ignore the ripple of unease that trailed down her spine as she uttered the lie. "What was he like before?"
"Well, still a prat sometimes, but mostly tolerable," Harry replied, rolling his eyes and shooting her another small grin. "You know, you have those mates who you've known for ages- so they're blood- even though you'd like to kill them sometimes?"
"Yes, I do," she chuckled, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. "I have one of those. So what's your favourite childhood memory with him?"
I'm friends with a lord, Hermione thought wonderingly as she listened to him tell her about growing up with Draco. Apparently, the real Draco had a penchant for pranks.
He likes the colour green. He hates dancing, but he does it anyways because he's good at it and it's expected of him. He always sneaks out to the gardens to eat fresh carrots in late summer. He loves his horse, and they're usually out riding as often as possible. He can't sing a note.
I don't know anything about the fae. If he's taken over Draco, does that mean that the boy who he used to be is dead?
That's the saddest thing I've ever heard.
The candles that spluttered in the sconces throughout the room began to burn out after they'd been talking for several hours. Hermione had found Harry to be very interesting, and she'd settled into the comfortable banter of new friendship, of questions and quickly established inside jokes with ease. Harry reminded her strongly of Ron, and that was a welcome thought.
She was so absorbed in the conversation that she'd almost managed to forget about the diary and Narcissa's warning.
I can't do anything until Draco's under the influence of the moon anyways. It can wait a day. I won't get close to him when he's being guarded in his room.
She stubbornly refused to acknowledge that with every minute that passed, she was slowly but steadily creeping towards death. She could feel it in her veins, pulsing in an opposite staccato to her heartbeat; it was just a matter of time until things got serious.
It wasn't until the moon was high in the sky that she remembered that she'd been tasked with finishing Draco's daily morning draft. She jumped off of the seat mid-sentence and began to rush around the room, palming the herbs that she needed.
"Uh, Hermione..?" Harry asked slowly; his face scrunched up with confusion as he watched her run willy-nilly between the spice cupboards and the worktable where he still sat.
"I'm sorry; I completely forgot to finish something!" She blurted, frantically mashing huckleberries and honey together in a large mortar. "Keep talking, it's fine!"
He glanced outside and ran a hand through his hair. "No, really. It's my fault; I shouldn't have kept you from your work."
"Really, it's fine-"
"I'll go. Don't overwork yourself, you might end up fainting again," he said gently, standing and making for the door. "At least let me make sure that you get back to your quarters."
"Thanks, Harry, but I'm fine," she chirped, brushing her hair out of her face as she added echinacea, ginger, and peppermint to the mixture. "I might have some time in the afternoon tomorrow, have you ever ridden Hermes?"
The corner of his mouth turned up in a conspiratorial smile. "No, he's Draco's. I have a feeling that you have, though."
She grinned, waggling one green-coated finger at him. "Don't tell anyone."
He laughed, and she found the tight knot of worry between her shoulder blades loosening at the warm sound.
"Goodnight then," he said with a sigh, turning on his heel and leaving. He waved through the gap between the door and the frame before gently closing the door with a click.
"Goodnight, just Harry," she called, grinning as she heard him snort outside in the hallway. She turned her attention back to the medicine, her smile turning into a grimace as she inspected the sludge.
She dropped the pestle as soon as Harry's footsteps were no longer right outside the door.
She jumped up and strode over to the door as quietly as she could and turned the lock. As soon as she heard Harry's footsteps fading away down the staircase, she darted back to the bookshelf and popped out the tiny drawer that held the still-pulsating diary.
She held it gingerly between her thumb and forefinger, as if it was about to burn her, and set it quickly down on the table. She grabbed one of the candles that still burned in its fixture and firmly affixed it to the table with its own wax. As soon as she was sure that it wouldn't fall over and damage the book, she quickly flipped it open to the page where Narcissa was inked.
The drawing wasn't moving, and she let out a silent sigh that was tinged with relief. The book still let out small vibrations, and she rifled through it, catching diary entries that filled her with disgust and dread.
"Conjuring the cursed. May 07, 1347."
"The Consumption of Death. March 14, 1489."
"Words of Power. July 31st, 1498."
"The Key is Silver- not Gold. January 16th, 1522."
The last entry had been penned fifteen years before the current date.
"How old was this guy..?" She whispered wonderingly; her tone was coloured by a mixture of amazement and fear, "And who is he?"
If he's managed to get a fae trapped in a book, he's powerful. It wouldn't surprise me if he were nearly immortal. Why is this book here, and why does Slughorn have it?
The page fell open to one that she had pored over before she'd suffered the internal attack, and she gingerly turned the thick paper over to see if there was any trace of Narcissa. She found nothing that would suggest that the mysterious fae was watching her every move. But at this point, she knew better than to assume that her every move wasn't constantly scrutinized.
The book smelled faintly of cinnamon.
She reread over the page, her brow furrowing as she absorbed the information. She quickly translated the text, reading faster and faster as her quick mind readjusted to the archaic language that Riddle had used to pen the entry.
…the art of naming still seems to elude me. However, given that I have recently acquired the necessary means with which to channel the power, I should have better success. The fae is powerful, almost frighteningly so, and it took nearly all of my power and knowledge to trap a fraction of her ability. Her blood is sealed within this book, and for that I owe thanks to my servant, Wormtail. He lost a hand in the fight, and so I have gifted him a new one. Perhaps it is some kind of penance for all of the occasions when he has failed to complete the tasks that I have assigned him. Nevertheless, he performed well-when it mattered.
I see no reason to keep him should he fail again.
In the meantime, a silver hand is what I have seen fit to give him. The irony has not been lost on us- it should serve as a reminder of his service.
My disciples shall, as is their duty, allow me to perform the necessary rituals upon them. I have no doubt that I will be able to reverse the effects of aging. Flamel is foolish to think that he is the only one to conquer death; I will be the one to look into his ancient, watery, dying eyes and prove that I am the more powerful alchemist.
She raised her eyes from the page, mulling over what she'd learned. Nicholas Flamel's name was familiar to her; she decided that she needed to know why he was important.
An alchemist, huh.
There was something else that was nagging at her about the strange dream, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Then it hit her: Riddle could use fae magic.
"Wait," she muttered, wracking her brain for the answer. "So can I!"
You already have the key.
"The words that came to me in the darkness, they were Latin," she breathed, flipping through the pages of the diary until she came through the page titled "true names". Most of the words she did recognize, although their spelling was archaic, and she didn't speak it.
That's it! I can use that!
She glanced at the page again and skimmed it until she found a word that she recognized. Hermione's heartbeat thumped in an irregular staccato as she stared at the candle in front of her. The flame was flickering gently in the breeze from the open window, but burned steadily. She concentrated and breathed out a quiet word in Latin, hoping that it would work.
Just snuff out the flame. That should be easy. Focus, Hermione.
"Extinguat."
The candle continued to burn merrily, and she let out a disappointed sigh. She cradled her head in her hands and breathed in the comforting scent of peppermint and honey still that lingered on her fingers from mixing the tincture. The tension in her shoulders drained away as she focused on her breathing; she knew that nothing would work if she was trying frantically to force the magic to bend to her will.
Her mind flashed back to her dream, and her eyes snapped open as a new idea occurred to her.
In the dream, I was dying. Maybe, until I can control it, the magic only works if I'm under stress. That's how it was given to me in the first place!
Slowly, carefully, she reached out and placed her hand directly over top of the flame. She bit her lip as it immediately began to burn her skin. She fought back the urge to snatch her hand away and managed to overpower her instincts long enough to manifest her will and croak out the spell.
This time, the word left her mouth as a half-sob. A surge of power bubbled up in her blood, and she felt it spreading into every inch of her body as a rushing noise filled her ears.
The flame disappeared, as quickly and as completely as if she'd snuffed it out between her fingers. She stared at in in confusion for a moment, before bursting into incredulous laughter.
Narcissa showed me how to use it! She really did give me the key!
Her momentary joy was cut short, however, when it dawned on her how much she had to learn.
How am I going to learn what I need to in time?
Slowly, she closed the diary and returned it to its hiding spot. Her mind worked quickly, ticking over the new information.
It's now or never, I suppose.
Hermione made the conscious decision to pursue the magic, the consequences be damned.
At least if I get investigated for witchcraft, the spells that can save me will probably work if I'm being tortured, she thought bitterly. Her finger tapped against her bicep as she crossed her arms and considered her next move.
"My deal was to learn to do anything that I choose," she muttered determinedly, striding over to Slughorn's bookcases and selecting a huge book written in Latin. "I guess it's time to test that."
She lugged the volume over to the table and grabbed three more candles. She lit one using the chandelier above the worktable and settled into her chair.
Two full candles worth of time later, she was still working.
The early dawn crept in as she read. The sky began to lighten, and the horizon began to glow with the soft oranges and pinks of a new day. She didn't pay it any mind.
She finally looked up as she finished the second volume, and rubbed at her gritty eyes. She stood up and peered out of the window and cracked her neck as she took a much-needed break. Hermione's gaze swiveled upwards and she froze. The moon was waxing, and she stared up at it, feeling more than a little bit melancholic.
"If only you were in the sky all the time," she murmured, "Maybe Draco wouldn't be such a-"
Wait.
Her hand flew up to her necklace, and she ran her fingers over the rough metal. He never said that the moon has to be in the sky.
She slowly raised the trinket over her head and unlatched the window. She poked her head out and took a deep breath to calm her nerves; the moat sat directly below the gap. If she dropped the necklace there was no way for her to find it in the deep, murky water.
Hermione didn't want to lose the only piece of home that she'd brought with her. She told herself that Ron wouldn't mind; it might be the only way to ensure that she survived the curse.
It's just a necklace, he'll understand.
She pinched the string of the pendant between her thumb and forefinger and slowly eased her hand out into the air beyond. A breeze picked up without any warning, and she quickly tightened her perilous grip. Once she was satisfied that her heart rate was sufficiently elevated, she darted a glance around to make sure that she wasn't being watched by any of the guards who patrolled along the walls.
"Mollire," she whispered, holding her breath as the now-familiar rush of magic wound through her veins. The metal slowly lost its teardrop shape and began to pulse with a cherry-red glow as it slowly began to slide downwards.
She let out a surprised laugh that turned into a frantic expletive as she accidentally loosened her hold on the string. She half-threw herself out of the window in order to catch it, and sagged with relief against the cold stone of the windowsill as her fingers tangled in the string, firmly re-establishing her hold on the necklace.
Hermione quickly backed up and hung the still merrily glowing pendant from the chandelier that sat above the table and dragged the candle that was still burning towards her. She quickly blew it out; waving away the smoke that clouded her vision.
She dipped her fingers into the tepid wine that still sat by the book and then pressed them immediately into the still-hot wax. She hissed in pain as it burned her fingertips, but she stubbornly pressed the malleable wax into the shape of a crescent moon. She glanced up at the red-hot pendant and slowly lowered it into the new mold. She very nearly touched the metal, but then thought better of it and grabbed the pestle that still sat in the putrid green mixture that was Draco's medicine.
She hurriedly used the stone pestle to press the hot metal into the shape of the wax, coughing hard as the herbs that had seeped into the pores of the stone ignited. As she lifted the pestle away, she couldn't help her small smile; it was perfect.
Hermione gently pulled the pendant out of the wax and inspected it.
This should work.
She reached over and dipped the pendant into the wine goblet, wincing as the burgundy liquid began to bubble and smoke as the still-hot metal came into contact with it.
She waited until the wine had ceased to boil before carefully wrapping the necklace in her handkerchief and tucking it into her pocket. Hermione took a calming breath and hopped off of her chair. She quickly replaced the books that she'd displaced from the bookshelf, and was just about to leave the workroom when she heard a sound that made her freeze in her tracks.
Keys jingled right outside the door, and she heard the unmistakable sound of Horace and Father Albus' voices.
She frantically skidded into the restricted section of Horace's library and half-closed the door that separated it from the rest of the library, full well aware that she would have to do some explaining if they found out that she'd spent the whole night in the workroom. Almost too late, she remembered the wine goblet filled with extremely expensive (and also very bad) wine that still sat on the table.
The worst part was that it was still hot.
She tried to dart across the room as quickly as she could, snatching the goblet and running back to the restricted section as the door swung open, admitting the two men, who were engrossed in a very intense conversation.
Hermione pressed herself into the darkest corner of the tiny closet and tried her hardest to smother the tiny gasp of pain that escaped her as the hot wine slopped over her wrist and down her arm into her sleeve.
To her great relief, they didn't notice. She allowed herself a second to breathe, and then felt a trickle of alarm shoot down her spine when she clued into what they were talking about.
"Albus, I see no improvement in Draco's condition. I don't believe that we're dealing with anything that is natural," Horace said pointedly, bustling from one end of the room to the other. Hermione heard the clunk that accompanied his inspection of the mortar and pestle and pressed her body further into the shadows.
"Surely the boy has improved somewhat," Albus replied gently, clearly trying to soothe Horace's rattled nerves.
"Not at all! His mood has in fact worsened since the poor Granger girl arrived. If she wasn't such an astute pupil, I would have had to send her away for fear that he would act rashly and go after her."
"Your descriptions of his personality change are alarming, Horace, but I would perhaps caution you against speculation-"
"He changes at night."
Albus remained silent for a long moment, and Hermione had to lean forward to hear the rest of the conversation. Her heartbeat thundered so loudly in her ears that she could barely catch what Dumbledore said next.
"How so?"
"He becomes quiet once again. When he does speak, he is cold, calculating, and does not recognize certain people or remember snippets of gossip."
"You're sure?"
"I am positive."
"Does his father know?"
"Not yet. I'm quite hesitant to tell him anything until I'm quite sure that we are dealing with…well, the thing that we are dealing with."
"Perhaps I should reach out to some of my contacts in the Vatican," Albus mused, and Hermione could picture him tapping his finger against the side of his nose in thought.
"I've prepared a safe house, should we need to quarantine him," Slughorn said quietly.
"Good. We'll wait until we have no other choice before we whisk the Duke's son away into the safety of the wilderness. I will write to the Inquisitor in Spain for aid."
"You don't think that we should write to-"
"Riddle is a last resort," Dumbledore said sternly; his tone was quietly chastising, "He will require a payment that may be too great for us to accommodate. I will make some inquiries, wait for my word."
"Albus-"
"Continue to treat him as well as you are able. Perhaps we are not dealing with the Fair Folk. I pray that it is not the case."
Hermione's blood ran cold at his words, and she fought to keep calm as they finished their conversation and swept from the room, locking the door behind them as they left.
They know. They know Riddle. Is he still alive, or is it his son who has continued his work..?
She slid down the wall until she hit the ground with a thump. Her heart was pounding so fast that she thought that it might jump right out of her chest. She pressed a trembling hand to her sternum, trying to remember how to breathe properly as she reeled from what she'd just overheard.
We're in so much danger.
Her fear suddenly turned to rage as she directed her attention to Slughorn's words. Draco hadn't bothered to try and hide the fact that he became a different person under the influence of the moon. He wasn't trying to keep their secret; he didn't care how high the stakes were.
It finally occurred to her that he probably knew that she would also die.
Maybe he wants me to die so that he'll be freed from the oath.
She sat in the side room for a long time, until the sun was high in the sky and birds chirped loudly from the forest that lay inside the grounds. Hermione eventually eased herself off of the ground, groaning as the blood rushed back into her legs. She leaned against the worktable and glared at the green goo in the mortar.
Sod it. I need answers.
Moving quickly, she strode to the door and unlocked it from the inside. She darted out into the hallway and padded down the staircase, trying to keep her plan straight.
I need to get into his rooms.
She dug deep into her knowledge of court etiquette and quickly adopted the flowing stride of a lady-in-waiting as she made her way into the heart of the castle where the Duke and his family lived. Hermione pointedly ignored anyone who wore the garb of the kitchen or cleaning staff; what she needed was anonymity.
Eventually, as her anxiety reached its peak, she slipped down the passageway that led towards Draco's rooms. It was still early enough that he was most likely just starting his day.
Finally, she reached the massive stone passageway that held the door to his rooms and pressed herself into a corner. Glancing down the way, she could see two guards. They each wore a chest plate and chain mail, and she could tell from fifty feet away that their steel swords were razor sharp.
She gulped and returned fully to her hiding spot, trying in vain to control her breathing and focus.
I've only got one shot at this.
She finally managed to focus enough to pull one vocabulary word out of her brain. Her aim was to confuse and disorient the guards, not to injure them.
"Confundus," she whispered, directing every ounce of her will towards the two guards. She sucked in a shocked, pleased breath as the warm rush of power washed over her.
The magic took almost too long to work; she'd already written it off as a failure when the guard on the right suddenly turned to the other with a look of great confusion plastered clearly across his plain face.
"Crabbe," he said slowly, "Why are we standing in front of this door?"
"I dunno," was the rumbled reply. "But I fancy a drink."
"Where's the pub?"
"Dunno."
"Reckon we should look for it?"
"Yeah, alright. Which way is out?"
"Dunno."
"Why are you called Crabbe?"
"Dunno. Why are you called Goyle?"
"Dunno. Do we work here?"
"Dunno."
Hermione pressed herself into the stone as closely as she could, trying her hardest to quiet her frantic breathing as they lumbered past, creaking in their heavy armour. Once they were far enough down the hallway, she darted across the stone on silent feet and eased the giant door to Draco's chambers open.
She didn't allow herself to feel the panic that thundered through her veins.
She stalked through the main entryway, not even taking a moment to marvel at the opulent décor. She padded down a small hallway to what she assumed was Draco's bedroom. She didn't even care about all of the rules that she was breaking; her rage had completely overridden her ability to think rationally.
Hermione slammed the door open, intent on surprising Draco.
That's probably the only way that this is going to work, she thought angrily, already prepared for a fight.
Her fist clenched as she caught sight of Draco sitting tucked into a cushioned window nook, reading a book and looking every inch a prince. He looked up as she crashed into the room, and his split second of confusion was immediately replaced with anger.
Her stomach churned, and ice wound its way into her veins, but she determinedly continued towards him, yanking the necklace out of her pocket.
"I have questions," she snapped, trying very hard not to lose her nerve.
"What is the meaning of this?!" He demanded, swiveling around to face her like an angry owl. "Guards! Why-"
"Shut up and look!" She hissed, planting herself in front of him and holding the moon charm in front of his eyes.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
"Lumae lumen," she whispered, hoping against all hope that she had enough willpower to activate the magic. The now-familiar whisper of magic zipped down her skin and into her bones, and she let out a shaky sigh as the pendant began to glow with a pale white light, illuminating Draco's face with a soft, shimmering glow.
Immediately, Draco's grey eyes lightened to silver, and he let out a small, breathless laugh.
"Clever. You should have thought of that sooner."
"All that you said was that the moon had to be out, not in the sky," she said breathlessly, half relieved and half-annoyed by his response. "I've been up half the night learning Latin."
He smirked at her, stepping away and pouring himself a large glass of wine from the fully-set table that sat in the middle of the large room. "So. You figured out a way to defy the constraints on my magic. Well done, human."
"Yes. We have a big problem, but first, I have questions."
"I'm not surprised. Fire away."
"What happened to the real Earl?"
Her heart was in her throat as she asked the question; she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear that he was dead or not. Knowing what the fae was capable of, she wouldn't put it past him to flat out kill the boy.
"He's in Scotland, I told you this already."
His reply left her with the distinctive feeling that her question had left him feeling very ruffled. She was quite sure that his authority wasn't questioned very often.
"That doesn't explain much," she huffed, leaning on the table in front of her and glaring at him as he lazily picked up the moon charm and began to wind it around his long fingers. She reached out and poured herself a goblet of juice, ignoring his disapproving glare.
"Hm," he replied noncommittally, ignoring her right back.
"Does he not know who he is? Why on earth hasn't he marched back here and demanded his body back?"
"No, which is what he wanted," Draco said evasively, leaning casually against the window frame and raising an eyebrow at her. "It's not technically his body anymore. He gave it up willingly, and I gave him a better one. He should be thanking me."
"A better one?"
"Yes. This one is weak."
Hermione found that she couldn't quite agree. She didn't hold the opinion that his current body was weak at all. Hermione supposed that it suited him to have a handsome face; people were more likely to make deals when they were presented with an attractive offer, face and all. She had to admit that he looked unfairly good in the early-afternoon light, but she forcibly jerked her thoughts back to her interrogation. She wasn't interested in dancing around the subject of her questions.
"What happens when you are freed?" She asked nervously, her expression sobering as she watched him.
He shrugged, pushing his bright silver hair out of his face. "It could be a lot of different things."
"You didn't answer my question, Draco."
His gaze flicked up to meet hers, and she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from looking away. "That's not my name."
"Well I'm going to call you Draco, it's a lot easier than trying to wrap my mouth around your actual name," she grumbled, feeling slightly triumphant as his eyes narrowed at her.
He didn't say anything, however, so she took the opportunity to ask him some questions. "Gwaethe, or whatever you're called, you have a lot of explaining to do."
"Not specific enough, try the question again."
"What does your name mean, anyways?"
He paused for a moment, and she knew him well enough to know that he was working out a way to word his answer so that she was left with very little information.
"It means "silver-tongue"," he admitted, looking at her through his sooty eyelashes, "Oddly enough, it translates rather similarly to Draco in your language."
"How so?" She demanded, crossing her arms and planting her feet shoulder-width apart. If he was amused by her mood, he didn't show it.
"Doesn't your story of the beginning of man have a silver-tongued snake in it?" He drawled, stepping closer to her. As a reflex, she took a step back. "Your kind uses snake allegory quite frequently."
"Yes, but I don't know how that-"
"Think, Granger. We don't have a word for snake in my language."
"Oh. So a dragon is a synonym to "silver-tongue"?" She asked curiously; her hunger for knowledge overrode her nervousness.
"Not really," he murmured; the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk played around the corners of his mouth. "But, Draco is as close to it as your clumsy tongue is going to get."
Completely unbidden, an angry flush settled over her chest and cheeks at his borderline indecent statement. She had to force herself to concentrate as he focused all of his attention on her, his smug gaze smoldering at her from across the room. Hermione ignored the frisson of heat that raced down her spine, and determinedly took another sip of the overly-sweet juice, trying to organize her thoughts. She turned and walked over to the nearest chair, her gaze never leaving him as she gingerly sat down. She hadn't realized how tired she was until she'd stopped moving. She forced her thoughts back to the subject at hand and glanced up to see that Draco was still smirking at her.
"Flustered, human?"
"Not for a minute. What the hell is the Old Magic?" She demanded, her fear and irritation winding once again through her veins so quickly that she didn't even think before she flung her question at him.
"It's magic that's very old-" he started, watching her with a mixture of lazy amusement and irritation.
"Sod off."
"Gladly, as soon as you figure out how," he shot back, but his tone didn't hold any of the venom that she was used to.
Hermione crossed her arms. "So what happens to you when the moon isn't out?"
Draco surveyed her, tapping his finger against his bicep as he thought. "I go dormant. I can still hear and see everything, but-"
He cut off, turning on his heel and putting his back to her. Hermione could see his expression in the stained glass of the window, and her brow furrowed in confusion. His mien flitted between angry and helpless more times than she could count.
"But what?" She asked slowly, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair so hard that her knuckles turned white from the pressure.
"There's another fae's magic at play here," he said finally, still turned away from her, "They're more powerful than I am. Their power competes with mine."
"Wait, you said that Draco -that you- have some fae blood in you, is that what you meant?" She asked breathlessly, her mind whirring quickly through the new information.
"There must have been a changeling in his bloodline somewhere," Draco muttered, flicking his silver hair out of his eyes as he surveyed her over his shoulder. "I can fight against the magic all I want, the only thing that gets through is fury. Hence why I can't help but act like a fucking cun-"
"That's quite enough," she said sharply, standing up and surveying him. "You can feel sorry for yourself later."
"How about we change places, and then you can tell me off for being pissed off at the situation," he said coldly, his eyes growing flintier by the second.
She didn't miss the fact that he didn't apologize for his behavior.
"Point taken. So that's why you're such a tosser," Hermione muttered, raking a hand through her curls. "Nothing about this makes sense-"
"Why would it? It goes against your world's logic!" He interrupted her, pacing back in forth in front of the window like a caged animal. "You have to think in riddles, that's how it works."
Hermione sighed, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him. "Look, we can agree on the fact that we're constantly at odds with each other. Don't interrupt me, Malfoy," she added, glaring at him as he opened his mouth to retort, "But you need to stop acting like we're enemies. We're both on the line here."
"And whose fault is that?" He drawled, throwing her a look filled with derision.
"No thanks to you," she said darkly, ignoring his huff of surprise as she strode forwards and slammed her goblet down on the fine table, leaving a small indent in the wood. "You haven't moved a finger to help me. And you aren't even hiding the fact that you're pretending to be two different people!"
"Why should I?" He asked quietly. His tone darkened, and she suppressed a shiver as danger began to radiate off of his skin.
"It took me a while to figure out how to even use the magic-"
"Good. Hurry up and set me free, then."
"It's not that simple."
"And why is that..?" He asked quietly, watching her intently with his odd eyes.
"Because we're both going to die if I can't find a way to save us both," she whispered, massaging her temples, "I found a book, a journal, really, and it's got something in it that I think that you should know about."
"Spit it out then," he drawled, throwing himself gracefully into a plush armchair and putting his feet up on the matching stool, "Why do you think that?"
"Well, for starters, your mother begged me to save your life and then showed me that I'm also dying," she said bitterly, already exhausted and annoyed by the conversation. "And if I wasn't in danger, I might tell her to stuff-"
"Don't lie to me," he snarled, his tone deepening into fury as he sat bolt upright. She was reminded of a cat about to pounce, and she hastily took a step back as his cold gaze bore into her. "Don't you fucking lie to me-"
"I'm not! She spoke to me-"
"Don't say another word," he said lowly, closing his eyes and fighting to keep calm. She watched, frozen with curiosity and fear, as a muscle in his jaw worked and he finally opened his eyes to look at her.
"It's impossible, given that my mother has been missing for nearly two hundred of your years," he said firmly, regarding her with a mixture of suspicion and distrust, "She was reportedly trapped by a human. There's no way that you could speak to her-"
"Does the name Tom Riddle mean anything to you?" She interrupted loudly; her mouth parted in surprise as he stiffened and looked at her with a new expression in his eyes. She'd never seen him look like this before; if she didn't know better, she would have guessed that he was terrified.
"Explain to me how you know that name," he said quietly, his knuckles whitening against his goblet. "Granger-"
"It's the book. It was his. There's a drawing in it that was inked in Fae blood- and it moved!"
"Show me!" He demanded, springing to his feet and darting over to her so fast that she could have sworn that he'd teleported.
"I can't-" she blurted, scrambling backwards until her back hit the wall with a thump, "I need it."
"The hell you do," he breathed, his bright eyes alight with something that she could only have described as panic, "That book is going to get us killed."
"What is it?"
"It's a bloody horcrux, is what it is-"
"What the hell is a horcrux?!"
"It doesn't matter. Tell me where it is-"
"That book is the only clue that I have to using your magic, we need it!" Hermione retorted, pressing herself further into the stone as he took another step towards her.
A foot away, he stopped, and simply watched her with an expression that almost looked…disappointed?
"That man is responsible for the murder of dozens of my kind," Draco finally said softly, glancing down at his hands as he spoke. "My mother isn't the first, or the last Seelie to fall into his trap; it's a guaranteed, horrible death to answer his call."
Hermione took a good look at him, and despite her instincts telling her to leave it alone, gingerly reached out and touched his hand. His head snapped up to look her in the eye, but he didn't move.
She dropped her hand and sighed, raking her curls off of her face.
"Look, we're working with borrowed time here. I need your help. We can't get anything done if we're constantly at each other's throats. Until I can use the magic without using the information that's contained within the book, I can't give it up."
"Fine," he said shortly, taking a step backwards and pivoting on his heel. He stopped dead in his tracks as she spoke her next sentence.
"Wait."
"What?"
"I'm proposing a new deal, because that's the language that you work with. If you help me learn how to use your magic, I will find a way to set your mother free from the book," Hermione whispered, unsure if he would agree. Her heart beat unsteadily in her chest, and she bit her lip with worry as his silence stretched well past a minute.
"You have no idea what you just offered me," he said quietly, turning to look at her with a look that, if he were anyone else, would have been shock tempered with respect.
"And yet, here I am," she replied simply, holding out her hand to shake. When he stared at it with confusion, she flapped it impatiently at him. "This is how we make deals in the human world."
His eyes narrowed, and she was just about to withdraw her hand and move away when his hand slowly came up and clasped hers.
"Very well. I accept your deal. Now, why the hell did you barge in here?"
She let out a long, relieved breath. "Okay, good. We have a problem. You need to make sure that you aren't under the control of the other fae when the moon isn't out, I overheard Father Albus and Horace talking about how a special inquisitor from the Vatican may be brought here to look at you. They have a safe house that they may force you into-"
He made a small sound of derision, until he caught a glimpse of the expression on her face. "What, Granger?"
"That means interrogation, possible torture, and iron," she said firmly, clenching her jaw as his face paled. It made him look sickly and grey, and he ran a frantic hand through his hair. She couldn't help but agree with his whispered oath, and closed her eyes in order to think.
"What if you wear the charm all the time?"
"Someone's going to notice if I start glowing," Draco retorted, raising one eyebrow at her and crossing his arms. "Try again."
She glowered at him. "Fine. Come up with a better idea then. If you can't stick with one personality then we're as good as dead."
"Find a way to infuse moonlight into the medicine that you and Slughorn are always trying to force down my throat," he said simply, smirking at her as her jaw dropped.
"That's actually genius!" She murmured, striding over to the moon charm and staring at the light that was still pulsing from the metal. "In the meantime, you need to wear this."
"No."
"Wear it under your shirt," she said firmly, glaring at him.
"Fine. I'll see you when the sun goes down, then."
"Why..?" She asked slowly, unsure what he was getting at.
"We have work to do, Granger. Now, get out of my rooms."