Chapter 12
Draco woke up the next morning, clapped his hands together, ready to howl in happiness. Crabbe, who was getting dressed, gave him a funny look.
"What's wrong Draco?" he asked stupidly.
"Nothing, you idiot," Draco snapped. "Stop being so stupid, and by the way, you're putting your pants on wrong." Crabbe looked down to find that he was in fact putting both of his legs into one pant-leg.
"I was wondering why it didn't fit," he said with a dull expression. Draco rolled his eyes and hopped out of bed. He duly decided that nothing would ruin his good mood, not even Crabbe's apparent lack of intelligence.
Hermione skipped down the hallway toward the Great Hall. She and Draco had decided to pretend to still hate each other, it would make it easier than explaining to everyone how Draco had changed, and such.
"Hey Hermione," Harry said, trying to catch up, pulling on his cloak as he went. "Ron has the flu, so it's just you and me today."
"You two spend so much time kissing that you probably have the same thing," Hermione said, slowing down. "The flu is contagious, you know."
"Of course, of course," Harry said with a slight shrug. "But I'm not sick now."
"Don't breath on me," Hermione said cheerfully. "I don't want to get sick now that life is getting better. Plus, testing is coming up, and I don't want to miss anything."
"Just like you Hermione," Harry said with a roll of his eyes. "The world could end tommorow, and you would still be worrying about tests."
"Well, no point in worrying about the world ending, especially if it's unavoidable."
"I don't understand you," Harry said sadly. "You confuse me beyond all belief."
Draco bounded down the stairs and into the Commons Room. Blaise Zabini rushed up, a look of disbelief on his handsome face.
"Are you okay, Draco?" he asked.
"Of course," Draco replied, his usual bravado returning with vengance. "What of it?"
"Nothing, nothing," Blaise stammered, still puzzled. "Let's go to breakfast, okay?"
"Fine," Draco said coolly, flicking his blond hair out of his eyes. "Let's go."
Draco couldn't remove the feeling of danger that began to settle in his lower stomach. It felt as if something were watching him, something malevolent and dark. A drop of sweat dropped down his back, but he remained calm. It wouldn't do to have a strop in front of Blaise, it would simply destroy his appearance as a tough Slytherin.
Hermione sat down next to Lavender Brown and helped herself to some pancakes. There was something wrong, her gut hurt fiercely.
"Harry," she said, turning to him.
"What?" he asked, his mouth full of porridge. He swallowed hastily. "Yes?"
"Something's wrong," she muttered under her breath so that only he could hear it. He nodded and looked around the hall quickly.
"Malfoy's not here," Harry said quietly. She looked over at the Slytherin table and found that he was right.
"What should I do?"
"See if he shows up," Harry said grimly. "And if he doesn't, we know what's wrong."
Draco turned around the corner with Blaise, who was still chattering cheerfully about some curse he'd read about recently, and Draco knew what was wrong.
His father was standing in the corner, an expression on his face that could be only described as treacherous.
"I'll see you at breakfast, Blaise," Draco said casually, walking toward his father. Blaise left, and Draco approached Lucius cautiously.
"I see you managed to lose the Dark Lord's minion," Lucius said coldly, anger under lying the frigid exterior. "You couldn't have done it without help."
"What are you doing here?" Draco muttered angrily. "You don't belong here."
"The Dark Lord is not pleased with you," Lucius continued, ignoring his son's statements. "He thinks you should be eliminated, or brought further under his control."
"I don't give a damn what the Dark Lord thinks," Draco hissed.
Lucius continued to ignore him. "The Dark Lord grows annoyed over your insubordination."
"Like I said, I don't give a damn what the Dark Lord says."
Lucius' eyes flamed. "Watch yourself, Draco. The Dark Lord knows all. He knows of your little affair with the mud-blood."
"She's not a mud-blood," Draco growled.
Lucius laughed cruelly. "How foolish you are, Draco. You will be destroyed if you keep up this stupid game any longer."
"I don't see this as a game," Draco said, straightening up. "And I don't care if I am destroyed."
Lucius narrowed his eyes. "You have overstepped the boundaries, son. You will always be a Malfoy, you cannot lose your blood, no matter how much you want to."
"Yes I can," Draco said determinedly. "I refuse to be like you, I refuse to be a minion and puppet for my entire life."
Lucius raised his hand as if he would hit his son, but then looked as if he thought better of it. "What your tread, boy. I renounce you as my son."
"Good."
Suddenly Lucius had whipped out his wand. Draco groped for his wand. Lucius laughed and whispered the incantation.
Hermione dropped her fork and gasped.
"It's Mr. Malfoy!" she hissed to Harry. She leapt to her feet and raced out of the hallway. Professor Dumbledore watched her run out, and rose to his feet. He exited quickly, leaving the other teachers mystified.
Hermione rushed down the hallway, wand drawn. She reached the hallway too late. She saw the flash of green, and then she heard Draco hit the floor.
Mr. Malfoy Disappated, and Draco lay on the floor eagle-spread, his eyes wide open, mouth dropped as if in shock. She struggled not to scream as she threw herself at his side.
"Draco, Draco," she begged. "Please wake up!"
He did not stir. She pressed her shaking fingers to his clammy skin, feeling desperately for a pulse. There was none. She cradled him close to her and began to sob.
Presently she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"There's nothing you can do, Hermione," Professor Dumbledore said gently. "I'm very sorry."
Hermione dropped Draco's still warm body.
"No, you're wrong," she said calmly, standing. "If you please, Professor, can you write me a note so that I may read a book in the Restricted section of the library."
"Hermione, there is nothing that can be done," Dumbledore said. "But if you wish it, I will write you the pass." A quill flew out of his pocket and scribbled a note. The note flew into her hand.
Professor McGonagall rushed in.
"Oh my goodness!" she said, out of breath. "Albus, is he…?"
Dumbledore nodded, and Hermione ran away.
Hermione shoved the note at Madame Pince and ran into the Restricted section. She ran her finger along the spine of the books, up and down the shelf until she found what she was looking for.
It was a dark black book with silver lettering, and many of the yellowing pages were falling out. She took it down and gently opened. The book was so old that the writing was barely legible.
"Necromancy," she read aloud. "The Dark Art of the Dead." She closed her eyes and thought about what she was ready to do. Madame Pince walked up, her pinched face wearing a look of worry.
"Hermione," Madame Pince said nervously. "You shouldn't be dealing with magic like that, that's much too advanced."
"Madame Pince," Hermione said angrily. "I've preformed much harder magic than this. I think I can take it."
"Well, don't go meddling to far with the dead," Madame Pince said quietly, "You don't want to end up like Bellatrix Black."
Hermione nearly dropped her book. "What do you mean like Bellatrix Black?"
Madame Pince looked as if she had said something she wasn't supposed to say. She glanced around nervously.
"I don't know if I should tell you this, but if you're trying to do what you're trying to do…" she trailed off. "You'd better come back to my office and talk."