~Chapter Thirty-Five~ A Cure

The rest of Wednesday passed in a blur. Draco flooed back home ahead of Hermione with some of her research materials and a mildly disgruntled Crookshanks in his travel cage, having only somewhat reluctantly agreed that if Hermione was to say until Sunday that the cat could come too. He had also taken the dark grimoire, enchanted and disguised even though he was going through the floo, both of them agreeing that the books ought to be kept separate when transported.

It had taken Hermione somewhat longer to pack up the rest of what she would need for her work and to stay, and then she had apparated into London, clutching her bag with the light grimoire within, and walked to some tearooms near the flat as planned, where Draco was waiting to meet her. They had taken tea, forcing themselves to act normally and not to rush, the presence of the all-important grimoire and their mountains of work hanging over them, and then they had walked back to the flat, which was ready to receive her.

In the hour it had taken Hermione to get her things sorted, Draco had managed to rearrange his study, brought in a new desk for her to use which he had placed in the freed-up area, and even installed a temporary cat flap in his back door so that Crookshanks could come and go into the garden as he pleased. Dilly had given the guest room a spruce, turning down the bed and drawing the curtains so that it was light and airy with the morning sunshine, and seemed to have cultivated a good friendship with Crookshanks already, who was out exploring the garden and furnished with his own luxurious cat bed in the corner of the guest room.

Draco had even managed to fit in a brief fire call with his mother, letting her know not to expect him until the following week due to work. He had seen her expression, tight with worry, for him and about the situation, but she hadn't remarked on it, and he had taken her lead. He knew the Manor's wards had been strengthened and checked by the Aurors, and exactly who was detailed to keep an eye on his parents. Little more could be done.

After he and Hermione had arrived at the apartment, the rest of the day had been spent in a fever of research for them both, occasionally querying particular things with one another, and conferring over various translations and interpretations from reference texts. For Hermione, it had contained a mounting sense of triumph as she slowly developed her understanding of the Dark Marks and a potential cure. As she had suspected, the grimoires worked in tandem, reflections and inverses of each other, and being able to read them together made the theory fit into place in a way it hadn't before. She routinely found herself marvelling over the knowledge and abilities of the witches and wizards who had written the books, and although the dark grimoire contained as much gruesomeness as the light contained curative wonder, there was no denying that both were underpinned by an incredible understanding and knowledge of magical theory.

For Draco, the day had been mostly frustration as he tried endless permutations and codes from the letters on the bodies. He'd taken occasional breaks to try and find information about masking spells, but Harry had stressed to him that it was not the priority for him, and even Draco, curious as he was for more information, had agreed on that point. Despite it, he couldn't stop the tiny back corner of his brain working on the problem, frustrated by the tiny piece of knowledge which seemed to be the smallest of lights into the matter, but without any further information to grasp at a greater understanding.

Draco had already arranged a restaurant for their dinner in a swanky part of town that morning, and each had been too sunk in the work of the day as they dressed and went out to really give much thought to what they were doing, acting instead on instinct and habit, smiling and laughing through their preoccupation at the dinner table, ever aware of the potential threats that could be hovering over them.


"I don't suppose I'd be able to use your lab tomorrow?" Hermione stifled a yawn as they hung up their coats in the front hall upon their return. Dinner had been delicious and uneventful apart from several reporters snapping their photographs and trying to ask Hermione how she felt after the attack. Draco's expression had been enough to send them scurrying for cover.

"Oh?"

"I want to test out some counter-spell ideas. I'm fairly sure it will take a spell, as a spell created them, although I haven't ruled out potions yet, but I need a safe environment for experimenting."

Draco attempted a censuring expression, but it was ruined as he too yawned. The dark shadows beneath his eyes stood out against his fair skin. "Yes, but be careful, Granger. This is what the Unspeakables are for."

Hermione waved a hand, though her expression was serious. "I know, I know. I'll be careful."

Draco pursed his lips, then shook his head, giving in. "Fine. But take precautions. I know I don't need to tell you what to do. If you do look into potions, I have some notebooks down there with combinations of ingredients you should definitely avoid. Look through them before you start."

Hermione nodded, smiling. "I will."

They had reached the top of the stairs and passed left down the corridor towards the bedrooms.

"Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Draco."

They paused in their respective doorways for a few moments, eyes meeting across the few feet of corridor, then parted ways.


For Thursday they changed up the routine a little. Draco was becoming increasingly frustrated with all the walls he was running into with the decoding work and with the masking spell, and came down to the lab, careful not to enter in the middle of an experiment, watching through the quartz pane until the last of the sparks and billowing smoke from Hermione's test had faded.

"How about we go out for lunch instead of dinner?"

Hermione pushed up the quartz and dragonhide visor she had been wearing and took in his exhausted face. His usual tidy presentation was rumpled, telling the tale of his frustration from the roughly rolled cuffs of his dress shirt, to the collar hanging open by two spare buttons, to the hair which was so tousled it was on par with Harry's for messiness. "The decoding isn't fun; I know how you feel. Of course we can."

Draco sagged somewhat with relief.

"Did you have anywhere in mind?"

"I was thinking maybe we could find a Muggle place to go?"

"Good idea."

"Know anywhere around here?"

Hermione paused, pulling off the protective dragonhide gloves she had been wearing. "I think so? Let me check on my phone upstairs."


Lunch had been pleasant, and they were less hounded than at dinner being in a Muggle part of town. The day was warm and bright, and they walked back with their arms linked.

"Maybe we should always go to Muggle places. If it means we don't get followed by photographers."

Hermione laughed at Draco's lazy smile. "It might somewhat defeat the purpose. But I do agree, it's nice to feel like you can just breathe without someone trying to take a photograph of it."

Draco grinned.

"I was thinking. The decoding stuff is like smashing your head against a wall. Maybe take a break and do some work on the suspects? You never know, it might give you a brainwave about the letters."

"Mm. I was actually thinking of checking through some texts from the Manor on curses. It's possible that this masking spell is some kind of Dark magic, which would explain why I'm not finding it anywhere conventional."

"You think it's that important to pursue right now?"

Draco nodded, frowning. "I can't shake off the feeling that it shouldn't be overlooked. There was something about them that seemed familiar. But I just can't put my finger on it. The Death Eaters all had their own specialities. If they are ex-Death Eaters and this spell is from one of their favoured areas of magic, it could help us identify your attackers, and we don't know for certain that the attack and the case aren't linked."

They both fell silent, thoughts of Dolohov unspoken and floating between them.

"It's a good idea." Hermione smiled encouragingly. "And I can always do with a lab partner, if you get stuck there."

Draco shot her a smirk. "This is true. I do know more about potions."

Hermione laughed and swatted his arm playfully with mock outrage. "Excuse me!"

Draco shrugged. "Just stating the facts."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Uh huh. I suppose you are a master potioneer."

"Oh you suppose do you?" Draco leant in close, eyes sparkling with mischievous laughter. "Do you only suppose?"

"Yes," Hermione squeaked. She could suddenly feel her pulse jumping at the base of her throat, and was trying valiantly to ignore what his sudden proximity and spicy citrus cologne were doing to her.

"That didn't sound very convincing, Miss Granger." The words came out in a low purring growl. "Do you need convincing?"

"Possibly." Hermione blinked rapidly, unable to take her eyes from his. The grey was a stunning swirling pattern this close, but even then she was struggling to think of much beyond just how close he was, how warm they were, how it was making her feel.

Draco suddenly withdrew, though the playful smirk was still playing around his lips. "Perhaps I can arrange that then."

"Only perhaps?" Hermione attempted to surreptitiously clear her throat, embarrassed by the breathless squeak she had produced, using the moment to try and control the butterflies that were still dancing in her stomach.

"Well, I am a Malfoy after all. And isn't there something more delicious about uncertainty?"

Hermione bit her tongue, then glanced up at him, flushing when she realised he had been gazing at her. Suddenly she grinned. "Perhaps."

Draco's mischievous expression transformed into surprise, then he laughed. "Touché."


As it happened, Draco did not make it down into the laboratory until evening, and for that Hermione was marginally grateful. As much as part of her longed for him to come and join her, and as much as she knew that his expertise could help her work progress faster, she knew she wouldn't have been able to keep her mind on the potions and spells she was trying out, and that had the possibility of fatal consequences.

The thought that her work would impact him more directly than any of the victims also hung on the edges of her mind. She knew intimately just how far he'd gone down this path himself, and just how many devastating setbacks he had experienced. The idea that she could hold out that possibility to him, that she might be able to finally succeed for him and offer him the chance to rid himself of the last reminder of that most horrible section of the past made her a little dizzy. So she tried not to focus on it.

At the end of the day, Harry sent through an owl with an update on his activity following the trails of various Death Eaters and Pureblood fanatics, but despite his work and that of his Aurors, they were yet to turn up anything concrete.

Their evening progressed much the same as the previous night, and once again they found themselves pausing at the top of the stairs on the landing, their bedrooms drawing them in different directions, lingering in the lowlight of the lamps, before finally uttering their goodnights.


"DRACO!"

Draco fell out of bed in a tangle of sheets in the dark, groping for his wand and struggling up right, flying out of his room and down the corridor, thundering down the stairs to the basement, and crashing in, half wild from Hermione's cry, wand in hand. "Hermione?!"

Hermione was standing in front of the worktable, hands aloft, her expression bright with excitement. Her eyes were red from lack of sleep, her hair a wild tangle, and her thin pyjamas were not enough in the stone room. She didn't seem to be aware that she was shivering.

"Merlin's balls, I thought you'd been attacked." Draco put a hand to his chest, feeling his heart hammering behind his ribs, and tried to stop himself from panting after his headlong flight down the stairs. "It's got to be something like four in the morning."

"Oh. Sorry." Hermione's expression crumpled with concern. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Draco waved the apology away. "It's OK. What is it? And why are you down here at this time of the night? You need sleep too, you know."

Hermione's beam returned. "I had a realisation as I was falling asleep. I had to come down to check. I think I've nailed it." She turned back to the work bench where pages of notes were laid out, and began to point here and there. Draco drifted over to see. "There's something about casting the Dark Mark that's similar to using one of the Unforgiveables. You need to really mean it and have a connection with that darker side of your emotions. That's what the theory seems to indicate gives these spells power. Magic has always been linked to what the caster feels, raw magic in particular – it's why children with magical abilities need to be carefully schooled. Raw emotions and raw magic become a potent mixture and can have disastrous consequences. We've all done unexpected things when we were upset. The magic came out because of our heightened emotions. And it's the same with adults and our wands. It's more controlled, but it still happens."

Draco nodded. What she said tallied with what he already knew.

"Because of this more…primal driving force behind these kinds of spells, and the fact that they need that input in order to actually work, the removal method therefore needs something to counteract the emotion and power that fed the initial spell. Love, purity, kindness, self-lessness."

"I follow you."

"I've been thinking that what was required was a counter-spell – makes sense, right? A spell for a spell."

Draco nodded.

"However." Hermione picked up a list. Many notes had been scrawled into it over a course of days, and the vast majority on it had been crossed out, question marks and footnotes all over the page. "Now I'm thinking what's really required is a potion. A series of potions. They'll almost certainly need incantations spoken over them as they're made, but I think I've narrowed down the key active ingredients I need. We're going to need the Ministry's help to get some of them."

Draco's brows rose as he mentally ticked through the restricted potions ingredients that Hermione might be referring to.

"The obvious choices to begin with are Unicorn horn and Phoenix tears, the latter of which, as you know, won't be very easy to find."

Draco nodded, frowning.

"Easier will be Salamander blood, for its restorative properties, pickled Murtlap tentacles to enhance resistance to the curse, and, a bit more expensive, powdered Graphorn horn for the same purpose."

"Makes sense. I'm not seeing where the Ministry comes in yet though."

Hermione made a face. "I need Re'em blood, Lobalug venom, and the tiniest amount of venom from a Peruvian Vipertooth."

Draco blinked. "What? I know the victims are dead already, but Granger?"

"I know, I know! It seems really extreme. But hear me out."

Draco held his tongue and nodded. "Go ahead then."

"So. I think there will be three stages of potions. The Re'em blood is to help preserve the body, or, uh, person." Their eyes met for a moment, the unspoken thought that Draco might be the first living person to benefit from the research flashing between them. "The Lobalug and dragon venoms are to attack the Mark. I know there's next to no research on either being ingested by wizards, but I think in a small enough quantity, and directed correctly, it could work."

Draco let out a deep breath. "I see what you're driving at. Continue."

"So the Re'em blood, Murtlap essence, and Graphorn horn will be the first potion. Then there will be the Lobalug venom and the venom from the Peruvian Vipertooth." Hermione paused.

"And the third potion?"

"That will be the Salamander blood, Unicorn horn, and Phoenix tears."

Draco treated her to a shrewd look. "But?"

"But…before the last potion, I'll need a live Chizpurfle."

Draco paused for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forgive me, Hermione. But if you're suggesting what I think you're suggesting, it seems a little bit…hare-brained."

"I know, I know. But honestly, I was reading up about them, and they feast on magical substances. What's to say that they couldn't help to eat the Mark off?"

Draco gathered his thoughts. "I'm not saying it won't work. In fact, there are things that I've tried that are definitely crazier. But it is…pretty out there. And how will you control it?"

Hermione nodded, letting out a breath of relief that he at least had accepted her explanation. "I'm thinking a stunning spell. The Mark should be magical enough to draw it right to it, but it's still guesswork at this point."

"It's going to be tough getting permits from the Ministry though. Will Kingsley even accept your explanation?"

Hermione nodded. "I thought of this. Kingsley doesn't need to know exactly how I intend to use the ingredients yet. There's no guarantee that any of this will work, but without the ingredients I can't even try. And he really does want me to succeed with this, so I don't think he will ask too many questions, and none of it is a contravention of any legislation."

"True." Draco paused, thinking deeply for a moment and considering the various outcomes that the potions she was suggesting might result in. "You'd best send Potter a patronus. We're running out of time."


Several hours later, after the sun had risen, Draco found Hermione back in the laboratory before she had even had breakfast. Harry had worked wonders for them, despite being woken up before the crack of dawn by Hermione's excitable message, and had come through with the ingredients with Kingsley's permission from Ministry vaults. Not a thing was missing.

Draco had sent out an order to his usual stockists, and by six o'clock they had delivered crate upon crate of the various standard ingredients that were usually required by potioneers. The ingredients had been taken down to Draco's storerooms for Hermione's use, the shelves and bottles bulging with products.

Before going back to bed, Draco had also laid out some potions for Hermione to take to help with the lack of sleep before he had gone back to bed, knowing what she was like and that she would need to feel fresh for the experiments once the ingredients had arrived. They had all been drunk, the bottles left neatly on the kitchen counter, and he had watched her through the quartz window as she worked, knowing better than to disturb her.

Finding himself too distracted to make breakfast, Draco had paced in the kitchen until Dilly, almost dizzy from watching him, had offered to prepare the food. Draco's mind was filled with thoughts he hadn't seriously entertained in years, and he could feel the Mark on his arm, burning from his awareness of it, almost as though it was resisting the very thought that it might soon be removed. The tantalising vision of a new future was too great to entertain, however. The possibility of finally leaving behind that most damnable part of his past glimmered before him, still out of reach, but almost close enough to touch. The hope was too great to resist.

He had eaten the meal Dilly placed before him, unable to even taste it, and then thrown himself into his work alone in the study, forcing his mind not to linger on mostly forgotten dreams and wishes, and the witch downstairs, working furiously in his laboratory.


Hermione wasn't sure whether it was the potions or her own driving need to succeed, but she was simultaneously aware of ever nerve in her body and of nothing but the potions bubbling before her as she worked. Despite the fact that Draco had said nothing about the cure, had shown nothing in his reaction, she knew the immense hope that she was holding out to him, and she was determined not to have it snatched from his grasp. He had gone to extreme lengths in the past in an attempt to achieve the very thing she was suggesting might now be possible, and she knew herself how heart-breaking repeatedly dashed hopes could be.

She had to succeed.

She had to bring dignity back to the victims. And she couldn't let Draco down.

The potions bubbled and roiled around her, steam and fumes rising from their surfaces, some sluggish, the bubbles popping with a slow glop glop glop as of volcanic mud pools, and others shimmering and effervescent, sparkling with crackles that bounced and skittered across the surface. She had scraped her hair back into a tight plait, but the steam from the potions still made a fringe of tiny ringlets across her forehead.

She knew it was dangerous to simultaneously run as many permutations as she was. If even one went dangerously wrong, it could set off a chain reaction. But the stakes were too high. She was painfully aware of the fact that it was Friday, and of the clock ticking down, each second that slipped by eating into her opportunity to succeed before another group murder occurred.

The potions Draco had laid out had been helpful, the restocked general ingredients invaluable, the fact that she hadn't even had to ask him for either meaning a great deal to her already strained mind. She was having to balance and quantify vast calculations and reams of information about all the ingredients and methods she was using, and though the slightest of mental burdens, the fact that he had lifted at least two for her was a weight removed. She also knew that he would continue to supply her with what she needed, even if it meant magically sustaining her through the next two days, despite his own reservations, because they were both driven by the same desperate desire to see the experiments work.


The rest of Friday was spent in a state of high tension for them both. Draco intermittently worked like a man possessed to distract himself, and then would pace for a time, eventually drawn inexorably back down to the window to watch how things were progressing. Every now and then Hermione would ask him in, explaining what she was doing in a gap between critical stages of her latest attempt, and he would provide his own insight and advice into how to best refine and improve the method.

Hermione found herself progressing through the day in a stilted fashion, swinging between furious activity when the potions required ingredients, stirring, or incantations, and inactivity when she scraped together enough time for a snack, drink, or toilet break, Dilly appearing each time with exactly what she required, and then furiously making notes and observations of the experiments as they bubbled away during their brewing times.

Potion after potion failed, in spectacular and lacklustre fashions by turns, and the amount of ingredients she used and the cost of them mounted steadily. Draco never said a word. Every time anything was used up, he sent out for more. Even so, she knew it was part of the process. The laboratory was well-constructed and heavily fortified for exactly this kind of work, and even the worst failures did not manage to exert any serious damage to her or the room.

Each failure and marginal success taught her something new, and she added copious notes to her methods, adjusting and tweaking the measurements, the timing of the ingredients, when to use spellwork, and the direction and number of stirs required, all the time feeling herself slowly inching closer to what she sought.


"Granger."

Hermione started into wakefulness, spinning on the stool to stare at the now silent row of cauldrons lining the workbench along the wall. She looked blearily up at the figure of Draco beside her. "Wh-what time is it?" She failed to stifle the inelegant yawn that overtook her.

"It's half-past seven. We should be going out for dinner. Keep up appearances at all."

"But–" she yawned again. "But the potions."

"It looks to me like you paused to make notes and fell asleep."

Hermione looked down at the pages that had been her pillow. Her handwriting had become a messy scrawl, untidy enough to rival Harry's, and she squinted hard at the page, trying to decipher it. "Mm. Yes. I think…I think I'd figured something out. About the timing of the Lobalug venom." She scrubbed at her eyes, trying to force them to focus better.

"You need a break. I know going on parade for the papparazi isn't exactly one, but it's better than staying down here and forcing yourself to keep going through the night."

"I can't stop, Draco! Saturday's tomorrow and I need every scrap of time before the weekend happens. This is–"

"Important. I agree." Draco placed his hands on her shoulder, steadying her as she swayed on the stool. "But this isn't the only job you've got to do. What you're doing in here can help the dead, but we've got work to do that will help those still living. We still need to maintain appearances. I'm not saying you have to stop for the whole night. Just stop for a proper break. You've been doing this for about nineteen hours by my reckoning. If you want to stay up through the night and work, I will help you with the potions that will enable you to do so. This once." His expression was stern. "However – not before you've had a proper break, a decent amount of food, and a rest. Potions can sustain you, but they aren't infallible. If you want to do a good job, you need to look after yourself first."

Hermione met his eyes, and even through the haze of her exhaustion she could see that he would not be moved on the matter. "I suppose there's some sense in what you say."

"There is. Now come on." Draco helped her up off the stool, and supported her back up the stairs and into the kitchen.

Once there, he sat her down again, putting a tall glass of water in front of her and watching as she drank it all.

"I feel like I naughty child the way you're frowning at me," Hermione muttered.

Draco's stern expression broke, a hint of amusement showing through for a moment. "Well you have been a little remiss. For understandable reasons," he added as Hermione opened her mouth with offence.

"Hm." She turned away and caught sight of her reflection in the copper pots he had hanging above the bench. "Oh Merlin. I know they're not the best mirror, but I really don't look fit for going out. They'll think we've had some sort of dreadful argument or something."

Draco gave her an appraising look. There were dark smudges beneath her eyes, wrinkles of stress and exhaustion gathering around them and between her brows, and her hair was lank from all the steam from the potions. "It'll take a little bit of work, but we can get you looking like normal."

"I didn't know you were that good with makeup." Hermione managed a tired laugh.

Draco rolled his eyes. "We all have to have our secret skills."


Fifteen minutes later, after several charms, some magical makeup, and a potion or two to wake her up, Hermione was dressed and ready for dinner.

In deference to the work and her tiredness, Draco had chosen an expensive Muggle restaurant that was fairly nearby in hopes of reducing the number of reporters they might encounter, and they set out, arm in arm, Hermione leaning a little more heavily on him for support than usual.


Here it is! This chapter had me digging through my copy of the "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" textbook that was released aaages ago, trying to find magical creatures and ingredients that would work for what I had in mind! It was actually really fun, and I enjoyed the research element, although it had me frowning and scratching my head a lot as I was making lists. I definitely felt a bit of kinship with Hermione haha.

Draco is a little bit superfluous in this chapter though, poor guy haha. But I kind of love the dynamic of Hermione - intellectual genius at work, with Draco - also smart but not quite as smart, and just acting as caretaker for her well being. It's a fun thing to play with. And Hermione absolutely needs someone to be that voice of reason making sure she stops when she should and still eats food.

They're getting closer and closer to a cure though! And Sunday looms...

I hope you enjoyed it! :D

Please do review and/or favourite :) Tell me what you like or don't like :) Questions and speculations are always welcome :D As is incomprehensible flailing if that's what you go in for :)

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