Chapter Twelve:
The Look Back by Jack Bartman
January 9th, 2000
Hermione agrees to meet Malfoy at the Leaky Cauldron late that night. After sending a few owls back and forth, she feels a little more at ease about meeting him in a public place.
"Please please please be careful, 'Mione." Ginny's standing in the front hall, wringing her hands together in worry as Hermione puts on her coat. Harry stands next to her, equally nervous but trying not to show it.
"It's a public place and I have my bracelet." She wiggles her wrist in confirmation before slipping her hands into her mittens.
"The second something feels wrong we will be there." Harry looks at her sternly, holding the door open as she slips down the driveway.
Harry and Ginny sat over her shoulder as she wrote the letters. Malfoy was being cryptic and it made them all uncomfortable. They wanted to go with her and wait in the shadows just in case something happened, but Hermione wanted to do this alone.
As terrifying as her encounter had been, as frightened as she was, she knew he was just as scared. She felt his muscles shaking, his hands tensing as he held her wrist tight above her head.
Something is happening, and she needs to get to the bottom of it.
She arrives at the Leaky Cauldron precisely fourteen minutes before their specified meeting time. It's deserted, not a soul in sight this late at night. The bartender stands polishing glasses as she approaches. He recognizes her, she can tell by the way he straightens, but doesn't say anything when she orders.
Taking her butterbeer, she surveys the room, looking for a secluded booth to wait for Malfoy when she notices someone tucked away into a corner.
Malfoy sits in a booth with the hood to his cloak drawn as far over his face as he could. He's wearing leather gloves with silver buckles that match the clip on his throat. His hands rest protectively around a glass as he stares at her with an intensity that makes her want to throw up. She grips her glass tighter, crossing the room and settling into the booth.
She does her best to hold his stare, schooling her features into a carefully bored look as his grey eyes bore into her. Hermione must admit, he chose the perfect spot.
He's facing the bartender with a perfect view of the door. She can just peer out the window behind him to see the street. Hermione takes note that people passing by may think she's drinking alone. Or perhaps all they can see is his elbow, maybe the side of his dragon leather boot.
She takes a sip from her drink, eyes never leaving his as they stare one another down. He doesn't let a single emotion tarnish his face other than a hint of anger from his brows.
"What do you have to say to me?" She startles herself when she speaks, but he doesn't move. Finally, Malfoy leans back into the booth, looking at her down his nose.
"I don't want to talk about it here." She can't help but furrow her brows. It was her idea to meet here, but why would he agree if he isn't going to say anything?
"Then why did you even bother coming? The least you can do is apologise—" He snorts, taking a sip from his glass and levelling her once more.
"Apologise…" he mutters in annoyance. "You should be apologising."
"What on earth are you talking about?" She has to control her volume, she wants nothing more than to scream at him as he keeps his cool.
"If your ministry had an ounce of decency…they would own up to their actions…" He's leaning forward on his elbows, speaking through his teeth. Once more her face contorts in confusion.
"Why did you agree to this if you're going to be difficult?" she spits, leaning into him, matching his energy. His lip twitches in an almost grin, he'd goading her, egging her on. Enticing her.
"Because I knew you'd come, so I could do this." Before she can react, before she can even think, he reaches out and clamps onto her arm. There's a flash and the familiar feeling of apparition. She fights him as they tumble through the dimensions, getting a good right hook and connecting with his jaw.
They land with a terrible crash onto an unforgiving and familiar floor. The black wood of the parquette against her cheek sends her reeling, her heart thundering in her ears as she rolls onto her back. The chandelier, the stone pillars and Malfoy's hulking form on top of her as he lets out a guttural noise, a gentle bruise already blooming on his jaw.
She can't breathe, she kicks, screaming at the top of her lungs, panic flooding, growing and surging into every ounce of her.
She's had so many nightmares of this place, of this room with someone on top of her. A knife to her arm, cold steel and the burn of something sinister oozing. Her blood on the floor. The feeling of being tortured with magic.
The room, this room. How dare he take her here, how dare he think this would be ok, how… is he planning on finishing what his wretched relative started? Oh gods, I'm going to die in this manor, aren't I?
He's grabbing at her as she writhes, saying something to her but she can't see past the fear, the panic, the rage as he grabs her wrists. She's trying to break free, to grab her wand and tap her bracelet. To call for help.
Malfoy's hand clamps harder onto her wrist and she knows he's yelling; she just doesn't know what he's saying. She can't hear what he's saying over the sound of her own wretched screams.
Closing her eyes she thrashes against his grip as he heaves her to a standing position. Pulling her against him and just holding her there. Putting pressure on her entire body, even and consistent pressure.
He holds her like that for what seems like ages, just holding her tightly, applying pressure to her body. His arms wrapped around her frail frame, his right hand gripping her shoulder as she begins to breathe again, can feel her heart stutter, the panic subsiding.
She clenches her fists at her sides as she can feel him loosen his grip. When he finally lets go she steps away clutching at her chest like she's going to rip her own heart out to make it slow.
Hermione can finally hear what he's saying.
"I won't hurt you. I need you. I won't hurt you. I need you." A steady unwavering cadence, over and over and over again. She meets his gaze finally, avoiding looking at the rest of the room, the room, for fear she may break down once more.
"You what?" She keeps her eyes trained to his and sees his eyebrow raise the most minute amount.
"I need your help."
"Y-you need my help?" He gives a nod, holding out a hand when there's a loud bang that sends her diving to the floor once more. She crouches behind a gaudy looking velvet chaise, wand out, ready to defend herself.
"Draconis Lucius Malfoy, how dare you bring her into this room!" Narcissa barks, finger pointed directly at her son. The matriarch storms across the room, her heels clicking against the floor in a domineering manner. Suddenly her and Hermione are eye to eye.
She notices they have the same grey eyes, her and Malfoy… Draconis. Is that his actual first name?
She pushes the thought aside, hoping she can hide the panic on her face.
Hermione doesn't know where to look, eyes darting between Narcissa who's crouched in front of her and Malfoy standing only a few feet away.
Malfoy scrubs his face with one hand. "Granger, where are you living? Is it attached to the Floo Network?" She gives a slow nod. "That doesn't answer my question, where do you live?"
"N-number twelve Grimmauld Place…" He smirks before waving his wand. She watches, dumbfounded as he casts a patronus. It stutters for a moment before blooming into a peacock.
If she wasn't so panicked she would have laughed. His patronus is a perfect replica of that stupid peacock she saw on the grounds at New Years.
"I'll have Granger back before tomorrow morning. I promise no harm will come to her." The peacock vanishes through the fireplace in a great gasp of green flames and Malfoy lays eyes on her once more.
Narcissa is still kneeling in front of her but she's glaring at her son.
"How dare you bring her into this room?" she spits through clenched teeth. "Have I not raised you better than that? I am appalled by your actions. Your lack of thought when bringing Ms. Granger here…" Standing to her full height, she walks towards him in slow even steps. The look that she gives him sends a shiver down Hermione's spine.
Malfoy lets out an audible breath, towering over his mother as she boils with controlled anger.
"Tell me what's going on," Hermione squeaks out, hoarse but with conviction.
"I need your help…" He holds his hand out to her and she feels rather silly hiding from him behind a chaise in his own home. "...please." She's taken back with his use of the word please.
Something terrible must be happening.
She allows him to help her up from behind the chaise and Narcissa looks relieved, "He's already bled all over the carpets." Hermione hears her whisper.
Who's bled on all the carpets?
Malfoy leads her out of the room and into the hallway lined with disapproving portraits, he sneers at them as they pass. He's still gripping her hand tightly as they take a winding staircase hidden behind a bookcase at the end of the hall.
The top of the stairs open to reveal a bedroom with enormous lead glass windows. There's a large wool carpet that covers most of the darkwood floor, the green and gold threads glinting in the light from a fire roaring in the hearth.
Hermione stares in awe for a moment at the luxury within this room. A sumptuous white marble fireplace sits on one wall surrounded by built-in bookshelves. A Victorian style mirror trimmed in gold sits proudly on the mantle.
She imagines what this room must look like in the sunshine. The dark painted walls seem to suck up all the light.
The ceiling is the only light coloured thing in the room.
Painted cream, its generous crown moulding looks like something fit for a castle rather than a home.
Letting go of her hand, he crosses the room in two easy strides to a mahogany four poster bed situated between two matching nightstands.
It takes her a moment to realise there's someone tucked into the bed.
His pale, sweat drenched face is almost devoured by the feather pillows and green velvet coverlet.
Theodore Nott is lying, pale faced and sickly in what could only be Draco Malfoy's bed. She looks between the two of them as a strangled sound escapes her throat.
"Uh-uhm…I-I…" She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what to do. Theodore lets out a ghastly moan of what can only be pain and in an instant Malfoy is wiping sweat from his forehead with a black silk handkerchief.
"I've brought someone to help you…to help us…"
"Us?" The word escapes her throat before she can stop it.
"We need your help Granger." He's levelling her with those cold grey eyes again.
"We?"
"Come over here and let me show you." He sounds impatient, his tone quick as he stands, reaching for her arm and pulling her mere feet away from Theodore.
Upon closer inspection, Narcissa is right, he has bled all over the carpet. But from where?
Hermione stares at his sweat drenched face and painful expression, the very front of his hair whiter than hers. She looks to Malfoy, almost asking for permission before touching Nott's forehead.
He's on fire.
"What's causing his fever?" she whispers, eyes darting around him, checking for signs of sickness, but all she can smell is decay.
Malfoy reaches around her, pulling the covers from Theodore's body and revealing his left arm, or what was his left arm.
Just below the elbow sits a bandaged and bloodied stump, and from what she can see between the bandages, it was not treated well.
She claps both of her hands over her mouth, head snapping to Malfoy.
"I need your help."
