A/N: Thanks so much for your continued support. Extra special thanks to my alpha reader: LaDeeDaa and my beta reader: astrangefan without whom i could not write.
Hermione's Weed Dealer
Hermione's mind raced and she paced the floor in front of her bed filled with a kind of nervous energy - sometimes talking to herself - and biting her thumbnail in the way she'd done since she was a child when her mind was going in too many different directions at once.
Not only was there a link between the marks, but clearly the Dark Energy ebbing and flowing by the Forbidden Forest - the one with Voldemort's unique magical signature - was linked to it as well. She knew she was jumping to conclusions to some extent. It would take several laborious tests to actually prove that connection. But, at the moment - with Malfoy and Nott in her house, suffering level eight or higher pain on a regular basis - she had to operate on her assumptions and test them later.
She looked over her list of things to do and made clarifications:
-Find out what the oath was the Death Eaters took
-Find out if the ritual changed at all from the last generation to the current generation
-Send urgent OWLs to Ministries in France and Norway, as well as the MACUSA about the Marked Death Eaters in their custody (one of them being under the age of 30, meaning he was Marked after Voldemort's return)
-Learn Parseltongue (Harry?)
-Research spells to remove magic
-Research Potions to numb body parts
-Acquire a Pensieve to review the Mark ritual (Rilla bringing soon)
-Run a magic diagnostic test on Malfoy and Nott to see if their magic is weakening (Varies by the day, very unstable)
-Find out how the Mark worked and where and how Voldemort utilised it - its purpose.
-Trip to Hogwarts to run more tests and measurements
-Find cannabis
Well, at least she could try to mark off the last thing immediately. She walked out of the room, down the stairs, and into her father's office where the working landline was located. She disconnected it from the computer and reconnected it to the ancient rotary phone he had on the corner of his desk. She picked up the receiver and heard the dial tone.
Thank Merlin.
She really needed to write a thank you note to the inept utility systems for leaving an unpaid landline connected for more than five years. She quickly dialed the number she, thankfully, still remembered from years prior.
Bless that eidetic memory.
After she and Ron had decided that the sex had been a nice distraction but was now over - thank you very much - she'd scratched the itch with a few Muggle men. It was such an absolute nightmare to date in the Wizarding World as The Hermione Granger. While people seemed to have forgotten her accomplishments in the war, they were unnaturally obsessed with who she might be bedding. Sticking to Muggle men - at least as long as she wasn't interested in anything serious enough to be interviewed by Rita Skeeter about it - was the wise course of action.
One of the men she dated/shagged regularly was quite a successful entrepreneur - if you could call slinging copious amounts of weed from his downtown flat a legitimate business. It was just early enough that he might still be awake.
"Hullo," a slow, familiar voice answered the other end of the phone. Hermione nearly fell into her dad's desk chair with relief.
"Urm, hi," she said, awkwardly, "Charles?"
"Hermione?" she was somewhat surprised he recognized her voice after all this time.
"Uh, Yes," she said, clearing her throat. "It's Hermione. I have a favour to ask," she rushed on. She absolutely did not want to have to make small talk in what was bound to be a very awkward conversation in the first place.
"Come on over," he said, his voice taking on that husky tone that made her wiggle in her seat. It had been such a long time since she'd last been properly shagged. "Still the same flat."
"Oh, no," she blushed when she realised he thought she was calling for a romp in the sack. "I was actually wondering if you are still selling."
There was a long pause. "Hermione? Hermione Granger?" he seemed to wonder if he'd somehow been talking to another Hermione - as if he knew anyone else with that name.
She laughed, realising that the question probably was the last thing he'd been expecting. Or, at least the last thing he'd been expecting after an early morning call from a woman he hadn't seen in two years.
She'd shared a spliff with him on one occasion and it hadn't been to her liking. Asking for him to sell her weed definitely fell into Twilight Zone territory.
"Yes, it's me, Charles. Do you still sell?"
"Yes, of course," he said. "What do you need?"
She'd not done enough research to be precise but she knew she wanted the strongest she could get. "Whatever's most expensive," she said. "I can pick it up this afternoon."
There was another long pause and Hermione could almost hear Charles' brain clicking as he tried to compute this five am call with a woman he used to hook up with ages ago - a woman he knew very well did not smoke weed - asking him for his most expensive pot.
"It's for my boyfriend," she said, hurriedly. This would not only make for a fine excuse, but it would explain why she didn't want to pick up the weed and a quick shag at the same time. "Posh bastard, really," she smiled as she thought about Malfoy and how it perfectly described him in another life.
"Oh, well then," said Charles, sounding somewhat disappointed. "I'll make sure his weed is fit for the Queen."
Hermione laughed. "Thanks, Charles. When should I stop by?"
"Now is fine. I'm about to hit the sack."
"Great. I'll see you soon."
Hermione felt significantly better once she was back at her parents' house. Charles absolutely did still want to fuck, but he didn't push the issue, After she secured a quarter ounce of cannabis - something he called White Widow which he assured would have a sedating effect - she left as quickly as she came. She hoped she wouldn't have to buy more.
She quickly made her way up to the room Theo and Malfoy were sharing. They were still passed out from the sleeping potion, but their temperatures were back to normal, and she anticipated they'd wake naturally within an hour or two. She took the downtime to remind Rilla about the pensieve, send a note off to Harry about whether he thought he could still remember Parseltongue, and to Headmistress McGonagall telling her that she would just pick up the books she requested tomorrow because she'd need to go to Hogwarts personally.
That sorted, she started breakfast. Malfoy was a fine cook - or had excellent beginner's luck - but she was no slouch at toasting bread. She managed not to burn it at all! Carrying her gourmet meal upstairs - along with portions for Theo and Malfoy as well - she placed their plates on the tables on the side of each of their beds and then went back to her own room to shower and change.
By the time she got out, Harry had already written her back.
I don't know it so much as I can understand and speak it and don't know how. It's like, if I hear Parseltongue, I know what's being said. And if I want to speak Parseltongue it just comes out. I don't have an English to Parseltongue dictionary sitting in my brain or anything.
Why? Are you okay, Hermione? The only known Parselmouths in the last 50 years have been me and Voldemort. Have you found another?
Harry.
Hermione pursed her lips. Harry was too damn curious for his own good. She'd have to stave off that curiosity or talk to Rilla about letting the DMLE in on what it was they were doing. She knew her best friend well enough to know that he could be tenacious when he got too curious - and if he thought she was in some kind of danger, he'd be unbearable.
McGonagall, too, sent her reply while she was reading Harry's.
Ms. Granger,
It will be lovely to see you tomorrow. I'll arrange tea. Madam Pince is delighted to help you find the books you need.
M. McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
She realised, then, that she could hear Nott and Malfoy talking down the hall. It was always a relief when they woke from the Sleeping Draught no worse for wear. Looking over her to-do list, she decided it was time to talk about The Mark's purpose and function - at least while Voldemort was still alive.
She wondered how much she should share with them about the connections she'd made. Technically, she wasn't sure she was supposed to. On the other hand, they knew what her work involved, and if anyone would have insights to help her it would be two people who actually bore The Mark, right?
She was just about to enter the room when she heard her name on Malfoy's lips and stopped.
Eavesdropping is rude, Hermione.
Oh, shove it.
"...so bloody obsessed that we not become addicted to potions. Just knock me out for the next month until you figure it out. I don't care." Malfoy's tone was irritable.
"Draco, you know she can't do that," Theo reasoned. "She still thinks she can save us."
"Fucking Gryffindors," Malfoy snarled. "They'd kill everyone in the room in the name of saving them."
There was a long silence, but Hermione's feet felt stuck to the floor. She barely breathed as she waited for one of them to speak again.
"Maybe she can save us," Theo finally said. There was enough hope behind his voice to break Hermione's heart. If she failed, it would destroy her, and she knew that in her soul. How had she grown so invested in their freedom so quickly? For Theo, the answer was easier. He was a victim - completely. He was born into the wrong family, with the wrong father, and he was paying for it with his life. Malfoy though…
She'd never been particularly vindictive - with the exception of blackmailing Rita Skeeter her Fourth Year at Hogwarts - but she had not lost a great deal of sleep about Draco Malfoy's incarceration until she'd been faced with the realities of what it meant for him.
"There is no us," Malfoy said, vehemently, bringing her attention back to the conversation the two men were heatedly having. "You. I just need her to save you. You didn't ask for this. You were forced into it. I made my choice years ago, and I'm prepared to…" he didn't finish his sentence. 'But you…'
"You didn't choose either, Draco." Theo's response was harsh and agitated. Hermione had never heard him so much as annoyed, but he seemed angry now. "Okay, so your father didn't beat you and hex you to within inches of death. They were going to kill - or do Merlin knows what else to - your mother. They would have killed you too if you hadn't agreed. You had no more choice than I did."
Malfoy huffed. "Granger - she'll never. There is too much history between us. And I'd never allow it, anyway. You don't do the things I've done and walk away, Theo."
Hermione felt tears on her cheeks. She hadn't even realised she'd begun to cry. Hadn't she literally thought the exact same thing only a handful of days ago? She sucked in a deep breath and wiped the tears off her face, counting to ten as Theo said something else she couldn't make out.
"Morning," she greeted, walking in with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
They both looked at her with wide eyes, as if they worried they'd been overheard. She made no indication she'd heard a thing, though, as she pulled out her notebook and asked them about their level of pain.
"Four," Malfoy indicated, still looking as if he was trying to decipher just how much of his conversation she'd heard.
"Five," Nott said, sitting up in his bed straighter.
"Do either of you remember what happened last night?" Hermione asked.
Nott shook his head, but Malfoy's eyes bore into her as he said, "We were talking and then - there was pain, and you were there, holding me down." It wasn't an accusation. There was a curious tone to the edge of his voice - almost as if he was still struggling to get used to the idea that she actually was caring for him - even if it was just for her job.
Hermione just nodded. "You indicated a pain level of ten. Both of you started convulsing. I had to have Padma here to help sedate you both."
"More of the evil potion, I assume," Malfoy drawled sarcastically.
"Unfortunately," Hermione replied, not rising to his bait. She was already well aware that he didn't understand her rationale for protecting him from overexposure. It didn't change her mind about it one bit.
"I've made toast," she said, indicating the now-cold plates she'd set aside for them. "If you are up for it, there are some rather important things I'd like to discuss with you both."
"Thanks," Theo said, saluting with the toast as he took a large bite. Malfoy said nothing but scarfed down his two pieces in four total bites.
"It's probably time you both bathed first, though," she said absently.
"Do we stink, Granger?" Malfoy asked, but his tone was light and there was a playful smile at the edge of his lips.
"Hardly," she said with a light laugh. "But it's been a number of days. Besides, I'm sure Theo would love to bathe without an audience this time."
"Too right," Nott supplied. "And also, without attacking my gracious host." Hermione rubbed her neck absently and nodded.
"I've also spelled a razor and some scissors in the bathroom cabinet. This way, if you want to shave or cut the mats out of your hair," she looked at Malfoy pointedly, "you can do so, but you can't harm yourself with these items."
She'd agnozied over this decision, actually. She didn't want them to think she didn't trust them, but she also wasn't sure enough of their mental state to not worry they'd harm themselves.
"If you are so keen to cut my hair, Granger, just say so," Malfoy said with a shrug. Hermione's heart sped up. She knew that as casual as that sounded, Malfoy had just opened up a little trust between them. Only days ago, even the suggestion of touching his hair had sent him into name calling. Now, he was essentially offering it up if she was brave enough to take the opportunity.
"Theo, why don't you go first. I'll take care of Malfoy's hair while you wash up." She pointed to the dresser nearest her overstuffed bookcase. "You know where the extra clothes are. Towels are in the bathroom closet."
Theo nodded and followed her to the bathroom where she took out the spelled scissors, a hand mirror, and left him to bathe.
When she got back to the room, Malfoy looked nervous. His fingers were playing with the edge of his blanket as they often did when he was either nervous or about to talk about something deeply personal. She wondered if his nerves were really about his hair or about letting himself be even the slightest bit vulnerable to someone else - least of all her.
Every other time he'd been vulnerable in front of her, it had been because the pain overrode his self-preservation. But here he was, pain level four, about to let her cut his hair - something that, at one time, had been very precious to him. She assumed the desire to maintain an attractive hairstyle had died in him somewhere about the time he stopped receiving regular bathing, but it was his hair - and they were hardly friends.
"I don't actually have to take much off. The bath unmatted some of them," she said, coming closer to his bed.
She noticed his eyes had landed on her splinted finger, a question in his eyes.
"Oh," she said. "It broke last night. But Padma's got me all patched up. I can actually take this off now." She unwrapped the splint and tossed it back onto the desk.
"Broke?" He repeated. "How?"
She flushed. She didn't know why she didn't want to tell him that he'd been the one to break it, but she didn't. The last thing she wanted was for him to blame himself for something that he literally had no control over. "It was nothing," she said. "When I tried to roll you over while you were convulsing - it wasn't a big deal."
He nodded mechanically, but she could see him visibly swallow and there was a long, tense moment of silence between them before he changed the subject. "Where should I…"
Hermione pulled her desk chair out from the desk and slapped her hand on the back of it. "Here's fine," she said. She watched as he gracefully removed himself from his bed and sat in the desk chair in front of her. He was very tall. So tall that even seated his head nearly reached her chin.
His hair was long - longer than Theo's. While Theo had a mess of what always seemed to be perfectly tousled curls framing his face, Malfoy's hair was straight, just past his shoulders, and the shampoo she'd provided had restored some of the sheen she remembered from their Hogwarts days. It was beautiful, honestly - even with the mats from lack of basic care.
"Um," she started, suddenly feeling nervous. "I can cut them out with the scissors, then I can cut some length off - if you want. It's up to you."
She was suddenly incredibly aware of his closeness and size. His shoulders were broad, though he was still clearly underweight. She imagined that if he had proper nutrition and exercise, he would have been incredibly fit. The act of cutting his hair felt intimate, and she tried to ignore the way her heart stuttered in her chest as she ran her hand through it. She felt him shiver under her touch.
"I did the boys in the tent all the time," she said absently, but when she heard what she'd said, she immediately slapped her hand over her offending mouth.
Bloody hell, Hermione. That sounded pornographic.
Malfoy's shoulders rose and fell with barely restrained laughter. "I'll bet you did," he teased, and she swatted him on the back.
"Their hair," she clarified. "I discovered a spell to do just about any cut you could possibly want. Actually, Ginny taught me."
"I prefer it shorter in the back and longer on top," he said. "But it really makes no difference." His tone had gone back to morose, and she was having none of it. What made him feel good was exactly what he would get.
She knew the kind of cut he meant. She'd dated a guy - Benjamin - who'd had a similar style, though his hair had been jet black - the opposite of Malfoy's nearly pure white tresses. She recalled how her stomach clenched when Ben used to flick his hair to one side or the other, or when it would hang into his eyes as he…
Moving right along.
Her cheeks flushed and she decided to focus on the task before her. She made quick work of the mats, cutting them out one by one before setting down the scissors and pulling out her wand. Cutting hair by charm took concentration. She had to envision exactly what she wanted while casting the charm. She couldn't do that from the back. She had to see just how the cut would lay on him from the front.
She moved around the chair, placing both hands on either side of his face. He flinched momentarily, his eyes darting up to hers. There was an unreadable emotion there, but she decided to ignore it, even as his eyes slid down to her mouth as she bit her lip.
She straightened his face level so that she wouldn't get the cut crooked and took a moment to envision the way she wanted it.
"Capillio mutatius," she breathed, her face so close to his she could feel how her breath puffed against his skin and rebounded back to hers. The hair started to drop off exactly where she wanted it to, until the style she'd imagined - close, well maintained in the back, longer and wilder in the front became a reality. It hung haphazardly over his forehead and left eye.
The effect was - attractive. She hated to admit it. She felt wrong about even thinking it, but this look was perfectly suited for Malfoy's paradoxical nature - the aristocrat and the dangerous felon. She was contemplating his new look when she realised she was still inches away from his face. She moved back quickly, reaching around him for the mirror she'd brought from the bathroom.
"How is that?" she asked, composing herself.
His usually grey eyes looked darker now, his pupils wide as the irises had taken on a gunmetal hue. For what seemed like an eternity he looked at her before his eyes shifted to where she was holding the mirror.
He tousled his hair with his long fingers seeing how it lay before nodding his approval. Hermione squeezed her thighs together as if warding off the arousal the simple act filled her with.
Have you lost your bloody mind, Hermione? It's a haircut. He didn't become a new person.
"I need a shave," he admitted, his hand coming up to feel the beard he'd grown over five years. It wasn't long, but it was full enough to cover the lower half of his face. He whipped his hair in one direction, then the other. "Not bad, Granger," he finally said, a smile at the corner of his lips as he looked at himself.
Hermione felt unreasonably pleased with herself. He liked it. The once vain boy had regained some of his swagger. The problem was that swagger came with a whole mess of unbidden attraction that she absolutely did not want or need.
She'd been cooped up with two attractive men for too long without a shag. It was as simple as that. Never before had she felt like this about Draco Malfoy. Even when she could admit he was a good-looking bloke, attraction was never on the table. He was Malfoy. His attitude alone could turn any woman's vagina into the Sahara.
Doesn't feel like the Sahara down there now, does it?
Oh, fuck off.
She quickly made her exit from the room, taking the scissors and the mirror back to her own and shutting the door. Fuck.
After a few moments, Hermione had rationalised this was absolutely not a big deal. He was attractive. Okay? And? Loads of men and women were attractive. If she weren't so stressed and so far removed from her last shag, she absolutely would not have wet her knickers over Malfoy's new haircut.
Merlin, the way he flipped his hair was criminal.
No. Nope. We are not doing this.
Hermione decided that was the last time she was going to think about his perfect fucking hair, his pouty damn lips, or the way his shoulders were about three times broader when she stood behind him than she'd realized in his current 'constantly hunched over' posture.
She needed to get laid. Perhaps it was time to let Parvati set her up with someone. The other woman had been hounding her about it for positively ages. Until then, she'd just have to practise some self-control.
After they'd bathed and were fully shaved - a thing Hermione absolutely did not notice only made Malfoy's new haircut look even more attractive - Theo suggested they go out to the garden again. Feeling low levels of pain, he'd wanted Malfoy to experience the fresh air too.
"Perhaps it will cheer you up," Theo said.
"I shall dance a jig," Malfoy drawled.
But Hermione did notice how his eyes closed, his nostrils flared, and he seemed to savour the moment he crossed the threshold from the back door in the kitchen into the back deck.
She motioned around the corner of the house to where her parents had always kept a nice outdoor dining set and scourgified it clean. Both men were wearing knit trousers with thermal, long-sleeved shirts, but it was pretty cold outside. Having no coats for them - yet - she cast a warming charm around all three of them.
"I'll let you guys enjoy the outdoors," Hermione promised, "but I do need to ask you a bit more about The Mark."
Theo nodded, Malfoy just sat there.
"Once you had The Mark, what was its primary purpose? We'd always assumed it was a means to be called to Voldemort." They both flinched.
"Like that," she said, pointing at the two of them with her finger. "You just flinched when I mentioned his name, is that due to The Mark?"
"No," Malfoy said. "Not exactly. I can't speak for Theo, but the pain is more psychological. I felt it even before I was Marked. There is so much within the Death Eater culture that reinforces that he must be called The Dark Lord. When you say his name without respect - it's like waiting for punishment to come down. It's conditioning." He looked up at her, his eyes asking if she understood what he meant. She nodded.
"Would you agree with that assessment, Theo?" she asked the dark haired man.
"Yes. Conditioning is a good word. My father," he swallowed hard. Malfoy placed a comforting hand on Theo's, and Hermione waited for him to go on.
"My father would beat me if I called him 'You-know-who'," he explained with an infinitesimal wince. "The Dark Lord is all we were ever allowed to call him. When people would slip, they'd be punished. I know he is gone. I know that nothing can happen to me if I say his name - and certainly not if you say it - but the conditioning runs so deep."
"Would it be better if I called him 'The Dark Lord'?" Hermione asked.
Theo let out a long breath before nodding. She turned her attention back to Malfoy. He was looking at her, again, with that unreadable expression. It was as if he were trying to read her mind - but of course, he wasn't a legilimens, nor did he have enough magic at the moment to perform even if he was.
"That's fine," she said. "It will take some getting used to, but I don't have a problem calling him whatever makes you comfortable."
Malfoy scoffed then.
"Draco…" Theo warned, and that was enough to keep Malfoy's mouth shut about whatever it was he wanted to say.
"Okay, so back to the original question. What did The Mark actually do? We have a lot of ideas, testimony, Snape's Mark was heavily researched by Dumbledore. We know it was used to call The Dark Lord to you or to call you to The Dark Lord. Did it do anything else?"
"In my experience, those were the only functions I ever experienced," Theo said. "I was called a handful of times. I never called him but was informed that I could."
"I have been thinking about this," Malfoy said, his tone measured as if he'd been trying to plan his next words for a little while. "I was often called by The Dark Lord as I was the stand-in for my father for so long, and since he lived in my house for much of the Second War. I also recall being asked to call him to us the night…" he stopped then, looking up at her again with his piercing grey eyes.
It's over. Bellatrix is dead.
"The night I was tortured," she supplied. She tried desperately to remain unaffected, to keep her tone professional, but there was a slight crack when she spoke the word 'tortured'. He gave a short nod.
"I didn't call him. In the end, it was going to be my father who called before the lot of you escaped. That's the only time I was ever put in the position to call him. However, the night I brought the Death Eaters into the school, it was my Mark that sent the message to them to begin assembling in the Vanishing Cabinet. The Marks are linked somehow."
Hermione nodded. "Yes," she said. "Last night when the two of you had your episode, all the other Marked Death Eaters had similar episodes."
Theo and Malfoy looked at each other, shocked. "That's never…but how?" Theo finally asked.
Hermione thought about how to explain everything she knew. She did not want them to panic, but given their obvious fear of Voldemort, nothing about what was happening would make them feel better about the situation.
She put her notebook and pen down and took a deep breath. "This is everything I know," she began. "I want to tell you everything because I believe that the three of us working together is the best way to figure this out and end it."
She took out Neville's note from inside her notebook and pushed it toward them. "For some months, there has been a Dark Energy that has been observed at Hogwarts - it's not far from the Forbidden Forest entrance. After running tests, calculating the arithmancy, and analysing the data the Energy has a magical signature indistinguishable from The Dark Lord's."
Theo and Malfoy both looked up from the paper she'd shown them, eyebrows nearly at their hairlines. "I had planned to put off that case until we figured out what was happening with The Dark Mark - considering the level of pain you were in and the mental degradation of some of the older Death Eaters. However, last night the entire scope of this case changed."
Theo looked as if he might lose his breakfast, and Malfoy's fists were clenched, but they both remained silent as she continued. "When you both seized - and the other Death Eaters experienced the rush of pain - at that same moment the Dark Energy pulsated. It was only for a moment, but the timing and context are too coincidental not to consider a link."
"So, you think The Dark Lord has somehow remained behind and he's trying to initiate the Magic of the Mark," it was Malfoy who spoke, and it wasn't a question.
That was exactly what she thought. But she didn't have enough evidence to confidently state it. "I need to do more research," she said. "The Dark Lord is dead."
"He's been dead before," Malfoy pointed out, his voice sounding strangled.
"We destroyed the Horcruxes," Hermione tried again.
"So you assume," Malfoy countered.
"Wait," Theo said, moving his hand from Malfoys and shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. "If The Dark Lord were still alive, we'd know. We all felt it when Longbottom killed Nagini. We felt The Mark burn when The Dark Lord was killed by Potter. Why, after five years, is it reactivated? None of this makes sense."
"I know," Hermione agreed. "It doesn't make sense. Which is why I'll have to go to Hogwarts tomorrow to investigate."
Malfoy stood up suddenly, taking the chair he was sitting in and heaving it across the lawn. "FUCK!" he cried, running his hands through his hair. "I can't do this again." His voice was broken and Hermione thought he might actually cry. She had no idea what to do. She hadn't thought this far in advance. She knew this would be scary, but she hadn't taken into account their frayed mental state. Malfoy had been holding on for days, but he looked like he was about to crack.
"I'm sorry," she said uselessly. "I should have…I shouldn't have blurted it all out like that. I'm going to fix this. We will find a way to turn off the link in The Mark, and we will destroy the Dark Energy at Hogwarts. I swear it." She went to touch Malfoy's shoulder, but he shook her off.
Theo went to him instead, "Draco, please don't shut down. You have to help us," he was pleading, and Hermione could tell Theo was just as scared as Malfoy was, but he was trying desperately to hold in his emotions so that Malfoy didn't become untethered. It was painful to watch them both. Had they not both been through enough yet?
"I can't do it again, Theo. I can't," Malfoy was beginning to panic now. She noticed the signs - he had the same tells she did.
Hermione moved into action quickly. She ran back into the house for a glass of water. When she got back out to the side patio, Theo had Malfoy sitting in the chair he'd abandoned, leaning over with his head between his knees.
His breaths were coming out in ragged pants as he gripped the material of his pants for dear life. Theo tried to move him to sit up, but Hermione shook her head.
"No," she instructed. "Leave him. He's trying to catch his breath. Rub down his back with a firm pressure, slowly. Keep him grounded."
She set the glass of water on the table next to Malfoy and knelt down in front of him, placing her hands on his knees. "Malfoy," she said gently.
"Draco," she amended, her tone soothing. "You are safe. Breathe." she moved her hands to his shoulders where she pressed gently against the soft cotton of his shirt. "In. Out." she felt his chest try to meet her words and knew he was trying to obey. "Come on, Draco. We can't both be having panic attacks every day. Breathe with me. In, through the nose. Out, through the mouth."
He tried, she could tell, but his breath was still shaky. She pushed up on his shoulder to sit him up now that his breath was more manageable. Theo helped pull him back so he sat upright in the chair, and Hermione's eyes locked on Malfoy's. "In," she said, breathing deeply through her nose to show him. 'Out,' she blew out her breath slowly. He tried to match her, his grey eyes focused.
"Good," she cooed as his breath began to slow. "Here, drink this," she picked up the glass. "Can you hold it?" He nodded jerkily and took the glass in his hand. He took a huge gulp.
"Sip," she reminded him softly. "Sip it."
He did as she bade, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to come down from the attack.
"There," she said with a warm smile. "That's better."
"Draco, I swear I'm not going to let you fall prey to The Dark Lord again. I don't care what I have to do - send you to the bloody moon if need be," she promised.
"And what about this?" he asked, extending his left arm to expose The Dark Mark, its skull rippling against his pale skin, black veins seeming to move like smoke underneath.
"We'll have to fight it," Theo supplied. "We have to fight it until Hermione can cut the connection."
"I will find a way," Hermione insisted. "There has to be a way."
Draco looked unconvinced but he gave a shaky nod before finishing his glass of water.