Harmonia Nectere Passus Chapter 3

Draco Malfoy was buckling under pressure by the time the first Hogsmeade weekend rolled around mid-way through October. Albus Dumbledore's presence was noticeably sparse since the beginning of the year and he was growing desperate. The Dark Lord was breathing down his neck, calling on him once or twice each week. Each report of Dumbledore's life being intact brought forth rounds of the Cruciatus Curse and random, scarring hexes from the Dark Lord.

Parkinson tended his wounds the best she knew how, but she was mediocre at healing spells and potion application. Mediocre at best. He was going to be scarred with some of these angry pink and purple lines for the rest of his life. Just one more thing to add to his freakishness—as if the stigmata branded on his arm wasn't enough.

Sitting in front of the Vanishing Cabinet for what felt like his hundredth hour, he'd formulated a plan. It was shaky, at best, even he had to admit. But Draco felt he wouldn't be able to carry out the killing himself, face to face with the ancient wizard. The man had been nothing but kind to Draco and he wasn't so far gone that he had the insatiable blood thirst the other Death Eaters boasted. He needed a different method to kill the old coot.

Draco stepped into Hogsmeade, flanked by his usual cronies. Crabbe and Goyle were stupidly unaware of Draco's task and followed any orders he threw their way, no questions asked. Theodore Nott, however, was not so dim and quick to follow. He'd confronted Draco just that morning:

"Mate, don't take this the wrong way, but you look like shit," Nott said, wrapping his Slytherin scarf around his neck.

Draco scoffed. "It's not like I could possibly sleep."

Theo frowned at him. "If you would only let me know what the task is, I could help you."

The blond shook his head. It was tempting to tell his oldest friend, if nothing more than to have someone else in this world understand the magnitude of the task befallen him. "It is mine and mine alone. I just wish…I wish the Dark Lord wasn't so…demanding. I am trying everything I can to complete this monumental test and he is growing impatient," Draco confided, rubbing his chest where a particularly nasty round of the Cruciatus Curse laced with a slicing spell had left a large 'V' shaped cut.

Theo noticed his hand on his chest and his face softened for his brother. "Malfoy…whatever it is…you just have to do it! Or he's going to kill you."

"I know this, Nott!" Draco spat and instantly felt guilty. "I'm trying."

Theo had pulled him into a brotherly hug, his memories of his life as a Death Eater's son fresh in his mind. He had no idea what his friend's task was, but he knew it was going to kill Draco Malfoy. One way or another.

"In here," Draco said to his two body guards, gesturing at the door of the Three Broomsticks. "You two keep watch and make sure no one else comes in."

He slipped in and found Madam Rosmerta wiping down the tables. She looked up and gave him a surprised smile. "Mr. Malfoy! Alone? I suspect you're in for one of my famous warm butterbeers?"

Her voice was kind and he almost felt bad for what he was going to do. He gave her his most charming Malfoy smile and sat on the barstool at the counter. She moved around back to mix him the warm drink and he pointed his wand at her back. "Madam Rosmerta," he said, knowing the Imperius Curse worked best if first administered with direct eye contact. "I was wondering if you might take a look at something for me."

That weak request was enough to get her attention and she turned around, immediately putting her hands up at the sight of his drawn wand. "Imperio!" Draco watched as Madam Rosmerta's eyes glazed over and she began smiling idiotically. "Oh, young Malfoy! Whatever brings you in today?" she asked as though she couldn't remember him entering moments ago.

"Listen to me, Rosmerta," he retrieved a package from the inner pocket of his robes, "you are to take this package, making absolutely certain you do not unwrap it even a fraction. Bring it into the bathroom and wait for a student—any student will do—to walk in. I want you to Imperius the student and make sure they get this package, wholly wrapped, immediately to Dumbledore. Be sure to speak nothing of the intended recipient to anyone but her and be sure she doesn't divulge the information to anyone else. Do not speak of my being here today to anyone and do not let anyone know that I am the one who gave this to you. Do you understand these commands?" he asked, his heart thrumming.

He had never used an Unforgivable on another human being before and he was surprised at the ease with which she complied, nodding slowly. He pulled an enchanted galleon from his pocket. "You are to keep this galleon on your person at all times. It will grow warm when I have a message for you. You are to do everything I command via this coin. Again, no one is to know of this or that I am the one that gave it to you. Do you understand that command?"

Madam Rosmerta nodded dumbly once more. Draco was satisfied with her compliance and turned to leave swiftly. He stopped with his hand on the door. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he pushed door open, a bell on the handle jingling entirely too merrily.

o-o-o

Hermione was disturbed by the events that had taken place in Hogsmeade that afternoon. Someone had given Katie Bell a cursed necklace. Could it be the same person who had attacked her? What were the odds that two different people wanted to harm two different women, neither of whom spoke to one another?

She felt a sour weight at the pit of her stomach as it rolled and flopped nauseatingly. If she had just been brave enough to come forward, to tell a teacher, she may have been able to prevent this. Perhaps a teacher could have figured out who attacked her. Instead, she'd confided in Malfoy.

She thought of the silvery blond and frowned into her dinner. A brief glance at the Slytherin table showed that he was nowhere to be found. It had been a month since she'd been attacked and a month since he'd spoken some riddle to her in the girl's bathroom. "Oh, and Granger…I take my bath at ten each night." What in the bloody hell did that even mean? Was he warning her not to come around, as the Prefects' bathroom would be occupied each night at that time? Or was he extending her a listening ear, should she ever need to talk? Hermione hadn't been brave enough to find out.

Harry was droning on and on about how the object of her current thoughts was behind the attack on Katie and she was feigning deafness. Since her attack, Hermione found that she was losing patience much more quickly than ever before. Her two friends, one consumed by jealousy and one consumed by stalking a certain slippery snake, were just daft and distracted enough to blame her impatience on the fact that Harry was beating her in Potions. She allowed them that theory, chastising Harry at every opportunity about taking tips from the Half-Blood Prince, though she really didn't care anymore.

What did she care about anymore? Not much, if she were honest. The inane droning of her two male counterparts about the most insignificant topics was near enough to drive her into insanity. Who cared about Quidditch when there was someone hunting women inside the castle? She wished desperately for a place of solace. A person with whom she could speak freely, instead of hiding behind a façade. A person like Draco Malfoy.

When had she started to consider him an ally? When he cleaned the blood from your face and wrapped your wounds tenderly. She'd run over that night time and again in her mind, and she almost convinced herself that it hadn't happened at all. That is until she found the empty vial labeled "Dreamless Sleeping Draught" tucked into her robes pocket. She kept it there and fingered it mindlessly, it's constant presence a quiet reassurance that someone knew the plight she was facing…that, even if only for a brief moment, someone had shown her kindness.

Where was he now? His absence in classes and in the Great Hall at more than half of the meal times was almost as disconcerting as Dumbledore's absences. What was he going through to make him miss classes? He's a Death Eater! Harry's voice had seeped into her brain, a result of the constant mantra Harry hounded her with day in and day out.

Hermione's gaze travelled to the teacher's table and landed on Severus Snape. She shuddered as she remembered having to call upon him a month before, upon finding her wand in the library.

"You were very wise to call on me, Miss Granger," Snape's slow drawl peeled across the still air as he handed Hermione her wand.

"There's nothing wrong with it? No curses?" she asked him, hesitating before taking it.

Snape stared at her, no malice in his features, only stony regard. "If there were, would I be handing it to you now? Killing a student would hardly allow me to keep my position here at Hogwarts."

Hermione frowned and took her vine wood wand from his grasp. "Thank you for checking, Professor."

She rose and Snape pointed back at her chair with a sharp flick of the wrist, indicating that she should sit down once more. "Miss Granger…do you care to tell me how exactly someone else came into possession of your wand?"

"I…I dropped it…in the hall during my patrol Saturday night," she lied.

"I thought Padma Patil was assigned to patrols on Saturdays?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We traded nights. Just the once," she lied again and she knew he could see right through her.

She knew Snape was a known Legilimens and she desperately wished he would keep out of her mind. He sat back in his chair and pursed his lips, his hands clutched in front of him. "Miss Granger, lying to a teacher could be grounds for expulsion. Do you understand?" he asked once more, the malice entering his tone.

She nodded once. "Yes, Professor."

"I know there was a party that night. I caught a few in my own House slinking in well past curfew. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, now would you?" he interrogated.

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. This was about the party? "Professor, do I come off as the kind of person who would attend a party?" she asked haughtily, hoping her reputation as a prudish stickler for the rules would save her.

Snape regarded her silently once more. "You may go now. And do be more careful with your wand—it's the most important appendage you have."

Snape seemed wholly uninterested in his favorite students' constant absence. Hermione wondered if he knew what was going on with the young Slytherin. Malfoy knew her secret and she felt it unfair that she knew so little of him. She decided then that she would take her chances that evening and go to the Prefects' bathroom.

o-o-o

Hermione rose at quarter to ten, leaving her two best friends playing a game of Wizarding chess. "Where you off to, 'Mione?" Ron asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"I fancy a bath…just heading to the Prefects' bathroom," she replied. "Don't wait up."

She stepped out of the portrait hole and walked undetected to her intended destination. "Giddy giddy gumdrops!" she whispered and stepped through the door.

Hermione was just about to call out, as to not startle him or catch him naked, but she stopped in her tracks when she heard him speaking. "I just can't handle the pressure, Myrtle. I feel as though I'm going crazy with the weight of it all."

She furrowed her brow and pressed her back against the stone wall, holding her breath even though there was no way he'd hear her breathe from that distance. She heard a masculine sob and then the unmistakable voice of Moaning Myrtle echoed in the stony bathroom. "Oh, Dra-co! I know it's hard, but you just have to push through!" she said in what Hermione imagined she believed was a flirtatiously soothing voice.

It was at that precise moment that Hermione's nose began to tickle and she let out a sneeze. Even as she tried to muffle the noise, Moaning Myrtle let out a loud squeal. "Oh! A girl!" she said, diving straight into the bathtub to retreat out of sight.

"Who's there?" Malfoy asked and Hermione knew his wand would be drawn.

She put her hands up and stepped out from behind the wall. "It's just me."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes but didn't lower his wand. "Granger? What do you want?" he asked acidly.

Hermione got her first good look at Malfoy in weeks. His face was growing gaunter, somehow more grey in pallor. He had dark rings under his eyes, the silver of his orbs bright inside their violet mask. His cheeks were glistening and tear-stained, though he no longer cried. He was losing weight—his pants were hanging off of his hips, dangerously low and barely held up by a belt. His white dress shirt was still on, though the top buttons were undone and the tail was untucked, hanging from his shoulders raggedly.

Hermione drew her bottom lip between her teeth, drawing her eyes away from his pale face and looking at the stone floor between them. "You—you said you came here each night…"

"Yes. And I do," he said, raising an eyebrow.

Vermilion embarrassment stained her cheeks. She had been wrong about his intention in telling her his usual bath time. He hadn't meant it as an invitation to come and talk. "I'm sorry…I just thought…"

"Just thought what?" he asked, his face hard.

"Nothing, I'm sorry," she said quietly, turning on her heel to haul arse away from him.

He sighed behind her. "Granger, wait."

She stopped just outside of the door, her forehead against the cool wood, her hand clutching the doorknob. So close to escaping the cruel shame that taunted her. Hermione refused to turn around and face him and she heard the soft swish of his pant legs against the floor as he made his way to her. He seemed to hesitate behind her for a moment before she felt a soft hand on her back.

"Hey…I didn't mean to be so rude," he started, speaking to her back.

His hand on her heightened her senses and she placed a hand on where her wand was nestled against her hip. He seemed to notice her defensive stance and dropped his hand and backed up a few paces. "I'm not going to hurt you, Hermione," he said, his voice soft, pained.

She closed her eyes, her forehead still against the door and took a deep breath, breathing in the masculine scent of the forgotten bath water behind them. The citrus undertones made her dizzy—her first recollection from that night. She opened her eyes, panic overtaking her. "Do you always use citrus soaps?" she asked him quietly.

She turned to face him slowly and he looked bewildered. "No. Usually, I prefer sandalwood and leather. But those taps were empty…" he said, a genuine look of confusion on his face as they discussed his bathing habits.

Hermione wasn't breathing, her heart racing in its bony cage. "He smelled like this…like lemon verbena and sage."

Malfoy's mouth dropped open and he stepped once toward her, hesitating to walk father and settled on bouncing twice on his feet. "You remember?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione shook her head. "That smell…it…" she didn't finish her statement, for in that moment she was overcome with an anxious grief and she ran to the nearest loo to retch.

Malfoy waved his hand and the bath drained itself as he followed her into the stall. She dropped to her knees to lean over the toilet, knocking her left patella painfully against the floor. "Here…let me…hold your hair," he said, boxing her into the stall.

He brought his hands around the puffy curls at either side of her face and his fingertips brushing against her skin made a shiver run down her back. She was unsure of whether that shiver was brought on by being touched by a man after what happened to her. He held her hair in a loose grip against her neck and ran another hand soothingly over her shoulders. "That's a good girl…get it all up," he whispered, his voice soft once more.

Hermione wiped her mouth when she was finished and collapsed back on her behind, her back against the side of the stall. Malfoy hovered in the doorway and used wandless magic to start the warm water in the bathtub once again. "Let's go sit by the water," he told her.

Hermione was eyelevel in her slumped position with his thighs and she stared at a piece of fuzz just above his left knee, but made no motion to rise. Malfoy stepped back and she watched his bare feet pad across the floor to the sink. He retrieved a washcloth and ran it under cool water. She watched as he rang the cloth and came back to crouch before her. "Come on, Granger. Sit up," he cajoled.

She eyed the white cloth in his hands and then leaned forward to stand. He offered his hand, which she took. Once she was standing, he lifted his hands up over her head, pulling her shirt collar away from the back of her neck to place the cool cloth there. "Let's go sit by the water," he repeated, jerking his head in the direction of the tub.

She followed him to the tub's edge and watched as he rolled his pant legs up to kiss knees. He stepped to his forgotten school bag and retrieved a bottle of amber liquid before taking his seat on the ground. He put his legs into the warm water and tapped the ground next to him to indicate she should do the same. Hermione hesitated only a moment—she had come to look for him, seeking solace in the one other person (besides her attacker) who knew her secret. She knew he wouldn't pressure her into talking and for that she was grateful.

Hermione sat next to him and sighed. "You shouldn't drink," she chastised half-heartedly.

Malfoy looked over at her as he raised the glass bottle to his lips and took a swig. "Spare me," he said, offering her the bottle.

She looked at it for a moment and brought the decanter to her lips. The alcohol was smooth—certainly not firewhiskey—with a smoky undertone. "Bourbon, from my father's stash," he told her as she took another swig and handed his the bottle, wiping the back of her hand across her lips in the most unladylike fashion.

"You look like shit, Malfoy," she mentioned, wanting desperately to sound like she was teasing but settling more on deadpanned irritation.

He scoffed. "Thanks, Granger. You look almost as bad, by the way," he said, gesturing to her limp curls and loose-fitting uniform.

"Why were you crying when I came in?" she asked quietly.

He stiffened beside her. "How much did you hear?" he asked, his tone now heated and gruff.

She bristled at his sudden mood change but responded slowly. "Just that you feel crazy and like you're buckling under pressure."

Malfoy sighed a long exhale of air and began swinging his feet in the water, lazily bumping his heels against the stone wall of the tub. "I've just got a lot on my plate with my father being…away."

Hermione pursed her lips. A lot of Death Eater things? "You seem like you're unraveling. Whatever it is bothering you, it must be significant."

Malfoy took another swig of bourbon. "It's a lot of responsibility, being a Malfoy," he said and Hermione knew the discussion was closed.

She looked into the bath water's surface, a few bubbles popping as Malfoy's wiggling legs pushed and pulled the water's surface. "You know my darkest secret…but I know so little of you," she told him, her voice mousy and shy.

He looked over at her, his eyebrow quirked in an amused way. "What is it you want to know?"

She stared at him a moment, the sharp angles of his gaunt cheeks and jawline. He had a faint blond shadow of hair on his otherwise milky smooth skin. "Are you a Death Eater?" she tried.

His face fell and he narrowed his eyes. "Granger," he said as a warning.

She smiled a slight upturn of the lips, but the fact that he hadn't denied it didn't escape her. "It was worth a try. Okay, okay. Let's start small…what's your middle name?" she asked.

He looked at her in guarded amusement once more. "Lucius."

She shivered involuntarily at the thought of his father. "Mine's Jean."

He laughed, handing her the decanter. "How very…plain."

She nudged him with her elbow. "And your favorite color?"

"Black," he replied. "But I would bet you thought it would be Slytherin green?"

"You'd probably think mine was Gryffindor red, but it's purple," she countered and he made a "huh" kind of face, as though he'd never given it thought but was interested to now know.

"What would you like to do once you leave here?" she asked him, genuinely curious.

His features darkened and his smile fell once more. "I…I don't give much thought to the future."

"Why not?" she asked him.

"It's not guaranteed. Surely you understand that we're on the cusp of a War, Granger," he countered, looking into her face.

She thought of it for a moment. There was a certain feel in the air this year—an all encompassing crackling of unbridled magic and power. She knew it was a negative energy from the first moment it had made the hair on her arms stand at attention. She nodded once.

"But…if I make it out alive…I suppose I'd want to run an Apothecary," he supplied, trying to lift the mood once more.

Hermione took a sip of the amber liquid and relished the smooth ay it cascaded down her esophagus. "How very noble."

"You don't think I'm nurturing?" he challenged and she laughed.

"Actually…you are pleasantly capable of providing medical care," she replied with a genuine smile as she pulled the cloth from her neck and set it alongside her.

Hermione felt a warmth spreading through her chest and core as the bourbon took hold. Her head felt light and she sighed as her mind screamed at her. Wasn't drinking with a man how she'd ended up so broken in the first place? She looked over at Malfoy, whose cheeks were pink as the alcohol took root in him as well. He seemed to sense her thoughts and he recapped the glass stopper into the bottle, setting it an arm's length away.

He placed his hands behind him and leaned back on his palms, his feet still swaying, causing little ripples to tickle Hermione's ankles. She leaned forward on her knees and watched the water dance. The silence between them was companionable and she felt gratitude toward him that he didn't seem to feel the need to fill empty space with mindless chatter.

She looked over her shoulder at him and he had his eyes closed, his head back so he faced the ceiling. It occurred to her again how utterly exhausted he looked. "You've been missing classes," she said after a few long moments.

"I was unaware you were taking attendance," he replied, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Where do you go?" she asked him.

"Nice try, Hermione," he supplied.

She pursed her lips. "Malfoy…you know. You know."

He opened his eyes and lowered his face to look directly at her, his brow wrinkled and lips turned down at the corners. "Know what?"

Hermione averted her eyes and looked at her thighs, barely peeking out from under her school uniform skirt. "How…what…he took from me…"

Malfoy looked up at the ceiling once more. "You should never have had to go through something like that, Hermione. You should have been free to save that for a man who loves you, is dedicated to you, devoted to you wholly. But," he lowered his gaze to her and she peeked at him in her peripheral, "by no means is it your fault that he decided to take that from you. If a man truly loves you, he will understand without you needing to say a word. Only an awful man undeserving of you would use this against you."

Hermione let a hot tear splash down her cheek and land on her dress shirt. "I don't understand why you're treating me so…human."

Malfoy was quiet a moment. "Because you are human."

"But my blood…it's muddied," she rasped.

He pursed his lips and his feet ceased their movements in the water. "Blood supremacy means nothing, Granger. The Dark Lord himself is a half-blood."

Hermione was surprised at this admission, catching the term he used for Voldemort. Malfoy pressed on. "It's about power and money with them. If you—a Muggle-born—walked in front of him and offered him something he deemed worthy, he'd accept you into his inner sanctum in a heartbeat, and the others are too trained to blindly follow him to question anything."

"How do you know this?" she questioned.

"My father was a Death Eater my whole life…even if it was careful hidden from the public's eye during the Dark Lord's hiatus," he shrugged, but something in his eyes flashed that told Hermione that he was telling half-truths.

"If you don't buy into that whole Pureblood supremacy ideology, then why call me a Mudblood all this time?" she asked, looking at her lap once more.

He was still and she was unsure of whether or not he was even breathing.

"Sometimes we have to do things that we're not proud of or have any desire to do."

o-o-o