Harmonia Nectere Passus Ch. 6
Draco turned the charmed coin over in his hand. He'd just finished getting word to the Imperiused Madam Rosmerta that he was in need of poisoned mead to be sent to Slughorn, intended as an eventual Christmas gift for Dumbledore. He was growing weaker with each time he faced the Dark Lord, the torture more than he could endure at times. His last visit had earned him a deep gash to the thigh and a nasty limp.
At breakfast the week after his pact with Granger, he watched as she played with her porridge. She stirred it absently and even her friends were looking worried at her current state. Potter was seemingly questioning her with a worried face, shooting him a death glare regularly as he surely blamed Granger's weakened state on some horrible Death Eater plot to 'kill the Mudblood.' Draco rolled his eyes at the thought and after Potter turned to Weasley, she finally looked up at him.
He held up two fingers—he wanted her to eat just two bites. She pursed her lips but brought a heart spoonful to her mouth and mulled it around a bit before swallowing. Then she repeated, finishing with a grimace. He pointed to the strawberries on the table before him and held up a single finger. Granger plucked a strawberry from the bowl and swallowed it in three small bites. He pointed to his goblet and she shook her head. He raised an eyebrow and gave her a single nod, urging her on. She brought her goblet of pumpkin juice to her mouth and swallowed it all slowly as he watched from over his own porridge, glancing around to make sure none of the other Slytherins were paying him any mind. She tilted the goblet toward him to show she'd finished. He gave her a slight upturn of the lips and she stood to leave.
She'd given him a vial of Dreamless Draught the night before and for the first time in months, he felt well rested. The rings under his eyes had lightened from violet to maroon. If he could get her to slowly pick up eating again, she'd look a lot better, too.
At lunch, she took to the library most days, brushing off the other two. On the days when he wasn't holed up in the Room of Hidden Things, he lurked close by her. There was something there he couldn't explain, but even her presence seemed to put him at ease. He found an equal in her and her broken pieces seemed to fit with his broken pieces like the most brilliant mosaic. He nearly mourned the years he'd wasted not having her close by.
He split his lunch period today, spending the first half in the Room of Hidden Things, trying to send an apple to Borgin. Harmonia nectere passus rang through his head most days like a mantra, an itch he could never scratch coating the surface of his brain. When the apple had not been bitten into, he grabbed it angrily and tossed it into the room, knocking down a tall stack of books, a gaudy tiara of sorts clanging from atop and sliding behind an old owl cage.
He stalked to the library for the second half of the lunch period, not hungry in the slightest. Granger was sitting in the back corner of the library by the window, her Arithmancy homework spread across the table before her. Her skin, still sallow and a sickly grey pallor, was looking only slightly better. The pink of her lips was slowly returning. There were a few Hufflepuffs huddling in the opposite corner, pouring over a bubbling cauldron. He glanced in their direction and then he walked close to her desk. He retrieved another apple from his bag and set it in front of her, dragging one finger over her bare arm as he stalked away. Just try to eat one bite. She knew his intentions by now. He went into a row of textbooks and could hear the unmistakable crispy crunch of someone taking the bite of an apple. Good girl.
o-o-o
That night, they walked without speaking to the greenhouse. It wasn't quite silent—there was a light dusting of snow crunching under their boots and a harsh wind around them. Neither casted a warming charm—the dismal air complimented the chill in their empty chests.
When they got in to the greenhouse, he noticed Granger didn't immediately strip down in the warm tropical air. Instead she sat down, with her back against the raised gardens and drew her legs into herself. He placed his cloak on a stool, eyeing her warily.
"What's the matter, Granger?" he asked, reaching into his school bag and brining out a small tea saucer sized plate of food he'd knicked at dinner.
"Slughorn's having a Christmas Party. He wants us to bring a date," she commented dryly.
Draco had his back turned as he folded his scarf to place on top of his cloak. He turned quickly, knocking the stool with his hip and knocking his clothing to the floor. "What?"
He couldn't explain the way his heart was suddenly burning. He took a deep breath and tried to rationalize that the vice clenching his ribcage was because of empathy for her situation. "Okay, well take either Potter or Weasley. At least then you know you'll be safe," he said, the vice tightening slightly.
When he said Weasley's name, the way she pursed her lips and sighed didn't escape him. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."
"I'm sure that redheaded git would be more than happy to have such a lovely date," he commented, plucking his fallen items from the floor. "I've never seen anyone else give him the time of day."
"Ron's a good man. Please don't speak so poorly of him," she said, her voice caught in her throat.
Draco grimaced and retrieved the plate of food once more, turning and going to sit next to her. "You fancy him."
Granger watched as he unwrapped the plate, still hot with a stasis charm placed on it. "I did."
Draco didn't need to ask what changed. He knew. "Granger. What happened wasn't your fault. You have nothing to be ashamed of."
"Then why do I feel such endless shame and guilt? Why is it I can't seem to scrub away this dirty feeling?" she asked, placing her head back against the wood with her eyes closed.
He saw a single tear slide from her eye and he reached over and hesitated for a single beat of his heart before his thumb brushed it away. She winced at the contact and lifted her face to look at him. Draco bit his lip as he stared into her once fiery eyes, now dull and lifeless. "If someone had simply mugged you in the hall, stole your school bag, would you feel shamed? Or would you be justifiably angry and vengeful? And perhaps more careful?"
She raised an eyebrow. "But it wasn't just my school bag stolen from me, Draco."
He gave a single nod. "I understand this. But what happened to you was no more your fault than a mugging would have been. I can't say I understand what you're going through, because…I can't. But I can guess that you feel violated—dirty. And I wish I could give you an answer on when that feeling will expire…But shameful and guilty?"
He reached over and lifted her chin from where her head had dropped to look at his knees. "You shouldn't feel those two particular emotions. Those two are what your attacker should feel."
Draco held up three fingers. "Three bites."
"I'm not hungry."
"I know. But you need this. Eat," he said, waving his wand in the direction of the first row of plants.
Weeds began plucking themselves out of the soil as he put his head back against the wood and listened to the soft sounds of her chewing. When she'd finished he waved his hand and the remaining food disappeared. "Let's get—"
Suddenly there was an explosive fire in his left forearm. Fuck, not now. He fought the yelp that threatened to fall from his lips and put a hand over his arm. The Mark still hadn't healed and every time the Dark Lord called to him, the wounds opened and blood trickled forth. He only ever called him on Fridays—when Draco would wrap his arm in layers of bandages. So what does he want with me on a Thursday? Fuck. The meetings were never long, but they left impressions that affected him all week.
Granger was on her feet faster than he thought she would have been able to think she could move in her weakened state. He rushed to his cloak, fighting to hide the blood staining his white shirt. Granger was next to him. "What's going on? Why are you bleeding?"
He could see the outline of the snake protruding from the skull's mouth, etched in crimson before spreading out like a drop of blood snakes through water before diffusing. He tried to hide the blot spreading across his arm, the blood trickling and dripping down his wrist, between his fingers.
Granger was staring at his arm in horror, a hand over her mouth. "I've got to go. Come on and I'll walk you to the castle door," he said, unable to calm the urgency and insanity in his voice.
"Malfoy. What's going on? Why is your arm bleeding? We should get you to the Hospital Wing!" she had a panicked edge to her voice as well.
Had she not seen the shape the blood had taken at first, the parts he couldn't hide under his palm? He tossed on his cloak and nearly ran out of the greenhouses. Granger grabbed her items and ran after him. "I don't need the hospital wing. I'm going to see Snape. He'll have a better healing potion in his private stores."
"But why is your arm bleeding?" Granger was asking, jogging to keep up with his wide strides.
"Hermione! Please—not tonight. I really need to see Snape and I can't think with you nagging at me!" he spat.
She recoiled slightly and kept jogging after him. At the doors into the castle, she stopped and watched as he jogged in the direction of the dungeons. "I'll see you tomorrow!" he called over his shoulder.
He didn't have time to dwell on what Granger had or had not seen. The Dark Lord was calling. The Potion's professor was already waiting in the hall. "Good of you to finally meet me, Mr. Malfoy."
"I was in the greenhouses with Granger," he said shortly. "Let's go."
Snape strode away quickly out of the castle and through the grounds toward the front gates. Draco walked quickly next to him, blood still dripping from his arm, leaving a trail of drops over the stone and then grass. Once outside of the gates, they Apparated to Malfoy Manor. Only someone within the Malfoy bloodline or a branded Death Eater could get past the wards, but there were two Death Eaters stationed to each side of the property at all times. Draco waltzed past them and felt the chill as he stepped through the ward.
He Apparated into the drawing room where he found his mother and Bellatrix, neither speaking a word. His mother was looking worn and stressed and she crossed the room quickly. She rarely showed him physical affection any longer, but she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "He's angry, Draco. You'd better have something to present him."
"Come along, nephew," Bellatrix purred evilly in the corner.
Narcissa stepped back from her son and gave him a nod, bringing her hand up to her mouth to stifle her cries. Draco felt a pang of guilt at her state but knew he had made the only decision possible to save her life.
Draco was filled with dread, his arm throbbing painfully. The pain that awaited him was so much worse. He had nothing new since the last time he'd met with the Dark Lord. Aunt Bella led him into the dining room. Draco's stomach rolled as he took in the scene—the Dark Lord was at the head of the table where his father had sat during hundreds of dinners in his childhood. Other Death Eaters lined both sides, their faces stony as they all stared in his direction. Bella broke off and went to sit next to the Dark Lord.
Draco went into a deep bow at the opposite end of the table. "My Lord."
"Young Malfoy," the rasping hiss sounded.
Draco felt his body lift rigidly and then he slammed down onto his knees, a sharp ache smarting in his left leg. The Dark Lord was standing now, stalking toward him quickly. Draco could see his cloak coming closer in his peripheral but he didn't dare raise his head. "It has been another week," he accused and Draco bristled.
"My Lord. I am trying everything in my power."
"Your efforts have been futile to this point. Do you need a little incentive to try harder?" he asked and Draco's face was magically pulled up, cracking his neck with a loud pop.
He was forced to look on as the Dark Lord turned his wand on his mother. "Crucio!"
Narcissa fell to her knees from her chair, her face smacking the table on her way down. She didn't scream—she knew better—and she was fighting the convulsions to the best of her ability. But, even from where he knelt, he could see the tears beginning to stream from her face. "NO!" he managed to bellow.
The Dark Lord lowered his wand. "No?"
"I'll do better. I—I think I have a much easier way into the castle. There are secret tunnels that run underneath," he croaked, the pain surging through his body as the Dark Lord's crushing spell held him in place.
"Nonsense. How many generations have studied in that castle? Secret tunnels would have been public knowledge," the Dark Lord spat.
"Potter has a map. I don't know how he came into possession of it, but it shows every room of the castle and every person within. There are tunnels running below," he said.
"Crucio!"
The pain was searing, like fire beneath his skin. It felt like acid ran through his veins. Most people assumed that they would see black when they went blind, but Draco saw nothing but white. He clenched his jaw the best he could, trying to fight the screams. A few pitiful whimpers sounded and he could feel his limbs slamming painfully against the marble floor of the dining room. He fought with all of his might to hold them to his sides, but he wasn't as seasoned as his mother.
When the curse was lifted, he felt his body rise into a standing position and he fought to stabilize himself as he stood. He went back to his knees, his legs unable to hold his weight up. "That is for lying to your Lord," came the hiss from somewhere to his left.
His vision hadn't quite returned. "And this," he felt a stinging slash to his chest once, twice, "is so you never forget what awaits a liar. Remove him."
Gruff hands lifted him and he fainted from the pain steadily coming over him in harsh waves. "Oh, and young Malfoy? The next time, you'll do the honors with poor Narcissa."
When he awoke, he was in his bed and his mother was whispering spell after spell over his chest. He fought to look down and saw a large, pointy 'L' carved into his flesh, bright crimson against white. "Don't move," his mother whispered.
He had no intention of it. He lay his head back into the pillows and let sleep overtake him until he was fit enough to travel with Snape back to Hogwarts.
o-o-o
Hermione was certain that Malfoy was a Death Eater. The blood on his sleeve had look curiously like a snake before it spread through the white cloth. Harry had been right all along.
She rolled over in her bed and couldn't stop the tears that fell from her face and soaked her pillow. Hermione had grown so close to him in the month and a half since her incident. He understood her without her having to say anything. He wiped her tears and laughed alongside her.
If he were a Death Eater, why would he be fraternizing with her? Was he getting close to her in order to hurt her? Or worse kill her? Was he her attacker? The thought made her want to retch.
o-o-o
