A/N: Trigger warning for this one—mentions the attack and a physical altercation between male and female. Skip Pansy's memory (italicized) when you get to it if need be.
Harmonia Nectere Passus Chapter 7
In the weeks following Malfoy's quick departure from the greenhouses, Hermione had been able to surmise that he was, in fact, a Death Eater. The thought plagued her every waking moment and most of her nightmares—nightmares filled with a sinister looking Malfoy performing Unforgivables on her, touching her, hurting her. She had avoided him completely—she'd abandoned him to do their assignment in the greenhouses alone, unable to muster the courage to face him just yet. Some Gryffindor she was.
Hermione attempted to skip nearly every meal, but the few times she dragged herself into the Great Hall, she would see his angelically blond halo shining in the light and she would have to fight herself not to look in his direction. He attempted to catch her attention and would hold up a finger to indicate she should eat. Sometimes she obeyed, but mostly she ignored him. He had attempted multiple times to corner her in the library, but she'd seat herself out in the open and other students milling about kept him at bay.
Malfoy had evidently pruned, planted and plucked everything to perfection in greenhouse number seven, because she received full marks from Professor Sprout for their efforts. In her first willing look his way, she sent him a brief look of gratitude when Professor Sprout had told them. He gave her an upturn of one side of his lips and a nod in return.
Hermione missed Malfoy's company, though she was wan to admit it. He was Dark, brooding and understood her. The more she sat with Harry and Ron, the more her heart screamed out to connect with his. Her two friends were driving her up a wall with their mindless chatter. Lavender Brown was around Ron more often than not, and she made Hermione want to pull her own hair out, her voice like a dying kneazle. Harry was still haunting Malfoy obsessively and when he began his speculations about his being a Death Eater, she made it a point to excuse herself.
Harry's speculations were true—this she knew almost for certain. Guilt ate at her most days as she withheld this knowledge from Harry. He deserved to know that his accusations were true. Dumbledore needed to know that one of his students was operating under the Dark Lord's guidance, right under his nose. They needed to inform the Order.
But still, Hermione couldn't bring herself to tell another living soul. He had assisted her when she had been at her worst, when there was no one else to turn to. Withholding his Darkest secret was the least she could do—at least until she figured out what in the bloody hell was going on. She was having a hard time believing that he was some hardened Death Eater, hell bent on assisting Voldemort on his way to wizarding world dominance.
The boy Hermione had grown to know was moody and irritable, yes. But he was also funny, witty, incredibly sharp and innovative. He could be charming when he wanted, funny even. And he seemed to genuinely appreciate her company, much as she did his. Malfoy cared about her wellbeing, even now trying to get her to eat to keep her strength to make it through one more day.
However, Hermione Granger was no fool. Draco Malfoy may be all of those things, but that Mark on his arm meant he was dangerous—willingly or not. She didn't think he would attack her, the more thought she'd given to it. But, at the back of her mind, there was still a tiny sliver of doubt and hesitance. And that little flame burning in her brain is what kept her far away from him.
o-o-o
Draco's worst fears had come true. Granger knew he was a Death Eater, she'd seen his sleeve clearly enough. And she'd run. The guilt, the shame and the revulsion at himself ate at him with each passing second. He had grown so fond of her, his childhood crush burning for more. He desperately missed sitting with her for those couple of hours each night in the greenhouses.
He had tried so desperately to get her alone, to speak with her one on one. But she was carefully maneuvering herself to sit in the more crowded areas of the library. She rarely came to meals anymore and when she did, she all but ignored him completely, only giving in to his request that she eat a few times. It had been weeks and he was craving her.
Draco's mind was unraveling with everything happening in his life. Granger's frightened departure from his life had left an aching hole in his heart, sure. But it was nothing compared to the fright he felt as Voldemort continued threatening his mother's life. He worked incessantly at trying to repair that blasted Vanishing Cabinet and he was no closer than the day he'd discovered it.
He needed that map Granger had referenced. This much he knew to be true.
Anytime Draco went to class (which was becoming less frequent the more fervently Granger ignored him), he spent the majority of the time trying to use Legilimency against his peers. He was skilled in the art, but would be better with eye contact—something not afforded to him by most people. So he had to make do with staring at the backs of people's heads. Most people had no idea he was even entering their minds. The start of term party would just pop randomly into their heads as they wrote an essay and Draco would see their looks of wonder at the random thought.
He tried time and again to see anything consequential, but he came up empty handed every time. Today, he had decided to attend Slytherin's double Potions lesson with the Gryffindors in an attempt to pick some of the lion's brains. Slughorn was droning on and on about the Draught of Living Death and Draco had long since stopped listening.
Instead, he was peering into a few random minds. Seamus Finnegan, it appeared, had a thing for pyrotechnics as most of his thoughts centered around making things explode. Draco tapped into Finnegan's memories of the party and he saw the Irishman raise an eyebrow and look around the Potions classroom, clearly confused as to why that particular memory came forward. He quickly backed out of his mind as soon as he realized Granger was in the prefect's bathroom already by the time Seamus left the party.
Draco had looked into every other Gryffindor bloke's mind previously. Potter had tried to block him and he had seen that Potter feared it was the Dark Lord trying to read his mind. Weasley had looked bewildered and glanced back at him, as though he suspected Draco of foul play and the dejected look on his face said he was bitter about not being able to prove it. He'd even looked into Longbottom's memory, a boy too feeble minded to carry out an attack like the one on Granger.
He looked around at his own Housemates. He could easily read Crabbe and Goyle's minds—they too were dimwitted and wouldn't know what hit them. He'd read Theo's already. He glanced at Blaise. The Italian would easily know that his mind was being tapped into. He'd spent too many summers with Draco and Theo, surrounded by Death Eater fathers.
As Draco was staring at Zabini, trying to figure out what excuse would have him grant Draco access to his mind, he heard the faint muttering from across the room. Granger was sitting in the far corner, her back tense as she fought to ignore his presence completely. He had promised himself he wouldn't use legilimency on her, especially not for his own amusement. But he desperately wished he could get into the head of hers, see what she was pondering. He would never be able to draw the memory of that night from her mind, as it had been wiped. But he wanted to hear what she thought of her recent revelations.
Draco was contemplating breaking his promise to himself and diving into her mind when he heard the mutterings again. It was a female voice and the sound was coming from the Gryffindor side of the class, the seat behind Granger and beside Weasley. Lavender Brown. He distinctly heard Granger's name. Draco leaned forward, trying to crane his neck to better hear.
As he stared in the girl's direction, he noticed that her mouth was not moving. Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was hearing bits and broken pieces of Brown's scattered thoughts. "…of course she answered correctly, her nose is always stuffed in a book…smart, perfect little Hermione…I have the one thing she doesn't…she got what was coming to her…"
The thoughts were disjointed as Draco opened his eyes and watched Lavender run her fingers through Weasley's ginger mop. He raised an eyebrow. She got what was coming to her? He tried to still his mind once more as he stared at the girl's wavy hair.
"You're sure this will work?" Brown was asking Pansy Parkinson.
"I'm positive. I brewed it myself. Found it in a book on memory loss potions in the library," the pug-nosed brunette huffed.
"I just put the whole thing in her drink?"
Parkinson laughed. "Just a few drops—you don't want her to forget who she is."
Brown raised her eyebrows and smirked. "So you say."
"Hey, the only reason I'm doing this is for Draco. If we get caught, I will not hesitate to hex the piss out of you, girl," the Slytherin threatened.
The Gryffindor put her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. Just a few drops. Are you sure you can handle Cormac?"
Parkinson laughed haughtily. "McLaggen's hardly a challenge, Brown."
Lavender seemed to feel someone poking around in her brain and she willed herself to fight off the unknown offender. She grabbed her head in shocked pain as she tried and failed at Occlumency. It was only painful if one tried to resist. Her sudden outburst was enough to make Slughorn stop teaching. "Is everything all right, Miss Brown?" he asked, perturbed.
She shook her head. "I need to go to the Hospital Wing."
Weasley put his arm around her shoulders. "I'm going to walk with her," he volunteered and Slughorn gestured toward the door.
"I'm sure Miss Granger would be more than happy to catch you up on today's lesson, Mr. Weatherby."
Granger was at the table in front of them next to Potter, looking over her shoulder, her eyes following the couple as they left the classroom. Her eyes met Draco's briefly and he stared at her with unrelenting eye contact until she shivered and turned away.
What the hell had Brown and Parkinson done? And since when did they work together on anything? And why had Parkinson claimed she did it for him?
o-o-o
Draco waited for Parkinson in the Common Room. He didn't know what he was going to do, but he could feel the rage welling inside of his chest, a searing heat beneath his skin and ice running through his veins. He didn't know what Brown and Parkinson had done, but he knew he needed Parkinson's memories to find out. Pansy was many things—the daughter of a prominent Death Eater being one of them. No doubt her parents would have taught her some basic level Occlumency by now. His had.
It was almost eight o'clock when she arrived in the dungeons after her remedial Transfiguration lesson. She stepped into the room and immediately stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted him sitting on the leather couch, his arms draped over his knees as he leaned forward. Draco gestured to the couch across from him and Pansy hesitated. The look on his face must have been enough to chill her into a frozen position.
"Sit down, Parkinson," he demanded.
She raised her chin and huffed. "Last I checked, we weren't wed yet, Malfoy. You have no right to demand I do anything."
Her sassy tone made Draco's blood boil. He stood and reached her in three strides. He stood nearly a foot taller than she and Pansy recoiled back away from him some. "I didn't stutter, Parkinson. Sit down," he said and he used his wand to force her into an armchair.
She must have sensed the instability in his eyes because she sat without a word and watched as he crossed his arms and stared down at her. Finally, he put his hands on either side of her chair and leaned closely into her face. "Legilimens!" he whispered.
He caught a glimpse of Granger in Pansy's mind before she was pushing at him and attempting to throw up a wall to block his advancements. "No! You do not get to invade my mind!" she screamed at him and he narrowly avoided the knee she sent toward his groin.
Draco fought to stop her from hitting and shoving at him. It was a grappling of limbs as she attempted to wrestle free of him. He could feel the magic, raw and powerful in his rage, coursing through every nerve ending in his body. Her nails were scratching at his neck and face and she was attempting to bite him. "Stop it, Parkinson. Stop!" he bellowed.
She seemed to sense the danger she was in and she finally stopped physically fighting him. He was straddling her legs and had her wrists tightly in his grasp, his left forearm pressing her neck into the back of the chair. Both of them were breathing heavily and Draco released his arm from her neck when she started sobbing. The scent of lemon verbena and sage filled his nostrils and he nearly wanted to hex himself for not recognizing it before. "What the fuck did you do, Pansy?" he demanded in a harsh whisper, still straddling her legs as they caught their breath.
Parkinson kept mum and continued crying as Draco raised his wand to her temple once more. "Legilimens!"
***Draco was looking through Pansy's perspective at the Room of Requirement. The Slytherin seemed wholly interested in where Brown was mixing Granger a drink. Draco now knew it was because Brown was poisoning her drink with the potion Parkinson had made. He heard Pansy excuse herself, claiming to be unwell, though he could feel everything she had, and she felt fine. Save for the rapid beating of her heart.
She walked quickly from the room and down to the fifth floor. Pansy looked around before ducking into an empty classroom. Well, empty, save for Cormac McLaggen unconscious on the floor. "Finite incantatem!" she whispered and McLaggen sat up, rubbing his head.
"Parkinson? Wha-"
"Imperio!" Pansy cut him off and McLaggen's eyes glazed over.
Draco's own heart was beating quickly to match Pansy's own in her memory. It seemed like an eternity passed before the classroom door opened once more to reveal Brown escorting a clearly dazed Granger into the room. Granger could barely hold her head upright, let alone her own body. Brown dumped her fellow Gryffindor onto the floor unceremoniously.
"Undress," Pansy commanded McLaggen.
In his Imperiused state, the seventh year did just that, his movements stiff and mechanical. Brown raised an eyebrow at his naked body and Draco could feel Pansy smirk. "Now undress her."
Draco wanted desperately to close his eyes, to avoid watching the scene play out. But he was watching through Pansy's eyes and she was transfixed on the scene unfolding before her. He could feel Pansy's…excitement? The feeling made his own stomach turn violently. Granger was barely conscious, mumbling and her movements sluggish and heavy until she moved no more. He watched through Pansy's memories as McLaggen stole Hermione's innocence, then as the girls hastily dressed her back. He watched as the two girls punched, bit and kicked the unconscious girl. McLaggen, still Imperiused dragged Granger to the empty corridor, the girls playing lookout the whole time. And then Pansy lifted the Curse and wiped the seventh years' memory, before skipping her merry way back to the dungeons.***
Draco came out of Pansy's memory seeing red. "Have you lost your fucking mind, Parkinson?"
She finally made to stand up and Draco backed off of her legs, his wand pointed at her throat. "What do you care, Malfoy? The little Mudblood got what was coming to her."
"What the hell did she ever do to deserve that?" he spat.
"What do any of them do?" she countered and he knew she was speaking of the acts committed against Muggles and Muggle-borns during Death Eater revels.
"This is different and you know it," he countered, his wand shaking the slightest against her collar.
"How?" she demanded, wiping her sleeves across her face. "Because you've gone soft for the bitch?"
"Because we know her."
"So its okay to teach Mudbloods a lesson, as long as we don't know them?" Parkinson scoffed.
The murderous rage that washed over Draco in pounding waves was so violent, his ears rang and he saw spots. He tried to focus on the face of the girl he'd known his entire life. He no longer saw a childish, annoying little twit vying for his attention. Parkinson's features had hardened and she had an evil glint in her eye, a thirst for blood that was all too recognizable in her father's eyes when the Dark Lord called his followers. "I should kill you right here," he jabbed the end of his wand into her flesh.
Her wand had fallen to the floor during their skirmish and he stepped on it to keep it steady. Her wandless magic wasn't nearly what it should be and she couldn't summon the wand from under his foot. He smirked as he held the upper hand. "You wait until my father hears about this," she told him.
"Your father won't hear shit from you," Draco's voice was venomous.
"Oh, he's going to hear plenty. He's going to hear how you've developed a pathetic little crush on the Mudblood. He's going to hear how you roughed me up and forced your way into my mind—"
"Numquam iterum erit vobis loqui!" Draco hissed, so close to Parkinson's face now that his nose nearly brushed hers. Never again shall you speak.
Her eyes grew wide with fear and curiosity and he smirked. "Obliviate!" Draco concentrated on erasing only the last hours' worth of memories from her.
Pansy's eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed back into the chair where she'd been sitting. He positioned her into her usual "fell asleep reading" stance and opened her Transfiguration book in her lap. Draco slunk back to the Common Room door and opened and then closed it forcefully. Parkinson startled at that and looked up. Her face broke into the sultry look she usually gave him and she tried to greet him, but no sound came out of her mouth.
She furrowed her brow and tried once more to speak. It took everything Draco had not to smirk at the cow. "What was that, Parkinson?" he asked, coming to sit on the edge of her chair casually.
A look of panic struck her face and distorted her already ugly features. He feigned concern for his long time friend. "Is something wrong?"
She grabbed at her throat and he touched it lightly. "Perhaps you're coming down with the dragon pox? Isn't the first symptom a sore throat?" he asked sweetly.
Pansy stood, dropping everything to the floor and her eyes were wide as tea saucers. Draco furrowed his brow. "Why don't we go see Madam Pomfrey?"
She was looking scared out of her mind and tears were coming forth, confused and disoriented. "Come on…let's go to the hospital wing," he said, putting on his best concerned-lifelong-friend voice.
Draco escorted the maniacal little bitch to the hospital wing, muttering reassurances now and then. He hadn't meant to curse her. He'd read the curse in one of the books in the library at the Manor when he was twelve and had stored it in the depths of his mind. But she was threatening to out him to her father. If the Dark Lord found out about Granger, the altercation with Pansy and the particular incident he had sought out in her memory—which he shouldn't have known of to begin with—he would murder Draco and his mother before he could even tell his side of the story. He thought about the fact that he hadn't had a chance to get the truth out of Parkinson—why Granger of all the Mudbloods? Why was she teamed up with Brown—what did she have to gain? When had she turned so ruthless?
He rapped briskly with his knuckles on Madam Pomfrey's door and she answered wearing her night clothing. "Mr. Malfoy, Miss Parkinson…Is there something I can help you with?"
"I think Pansy is coming down with dragon pox, Madam Pomfrey. She seems to have lost her voice," Draco explained.
Parkinson was clawing at her throat again, mouthing words that refused to fall from her lips. Madam Pomfrey began to fret over the girl and Draco casually slipped away.
Blaise had mentioned that tonight was Slughorn's Christmas Party. Draco knew that's where Granger would be. The drive to see her was nearly killing him. He knew what happened. She needed to know. Draco felt a panic welling inside of him. The dread, the anger, the fear—it all began to eat at him, little sparks of anguish burning in his brain, through his veins. He could feel every inch of his body seething, fuming just beneath the surface.
Draco felt like he was suffocating as he made his way back down toward the dungeons. All he could see, replaying like a reel in his head, was Cormac McLaggen's body writhing above her tiny one. He wanted to retch, to scream, to cry. But he did none of those things. His legs felt like lead as they dragged him toward Slughorn's party.
"Oh, and what's this, my pretty? Children in the corridors after hours?" came the wretched voice of Argus Filch.
Fuck. Draco had been so distracted that he didn't notice the old man and his flea-infested feline. "I'm just heading to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party," he explained.
"The party's been underway for a while, boy," Filch was nearly gleeful as he grabbed Draco by the scruff of his suit coat. "Let's have a little chat with the Potion's master."
He was too distracted mentally, too worn from the night he'd had, too worried about Granger in that moment to protest much. At least if he saw her he would know that she was all right. The caretaker dragged him into the party, a scene which would have been embarrassing any other time, but served as only a massive annoyance currently.
"Professor Slughorn," Filch practically sang. "This boy was wandering the corridors. Says he was invited to your party?"
Every face in the room turned to look toward him. The music had cut off and Professor Slughorn was bewildered in front of him. Draco was vaguely aware that he was engaged in conversation with the professor, though he couldn't focus on or comprehend what was being exchanged.
Granger was standing in front of him and next to her was Cormac McLaggen, his arm draped around her waist.
o-o-o
