Author Note: Dearest readers, don't panic and keep reading until the end of the chapter!
Speechless, the small crowd in Hogwarts' Entrance Hall watched the massive doors settle to a close behind Malfoy and Snape. Harry looked like he could hardly contain himself from sprinting after them.
"Stand down, Harry. He's got Snape with him," Ron said too quietly for anyone but Harry and Hermione to hear. "He won't get up to anything with Snape around."
"Snape," Harry spat.
"Harry, stop," Hermione said. "Just - " She broke off, making that strangled sound again, bracing her forehead between her hands and turning in a circle.
Across the hall, Pansy Parkinson pulled the hood of her jumper over her head and set off toward the dungeons. Ron stood at Hermione's side watching Pansy's back as she stomped away.
McGonagall was in the hall now, craning her neck toward the doors. "Mr. Potter, what's happened?"
Behind Ron, Harry and Hermione began telling McGonagall the story of what they'd just seen in two very different ways, talking over each other, contradicting one another as they went. Their voices jumbled into noise just as Pansy was about to disappear down the stairwell.
He bolted.
"Parkinson," he whisper-called when he reached the top of the stairs.
She stopped but didn't turn around. "What is it, Weasley?"
He wasn't sure himself. But he was trotting down the steps after her, arriving to stand in front of her, talking to the top of her hood. "So," he began, almost conversationally, without any idea of how to comfort her, "what do you reckon happened with Malfoy and Snape just now?"
Her finger was in his face, her lips parted so her teeth showed, her eyes red and teary. "You tell Harry Potter that if he wants to spy on Draco he had better find the nerve to do it himself instead of sending his best friend after me in my moments of weakness to try to sweet talk me."
"Sweet talk you?"
Her finger poked sharply at his chest. "Yes, Weasley. I'm not stupid. You've been sabotaging my lipstick marks every time I leave them so you can drag out our - our - arrangement. I didn't catch it at first but it's clear now. This has been nothing more than your same old sloppy Gryffindor on Slytherin surveillance. Lipstick's a fair sight cheaper than polyjuice potion, I reckon. I've got to give you credit for learning to work smarter instead of harder."
Ron stumbled slightly backwards. "What are you on about, Parkinson?"
Pansy stepped forward, returning to her attack stance. "You don't fancy Granger. Not anymore. If you did, you'd be up in the Entrance Hall, holding her in your arms, being all wholesome and healthy and strong and making her forget about Draco Malfoy. But you're not in the Entrance Hall right now, are you?"
Ron blinked - once in Pansy's face, once at the low ceiling of the dungeon corridor, and once at his feet. "No, I suppose I'm not," he had to agree.
Pansy mimed throwing a handful of confetti in his face. "Congratulations, Weasley. You're over it. You're over Granger. And that means you've got nothing to gain from our arrangement, so consider it over too. That's the first part, and here's the second. You'd better go find another Slytherin girl to grass Draco up for Harry Potter. It won't be me."
Ron grabbed the wrist of her fake-confetti-throwing hand. "You listen to me for a minute. Harry is out of his mind and on his own on this one. Hounding Malfoy is his way of grieving his newly dead godfather, and while I'm sympathetic, I'm not helping him with the Malfoy-is-a-Death-Eater conspiracy theory. Neither is Hermione."
Pansy sneered, tugging at her wrist. "Oh, of course she's not."
"And another thing," Ron said, pulling her closer, speaking lower. "I'll be the one to let you know when I'm over Hermione Granger."
He let her wrench herself free. "And finally, I'll have you know, Pansy Parkinson, that I did not sabotage your lipstick marks - not on purpose. But I'm not sorry they were sabotaged. It gave me a reason to keep on thinking about you kissing me again."
Footfalls were sounding behind Ron now, the beginnings of the sounds of the rest of Slytherin house coming back to their common room after dinner. Ron and Pansy stood inches apart, wide-eyed, his breath coming heavily enough to move her fringe, both of them stunned at what they might have unleashed.
Crabbe shouldered Ron hard as he passed through the corridor. Ron didn't fall but he did come to his senses, turned, and left her there.
Draco was on his knees on the floor of the drawing room in his own home. The burning agony in his arm had stopped but Snape still had a hold of his sleeve, muscling him to his feet.
"Sincerest apologies for the delay, my Lord. Draco is still learning the finer points of his new status." Snape nudged Draco on the back of the head to get him to bow.
The Dark Lord rose from Lucius Malfoy's armchair, his arms outstretched. "You've come," he said, advancing, his fingers flexing. "Good boy, my chosen boy. Alas, we have been neglecting your education, so I have called you here, for a lesson."
Draco glanced at his mother as he nodded at the Dark Lord. Once again, Aunt Bella was holding her in place in her armchair.
The Dark Lord laughed, close enough now for Draco to feel his breath on his face. "We see you are still much too shy of me. That is not as it should be, not for someone with a destiny like yours. Tonight, we shall grow closer."
He waved a hand. "Severus, you may go." Narcissa and Draco each startled, gulping back twin senses of panic as Severus spun toward the door and stepped outside.
The Dark Lord had taken Draco's left arm in his hands, kneading his flesh, vanishing enough of Draco's clothing to leave him standing in front of the hearth in just his trousers and shoes again. He held Draco's arm as close to his face as he could without touching it to his lips.
Grimly disgusted, Draco turned his face away.
The Dark Lord hummed. "The Mark has cured well. Such fine skin he has, Madam Malfoy. Lovely boy." He dragged his fingertips from Draco's wrist to elbow and back again, before forcing out a breath against his skin.
Draco wasn't sure whether he had truly seen it or just imagined it, flashing in the corner of his eye as he cringed and looked away - the lingering flare of faded blue in the negative spaces of the Mark, flickering on the skin that had not been burnt. The Dark Lord's exhale became an inhale, long and deep as if he was sniffing Draco's scent, deepening into a throaty sucking sound, ending in a choking snarl. Draco jerked instinctively, moving to fling his arm away. But it remained locked in the Dark Lord's grip a moment longer, the monster proving he could keep it at will for as long as he chose.
"Your love token has been on my mind," he said. "It was a childish spell, easily vanquished, but what's childish is often what's most troublesome."
He leaned in close again, his mouth at Draco's ear, his tongue flicking snakelike, brushing dryly against Draco as he whispered, "There is much for you to learn about love. It is a shard of glass in your eye. Poison in your liver. A knife in your gut. When you love, you give someone the power to destroy you. To court love is to court weakness, to invite madness and death. Have your lust. Have all you want. But take it with the degraded, the deranged."
He nodded at Bellatrix. Whether she overheard or not, it didn't matter to him.
The Dark Lord took a step away, his voice returning to its usual volume, his arms outstretched to draw Draco's attention to his body. "At this moment, you are my chosen boy, but you are not my son. I have no son. Or, to state it more perfectly, I AM my son, as I am my own father. Immortal - deathless through my magic. I need no offspring but myself, going on forever, in my own eternal life."
He lowered his arms, approaching Draco from behind, reaching over the top of his head to smooth his sleek blond hair back from his forehead, the way Pansy had done on the train. With cold, splayed fingers, he stroked Draco's hair, he hissed into his ear. "Do - not - love."
He turned away with a swirl of his robes and sat in Lucius's chair again. "It is a hard lesson. But consider the risk, the danger to the pretty, dark-haired witch whose handiwork sullied your arm. Parkinson, yes I have her name. Think of her. As you grow to be more like your master, you become her doom, if not by my hand, then eventually by your own. For you can have only one master, Draco, and you have chosen me. The moment you did, love died."
This was the flourish at the end of his speech. He had meant for the final syllables to echo solemnly in the silence of the dark drawing room. But in place of silence, Narcissa was weeping from her chair again.
He snapped his fingers at Bellatrix. "Take them away. Bring Severus."
Narcissa had Draco's hands in hers as Bellatrix drove them into the hall. "My darling," was all the Dark Lord heard her say to her son before Bellatrix slammed the door.
Draco couldn't bring himself to speak to her yet. At the foot of the grand staircase of Malfoy Manor, he held her off, summoning a shirt from his upstairs bedroom, covering himself, twisting away from his mother as she tried to help him with the buttons. Snape wouldn't have betrayed a student in his care. The only other person who could have told the Dark Lord Pansy's name was Narcissa herself.
She knew he knew it. "My darling, believe me, I never wanted any harm to befall your Pansy but the Dark Lord insisted I name her. Don't you see that I had to? We can't afford any more mistakes, Draco. Your father - "
Barely choking back his fury, he said, "By the stars, mother, I know what's at stake. By now, I know better than you. But what can I do? Tell me. What did he mean to say back there? Is he going to hunt an innocent girl over a love note scratched on my arm? How do I prove to him it's not a threat? That it has nothing to do with him? And Pansy - why can't any of you leave anything alone?"
She threw herself toward him, covering his mouth with her hands. "Hush, Draco. I don't know, darling. I don't know. And as for the Dark Lord, he's demanded nothing from Pansy today. He's promised nothing either. All you can do is work hard. Focus. No disappointments. No romance. And keep Pansy inside Hogwarts. For her safety. My darling boy, please..."
Inside the drawing room, Snape clicked his heels like a soldier at the ready, waiting on the threshold of the drawing room. The Dark Lord extended his palm.
"Severus, examine my hand."
"My Lord," he said as he knelt on the rug beside the armchair. He drew his wand and swept it back and forth, by tiny degrees, in every direction, until a dim blue light pulsed briefly beneath the skin.
"You see it?"
"Yes, my Lord. Faint but - vexing." It was the residue of Granger's charm. Always showing off, too thorough for her own good. Foolish, sentimental children. What had they done? There was nothing to do but feign ignorance. "A lingering effect of the trouble with Potter and his headmaster at the ministry?"
The Dark Lord sneered. "No, a complication ostensibly from a love token left on Draco Malfoy's arm before the Mark was administered. Tell no one."
"Of course."
He withdrew his hand. "Madam Malfoy blames a schoolgirl for it, but it cannot be. Magic like this is not a child's. My suspicion is that someone is protecting the boy, either in this house or from inside Hogwarts, trying to fool us into blaming a young lover." The Dark Lord looked hard into Snape's face as he said it.
"Dastardly," was all Snape said.
He went on. "Still, we will begin by ruling out the possibility of precocious young witch. Let those who have orchestrated this see the blood-soaked cost of using a young girl as a shield. See to it, Severus. Until then, send me a counter-curse - something for relief."
"Of course."
"Severus," he said. "If we do find a young witch at the root of this, and if she must be brought before us to reverse this glitch, she will not survive."
"Of course, my Lord."
"Take your wretched boy and go."
Hermione sat on the floor in the dungeon corridor, across the hall from where the entrance to the Slytherin common room might appear. She was fighting with Harry so she was in no position to ask to borrow his cloak, but she was getting rather expert at disillusionment charms and sat coiled in one, fading into the dimly lit stonework behind her. She was dressed in her uniform and prefect's badge just in case she was discovered and needed an excuse to be out of bed so late.
The castle was quiet and dark. He still hadn't come back. Maybe he never would.
Her knees were drawn up to her eye-level. She rested her forehead against them and hoped she wouldn't cry again.
At last, there were voices at the top of the stairs, low and hissing. She stood, inching along the corridor on the toes of her hard-soled school shoes, close enough to see the figures at the top of the stairs - Snape and Draco.
She let out her breath of relief so forcefully they would have heard her if Snape hadn't been deep in a tirade. He had pushed Draco against a wall and was whispering into his face. Hermione thought she might have made out the word "Parkinson." Draco was making conciliatory promises, slipping slowly sideways, away from Snape and into the stairwell.
"Do not close your mind to me," she heard Snape say, his final parting exclamation. "I can't help you if you lock me out."
"When I need your help, I'll know how to find you."
Hermione startled. She'd never heard anyone at school speak to Snape that way, let alone his pet Draco. With that remark, he had got free of Snape. He was coming down the steps, not stumbling in pain but moving with his usual agility and speed, barely missing trampling her as she stood charmed to near invisibility at the foot of the stairs.
He passed too fast and she chased after him, reaching out for his robes, afraid Snape would hear if she called out. Draco's hand was passing over the wall. He was about to speak the password and disappear into the common room.
She jumped onto his back, the spell falling away. "You're here!"
"Hermione!"
She hopped back onto the floor, pivoting in front of him, taking his head in her hands, scanning his face with serious eyes. "You're not sick anymore."
He stared down at her. "You waited here? All this time? For me?"
She blushed, nodding.
His arms encircled her, drawing her in at the small of her back, lifting her onto her toes to kiss him. His mouth was hot and desperate, searching. "Please tell me you love me," he said against her lips.
"Yes, I love you."
"Love you," he answered back, repeating it like an incantation as he worked his lips over her jaw and chin, onto her neck.
She tipped her head and he swiveled both of them to support her back against the door to the common room, revealed and waiting for its password, hovering in an in-between state.
"You glorious, powerful witch," he said against her skin.
She laughed breathily, her fingers in his hair. "I am, aren't I?"
He was back at her mouth, lifting her up again, braced against the ancient, enchanted door. One of her hands came out of his hair to smooth the fabric of his clothes against his chest, slipping her fingers between the buttons, to his warm skin. All at once she said, "Where'd this shirt come from? I don't know it."
He wasn't interested but knew there was nothing to do when she raised a question but answer right away. "From home."
She broke away. "Snape took you home? Home to - them?"
Draco straightened up, letting out a long breath as his head fell back, his eyes closed. What he wanted was to violate centuries of tradition, open the door, bring her to his Slytherin dorm room, and keep her there. For reasons that had nothing to do with tradition, it was impossible. What they needed to do instead was to talk.
"Yes, I've been home. And I have some things to tell you and - to show you," he said. The door to the common room faded back into the stone work.
"Tonight?"
"Yes." He turned his back to her, stooping. "Here, hop on my back again. That was nice. Why don't I take you everywhere like that?"
She smirked. "Because it brings my bum dangerously close to hanging out of my skirt."
"I stand by the question."
"Draco Malfoy - "
"There's no one around. Just hop up and I'll take you somewhere we can talk."
She jumped and he caught her legs as her arms clamped around his shoulders, her face against his. He turned and pecked her cheek. "By the stars, it is good to see you."
They set off up the stairs.