Early the next morning, Draco apparated in the patch of bushes, waiting for a moment, in hopes that Hermione would join him. Realizing that she was probably already there, he started off down the cracked sidewalk. God, I'm lovesick… he chided himself as he opened the door to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
He knew that she was scared… well, not scared, but nervous. Very nervous. He too was very worried about her safety. What they were now doing was very dangerous – a mere slip of the tongue could prove to be harmful or even fatal to both of them. He would face an extremely difficult dilemma if for any reason she was tortured – or worse by Voldemort. But if she did do something wrong and was tortured by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, what was he to do? Stand there and watch her suffering - or worse at the hands of the devil himself? Or try to help her and possibly get both of them killed? He just knew that he couldn't live without her. Been there, done that, he thought to himself wryly.
His thoughts drifted to the night before; he had insisted on seeing her home, she had been offended at first, saying that he should know how independent she was by now, but after she saw that he had set his jaw stubbornly and wouldn't back down, she'd finally agreed. She had been lost in her thoughts, almost in a different world, until he had given her a goodnight kiss.
As he entered the kitchen in Headquarters, he saw that he had been right, Hermione was there sitting beside Dumbledore, the two seemed to be in a deep conversation, but greeted Draco as he entered the room. He noted that Hermione looked a great deal calmer, as if it was just another day. After exchanging greetings, he took his seat beside Hermione, slipping his hand into hers.
"You two really must be off; Voldemort will be calling you soon. I think it best if you go separately, Draco, you going first," Dumbledore said quietly. They both nodded solemnly. The old man muttered something, flicking his wand, and a small goblet filled with something foul looking and smelling appeared on the table before Hermione. Hermione gazed at the contents with a horrified expression on her face.
"Ah, yes, I had forgotten about your previous experience with this potion when you were back in school, but I see you have not," Dumbledores eyes twinkled merrily. Draco looked confused, looking first at Hermione, then at Dumbledore for an explanation, but Dumbledore merely told him that they would give details later, but now they were quite pressed for time.
"Do you have the hairs… or ...?" Hermione winced at the thought of what else she might be drinking.
Dumbledore nodded, telling her that they were in a small glass, and the robes and clothes that she was to wear were in the lavatory, where she could change.
Hermione quickly added the greasy hairs, jumping back a few feet as the potion hissed and popped viciously. She quickly changed into the large gloomy robes and the simple dark clothing she was to wear underneath. She noted that the clothing was moth eaten and had a nasty odor about it. Turning her attention back to the disgusting concoction, she saw that it had turned a violent, evil blackish – purple color, which reeked of wickedness. Her eyes watered as the horrible smell overwhelmed her senses. Squeezing her eyes shut, plugging her nose and taking one last deep breath, she quickly downed as much of the foul liquid that she could take – about half of the cup.
At once she felt her body changing; her skin stretching, her hair thinning. It was quite painful, and she had grown a few more inches by the time it was done. Fearfully, she looked into the mirror, stifling a scream as she gazed at the loathsome face before her.
Her skin was now all mottled and rough, her was lay in dank, greasy layers about her gaunt face, and cold, deep set eyes glared at her. Quickly, she rolled up her sleeve, gasping as she saw the skull and snake that all of the Death Eaters bore on their forearms – it was the mark of true evil.
She bared her chipped yellowed teeth and sighed.
It was going to be a long day.
She bravely walked back into the other room, Draco had already left, and Dumbledore gave her some more instructions before she felt the Dark Mark on her arm burn painfully. Voldemort was calling them.