Chapter 7

slow is the quicksand

"The sands of time are quicksands ... so much can sink into them without a trace."

- Margaret Atwood

The sterile scent of potions and clean linen filled the air in the infirmary, and the soft rustle of curtains moving in the morning breeze provided the only sound besides Draco's steady breathing. He lay on one of the narrow hospital beds, his pale face set in a grim line as he stared at the ceiling. His body was still sore, his chest and face bandaged from the wounds Potter had inflicted on him.

It had half an hour since Madame Pomphrey patched him up, and though the physical pain was easing, his mind was anything but calm.

Granger had left almost an hour ago to return to Gryffindor Tower. She had looked gruesome, covered in caked blood, but he hadn't cared. The blood was proof that she'd fought to save him.

Maybe she shouldn't have. The thought came unbidden. Perhaps it would have been better for everyone.

Trust Potter not to even get killing him right.

Draco shifted uncomfortably, wincing as the movement pulled at his still-healing wounds. His thoughts kept returning to Hermione, how she had stayed by his side, covered in his blood, panicking yet steady as she tried to save him. The image of her haunted him more than the curse itself.

The creek of the infirmary door drew him out of his thoughts. Draco's sharp grey eyes flicked toward the entrance as familiar voices filtered through.

"Drake, mate, you awake?" Theo's voice called out as he peered around the edge of a privacy curtain. Blaise and Pansy followed close behind, their faces set with concern and irritation at the circumstances. Daphne trailed in after them, her arms crossed and a worried frown creasing her brow.

Draco exhaled slowly. He wasn't in the mood for visitors, but it wasn't like he had much choice. His friends would never let him off that easily.

"I'm alive, if that's what you're asking," Draco muttered.

Theo rolled his eyes as he stepped closer to the bed. "Barely, from the way it sounds. What the hell happened?"

"Snape told us that Potter almost got expelled. That he put you in the infirmary?" Daphne asked, staring openly at the bandages peeking out from Draco's shirt.

Blaise shook his head in disbelief. "I knew Potter had a grudge against you, but I didn't think he'd actually try to kill you."

"Well, clearly, like everything else, he's not very good at murder," Draco said dryly, eliciting a laugh from Blaise.

Pansy, however, was the first to push past the others and perch herself on the edge of Draco's bed, her dark eyes scanning his face with anger and fear.

"Draco, you're an idiot," she huffed, though the quiver in her voice betrayed her real worry. "You should've hexed him the moment you saw him."

"I wasn't exactly in a position to hex anyone," Draco said flatly, his voice laced with exhaustion. "Potter caught me off guard."

Theo crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "That's putting it lightly. The whole school's talking about it. They're saying he used a dark curse on you."

"Yeah, well, he did," Draco snapped, his temper flaring briefly. He winced as the motion pulled at his wounds, and Pansy gave him a disapproving look. "Trust me, I'm aware."

Blaise leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing. "And what are you going to do about it? You can't just let Potter get away with this."

Draco shot Blaise a dark look.

"I'm not stupid, Zabini. Potter's already on edge, and everyone's watching him like a hawk. It's not the right time for revenge." He hesitated, his mind flicking to Hermione again. He had to keep his focus, had to maintain control. "Besides, I have other things to deal with."

Theo exchanged a glance with Daphne, who had remained quiet but observant. "Like what? You've been distant since the start of this year, Draco. You're not telling us everything."

Draco shifted, the weight of his secrets pressing down on him. He wasn't about to open up about the Dark Lord's mission or his growing feelings for Hermione. No, those were burdens he had to carry alone.

"We're worried about you." Pansy brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, her expression softening as she regarded him. "We heard Granger was there when they found you. What was that about?"

The mention of Hermione made Draco's stomach twist. He clenched his jaw, avoiding Pansy's gaze. "It doesn't matter. Granger's not a part of this."

Pansy crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

Daphne, sensing the tension rising, finally spoke up.

"Draco, we're not here to pry," she said softly. "We just want to make sure you're okay."

Draco exhaled sharply, his frustration evident. He appreciated their concern, but couldn't afford to let them in on everything. "I'm fine. Potter's an idiot, and this whole thing got out of hand. That's it."

There was a brief, tense silence.

"Alright, mate," Theo sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If that's how you want to play it. But we're here, you know? If you need anything.

Draco glanced at his friends, a flicker of gratitude crossing his face, though he quickly masked it. "I know. Thanks."

Pansy, ever dramatic, leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Next time, hex first and ask questions later."

Draco smirked, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I'll keep that in mind."

The tension in the room eased, but Draco's mind was still far from calm. He could handle the Dark Lord, Potter's obsession, and even handle the constant weight of his mission. But Hermione—Hermione was a complication he hadn't anticipated. And as much as he hated to admit it, she was starting to matter more than anything else.

As his friends chatted idly about Slytherin affairs and the gossip circulating the school, Draco's thoughts drifted back to her, to how she'd looked at him with those wide, terrified eyes. She was still out there, still fighting her own battles, and as much as he wanted to protect her, he knew that their path was dangerous.

He just hoped he could keep her safe—no matter what.

The familiar warmth of the Gryffindor common room seemed oppressive, the crackling fire in the hearth casting flickering shadows on the walls. It was usually a place of comfort, but not today.

Today, it felt stifling.

Hermione paced back and forth near the window, her face flushed with anger, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her hair was still damp from her long shower, the faint scent of lavender clinging to her skin, but even that small comfort did little to ease her fury.

She had spent most of the morning scrubbing Malfoy's blood from her body—blood that had soaked into her clothes, into her skin, and had taken what felt like an eternity to wash out of her hair. The image of him lying on the cold stone floor of the bathroom, drenched in his blood, haunted her. It replayed in her mind on an endless loop, each flash of memory stoking the fire in her chest.

Hermione glanced toward the boys' dormitory stairs. Dean, Seamus, and Neville had already left, which left Harry and Ron meandering before they had to go down to breakfast. She clenched her jaw. Probably better to do this in their dormitory instead of the common room, anyway.

Hermione stormed up the steps, groups of older and younger Gryffindor boys wisely moving out of her way. Hermione didn't even knock when she reached the boys' dormitory; she just pushed it open and let it slam against the wall.

Having a first course of chocolate frogs before breakfast, Ron nearly jumped out of bed. When he realized it was Hermione, his face went tight with confusion. Harry didn't look as surprised, paler than usual, his eyes downcast.

"I see that you managed to dodge expulsion again," Hermione spat at Harry.

Ron's brow furrowed as his eyes darted between Harry and Hermione.

"Hermione, what's going on?" Ron asked, bewildered by the tension radiating from her. "Are you—"

"Shut it," Hermione snapped, her voice harsher than intended. Her anger was bubbling to the surface, ready to explode. Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, and Harry gulped audibly.

Little bits of power electrified her hair, sizzling when they met the damp tendrils. Hermione was sure it looked like literal smoke was coming from her ears, but she didn't care.

Harry's eyes lingered on Hermione's face, guilt etched into his features. He didn't have to ask what this was about. He knew. He hadn't stopped thinking about the blood, the cold bathroom floor, and the way Hermione had looked at him with fear and horror in her eyes. By the time he'd been dragged to Dumbledore's office, Hermione had looked like she'd bathed in blood.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione beat him to it.

"What the hell were you thinking, Harry James Potter?" Her voice shook with emotion, the rage boiling just beneath the surface. "You cast a spell you didn't even know, a dark spell, at someone! You cursed him!"

Harry winced, his fingers gripping the side of his bed as he moved to stand. "I — I didn't know what it would do, Hermione. I swear, I didn't mean for it to—"

"You didn't know?" Hermione's voice rose, her fists clenched by her sides. "You didn't know? I fucking hope you didn't! You nearly killed him, Harry!"

"Wait, killed who?" Ron shot up. "What did I miss?"

"Harry decided to follow Malfoy last night," Hermione spat, glaring at Harry. "And then corner him in a bathroom and hit him with a dark curse."

Ron looked between them, eyes wide. "It's Malfoy we're talking about, though," he muttered, as if trying to rationalize the situation. "I mean, he's been up to something dodgy all year. Harry was just—"

"That's not the point, Ron!" Hermione snapped, rounding on him. "You don't get to decide who deserves to be hurt like that! You weren't there—you didn't see the blood, the way he…the way he looked."

Her voice cracked, and Harry's stomach twisted painfully. He could still see the horror in her eyes when she came running into the bathroom. She'd been kneeling beside Malfoy, her hands covered in his blood, desperately casting healing spells. The guilt was suffocating.

"I didn't mean for it to happen, Hermione," Harry repeated quietly. "I swear, I didn't know. I just — I saw him there, and I… I lost it. He's been sneaking around all year, and I thought—"

"Thought what? That you'd hex him into submission? That it was okay to throw a dark curse at someone because you're suspicious of them?" Hermione's voice was shaking, but now it wasn't just with anger—it was fear. She knew Harry's obsession with Malfoy would lead to something terrible. It already had. "You can't keep doing this, Harry! You're going to get yourself killed or expelled. Or worse—you'll hurt someone like you did yesterday."

Harry stared at the floor, unable to meet her gaze.

"I know," he murmured. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm really sorry."

Hermione's fury softened slightly at his apology, but her heart still ached. She wasn't just angry about the spell—she was scared. Scared of what would happen next, scared of where this path would lead them all. And Malfoy—Malfoy was caught in the middle of it, and she couldn't even tell Harry and Ron the truth. She couldn't tell them she was more than just concerned for a classmate. That Malfoy meant more to her than they could ever imagine.

She took a shaky breath, her fists loosening. "Harry, I get it. You think he's up to something, but you can't just… you can't run around hexing people because of it. You have to stop."

Harry looked up at her finally, his green eyes filled with regret. "I will, Hermione. I promise. I didn't want you to get caught up in this—I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

Hermione's heart clenched. "I know you didn't," she said softly. "But this… this can't keep happening. Next time, someone could die. I was in the hospital wing with him. He did nearly die, Harry. He would have if Snape and I weren't there."

Her words hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke. The crackling fire was the only sound in the room.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, his face still pale.

Hermione's chest tightened, and she swallowed hard, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill. She couldn't afford to break down now. Not when everything was so fragile. She had to hold it together for Malfoy, Harry, and herself.

"I accept your apology, Harry," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "But you need to think before you act. You can't let your anger or your suspicions take over. You need to be smart about this."

Ron looked between them, his brow furrowed. "So what now?"

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her damp hair. "Now we move on. But Harry, you can't go after Malfoy like this again. Promise me."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I promise, Hermione."

She turned away, feeling a familiar dread settle in her stomach. Malfoy wasn't safe, not as long as Harry was convinced he was a threat. And Harry wasn't safe as long as this obsession continued.

"And I want you to stop watching him constantly on the Marauder's Map," Hermione demanded. "It's not healthy. Trust that Dumbledore knows what he's doing and what's happening at Hogwarts."

Harry nodded, agreeing readily.

Hermione could feel the anger and tension deflate out of her. She walked over to Ron and held out a hand. He placed a Chocolate Frog in it without hesitating, and she devoured it. Her terror and fury may not have been a dementor, but chocolate couldn't hurt to try to calm herself down.

All she could do was hope that, somehow, they'd all make it through this alive.

Malfoy returned to classes within a week of Harry's attack. Harry had detention for the rest of the school year as punishment.

Malfoy caught her eye during breakfast the morning he was released, giving her a playful smirk that made her mouth dry. She quickly looked away, clearing her throat and taking a long swig of pumpkin juice.

As they were filing into Potions, he snuck his hand into her robe and groped her ass. She nearly jumped out of her skin in alarm, and he chuckled low as he passed her.

During Transfiguration, Malfoy sent her a note folded into a paper crane that flew across the room under a disillusionment spell to let her know he had a surprise for her. And meet him outside of the Room of Requirement later that night. After reading the note, she glanced back at him to catch him winking at her. Flushed, she turned back around swiftly.

Malfoy never really courted her before. Sure, they'd hooked up in many spaces in the castle (and outside), but that was primarily hasty moments when they could catch each other alone. Then, never speak of it again.

This was different. And it was stirring up her insides like a cauldron.

She wasn't sure if she liked it or not yet. But maybe she could get used to the feeling.

She smiled secretly, tucking the note into her cloak and successfully executing her transfiguration spell.

The enchanted door to the Room of Requirement shimmered into view as Malfoy and Hermione approached it. The familiar rush of magic tingled along Hermione's skin, and she glanced sideways at Malfoy, who was wearing that infuriatingly smug grin he always sported when he thought he was being particularly clever.

"Well, Granger," he drawled, reaching out to open the door, "are you ready for our little… date?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small smile.

"A first date in a secret room? How romantic, Malfoy," she teased, stepping inside with him.

The Room of Requirement shifted around them, its magic responding to Malfoy's unspoken wishes. Soft, golden candlelight bathed the space in a warm glow, and a cozy sitting area appeared in the centre of the room. A plush velvet couch sat near a low table with a few glasses and a bottle of something that looked expensive.

Malfoy closed the door behind them with a soft click, and Hermione could feel the shift in the air, an electric charge crackling between them.

"You're full of surprises," she remarked, walking toward the couch. She let her fingers trail along the edge of the table, her eyes scanning the space. "Not bad for a first date."

Malfoy smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes never leaving her. "Well, I had to impress the brightest witch of her age, didn't I?"

Hermione chuckled, taking a seat on the couch. "You're lucky I agreed to this at all, you know."

He pushed off the wall and approached her, his movements slow and deliberate. "I wouldn't say 'lucky,' Granger. I'd say… persuasive."

She tilted her head, watching him closely as he sat beside her, their knees almost touching. There was a tension in the air between them, a mixture of curiosity and attraction.

She'd spent months last year sneaking around with him, stolen kisses in dark corridors, late-night encounters in hidden nooks.

But this—this felt different.

Intentional.

"So," Malfoy said, his voice low, "what do you think of my choice of venue?"

Hermione tapped her chin, feigning deep thought. "Hmm… I think it could use more charm."

Malfoy's lips twitched. "I'm quite charming enough, don't you think?"

She raised an eyebrow. "That remains to be seen."

"Oh, really?" He leaned closer, his grey eyes darkening with amusement.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat as his gaze flickered to her lips before locking onto her eyes again. Something was intoxicating about how he looked at her, as though he was holding a secret beneath the surface, daring her to unravel it.

"Well," she said, her tone light, "you've certainly got the ambiance right." She gestured to the room. "But I don't kiss on a first date."

He laughed, pulling back. The joy filled his whole face and lit up his eyes. The rest he'd gotten in the infirmary had done him good. It lessened the dark circles under his eyes and seemed to have, at least partially, improved his mood.

But the stark contrast also reminded Hermione that there was something that he was hiding from her. Something that he was assigned to do that he was struggling with.

Maybe she could finally get him to tell her. To confide in her. To trust her with this.

She played to win. She'd won him back, one hand down. Now she needed to get this next secret from him.

Hermione leaned forward, her tone softer, more coaxing.

"Do you trust me?"

Malfoy paused, eyeing her carefully. "Yes."

She smiled back at him, biting her lip a little in the way she knew he liked. He made a little noise, and she smirked, inching towards him on the sofa.

"And you want to be with me?" She looked up at him through her lashes, touching his chest.

"You know I do," he replied, his eyes narrowing at her.

She held in a grin as she moved one of her legs to the other side of his own, straddling him. She'd worn a lovely dress for their first date, which rode up to her waist, leaving little between her and his trousers. Malfoy's hands ran up the back of her thighs, landing on her ass as he pulled her closer to him.

She ground against his growing erection, and he moaned.

"I want to be with you, too," she whispered into his ear.

"Fuck." He threw his head back, his hands moving to her waist, and moved her body against him again.

"I've missed you," she confessed. "I want to spend as much time with you as possible. Anytime we can get."

He nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing as she moved again.

"So, you should let me help you with whatever you're doing that's keeping you away from me, yes?"

Malfoy almost nodded. She'd almost had him. But then his eyes snapped open, and he caught her gaze. His usual smirk returned, and he tilted his head at her, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Nice try, Granger," he said, his voice dripping with amusement. "But I see what you're doing."

Hermione blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "What do you mean?"

Malfoy leaned in closer, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, "You're trying to get me to spill my secrets. Very clever. But you'll have to do better than that."

Hermione's breath hitched, her skin tingling at his warm breath against her ear. She could feel the heat radiating off him below her, the undeniable pull that kept bringing them back together again and again.

"I wasn't trying to—" Hermione began, but Malfoy cut her off with a low chuckle.

"Oh, I know you were. And I almost let it slip," he murmured, his fingers trailing lightly along her arm, sending a shiver down her spine. "But I'm not that easily undone, Love."

Hermione's pulse quickened, her mind racing. She should be furious that he'd caught on to her plan, but instead, she found herself caught in the magnetic pull between them.

"You're impossible," she muttered, though her voice lacked the usual bite.

Malfoy grinned, his lips dangerously close to hers. "That's why you like me."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, but before she could retort, Malfoy closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a heated, teasing kiss. Her hands instinctively slid up to his chest, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as she pulled him closer.

His hands tugged her against him as the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate. Every touch was deliberate, a slow burn that ignited between them. She could feel the tension, the way his body pressed against hers, the way his hands seemed to claim every inch of her.

Hermione pulled his jumper over his head, revealing his pale, athletic chest. He'd lost some weight this year, but that hadn't yet negated his years of Quidditch training. The scars from the curse Harry had given him were still pink and crisscrossed his chest.

"I'm still mad at you." Hermione pulled back, breathless.

Malfoy smirked, his lips brushing hers again. "You won't be for long."

With that, he kissed her again, his hands slipping beneath her shirt, sending a thrill of anticipation through her. He knew exactly what he was doing—distracting, teasing, and keeping her off balance. And for once, Hermione didn't mind.

There would be time for secrets and truths later. For now, she was content to lose herself in the sensation of his touch, the heat of his kisses, and the genuine moment they almost didn't get. Not if he'd lost his life a week ago.

Pulling back, she frowned. "I thought I told you I don't kiss on a first date?"

"Looks like you break all the rules for me." He smirked and moved them, laying her on the couch, looking up at him. "Now, I'm going to do something for you."

He kissed his way down her leg, paying special attention to her inner thigh. He halted just before the edge of her underwear, her breathing coming in gasps as she held in her words.

She wouldn't beg.

Oh fuck, if he didn't put his mouth on her this instance, she would beg. She'd say anything he wanted to hear.

He let out a breathy laugh, almost as if he could hear her thoughts, before using his wand to remove her underwear with a wordless spell. The exposed air sent a jolt of cold through her, followed quickly by the warmth of his tongue as he then captured her clit.

"Fuck Draco." She weaved her hands in his hair as he pressed down on her hips to keep her still.

"That's the plan, my love."

He was a fucking artist with that tongue. The things the man could do had no business being repeated. It wasn't long before she was screaming his name.

As she came down from the high, Malfoy removed her skirt, followed by her shirt. His fingers paused when the fabric fell to the ground. For the first time, he saw the scar from the Death Eater attack at the Department of Mysteries. She'd covered it up, disillusioned it, during the Slugclub Christmas Party.

"We have matching scars now," Hermione said, breaking his stare as she brought her hand to his chest, tracing the more prominent scar from shoulder to hip.

He swallowed hard and nodded, removing her bra and running a finger along the line of her own.

"It would have been foolish to believe the war would leave us unmarked." He leaned down and kissed the scar with a wet, open mouth.

Hermione's gaze travelled unbidden to the Dark Mark on his left forearm. Of the research that lay in her bag, note covered and desperate.

The research was forgotten for the rest of the night as Hermione again became lost in the pleasure of Draco's touch.

She moaned as his fingers teased at her entrance, dipping in and out before returning with a vengeance to rub circles on her clit. Her head rolled back as she gave into the pleasure, hips bucking against him.

Draco groaned himself, enjoying the way she writhed beneath him and used his thumb to spread her wetness around. Hermione gasped and clenched down on him, surprising herself with the pleasure that shot through her body at the sensation.

He chuckled lowly against her breast before pulling back, giving one final suck to her nipple for good measure. He raised his head to look at her, eyes roaming over her flushed skin and puffy lips before meeting hers.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured before kissing her deeply. As their tongues danced together, he positioned himself between her legs and lined himself up at her entrance.

Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer as she begged silently for more. With a low growl, Draco thrust into her all at once, causing them both to cry out in pleasure.

He set a steady pace as they moved together in perfect harmony. Hermione's nails dug into his back while he peppered kisses along her neck and collarbone. Their breathing grew heavier with each passing moment until they were both close to their peak.

Draco reached between them to rub Hermione's clit in time with his thrusts, sending exquisite waves of pleasure through her body until she was shuddering around him in release.

Feeling Hermione tighten around him sent Draco over the edge, and he came hard inside of her with a loud groan. They rode out their orgasms together before collapsing onto the bed in a sweaty heap.

Draco rolled onto his back and pulled Hermione close to his side as they caught their breath.

But even as they lay together in the afterglow, a part of her mind couldn't shake the feeling that whatever Malfoy was hiding would soon come crashing down around them—whether they were ready or not.

The library was eerily quiet, the heavy silence broken only by the occasional groan of ancient wood settling around her. Shadows sprawled across the floor in twisted, reaching shapes, and the dim, flickering light of Hermione's wand threw shifting reflections across the spines of books, making their gilded titles glimmer for half-seconds before plunging back into darkness. Each step felt loud in her ears, every faint creak beneath her foot sending a shiver up her spine.

She was taking a risk. More than a risk. It was well past curfew, and Filch—or worse, Snape—could be patrolling the halls, waiting to catch out any rule-breakers. But she couldn't ignore the pull any longer. She needed answers, and she needed them now.

Her fingers brushed against the edges of Harry's invisibility cloak wrapped around her, a comforting reassurance. Harry had passed out right after Quidditch practice, too exhausted to notice anything missing from his belongings. Hermione doubted he'd miss his cloak for the night, but a pang of guilt lingered as she thought of how furious he'd be if he knew what she was up to. She pushed the thought aside.

This wasn't about bending rules or sneaking around for some petty thrill.

This was about survival—and a chance to give Malfoy something he'd never been given: a choice.

She hadn't been able to get the image of his arm out of her mind, the Dark Mark's striking black lines stark against his pale skin, like chains burned into his flesh. And the look in his eyes… He'd tried to mask it, but she saw it there, buried under layers of pride and anger: shame, fear. Helplessness.

She steadied herself as she approached the Restricted Section. The Restricted Section was locked and warded, but Hermione had learned how to break in by her second year.

The thick air of the Restricted Section hit her immediately—dusty, cold, and ancient, like it had soaked in centuries of whispered secrets and forbidden knowledge. Rows upon rows of books towered around her, each exuding an aura of dark magic, curses and enchantments crafted in times when magic was raw and unforgiving. Everything held in here was something darker, something dangerous.

Her fingers grazed the cracked spines, eyes flicking over the cryptic titles. Maleficia et Tenebrae: A Study of Dark Bonds and Their Origins. The title alone was enough to chill her blood, but she pulled it down and laid it open on the table, skimming the fragile pages for anything that might help. Words about ancient binding spells, curses woven into the blood… she fought the urge to shiver. Each line seemed to coil with darkness, the weight of secrets that had destroyed lives.

"Gemino."

The spell was delicate, requiring precision—if she slipped, the enchantments on the book would activate, alerting the library's protections. Her hand trembled, but she kept focused, and a perfect duplicate of each page appeared beside her. She repeated the process, copying passage after passage, her mind absorbing details on cursed bonds, ancient blood magic, and binding charms.

After a while, she stumbled upon a section discussing old Death Eater cases, studies conducted after Voldemort's first defeat. As she read, her heart sank. It described how, even after the Dark Lord's fall, the marks persisted—alive, as if waiting for his return. They were connected to him through dark magic woven into the very blood of each Death Eater, impossible to sever without severe consequences.

"Proprium in sanguine," she read aloud under her breath. "Belonging within the blood."

The phrase twisted in her mind, sparking unease. If the Dark Mark were embedded within Malfoy's blood, as ingrained as his own identity, then removing it would be anything but simple.

She didn't want to admit how daunting it all seemed, how overwhelming. But she couldn't let that stop her, not after what she'd seen.

She swallowed, casting another copy spell over the passage, letting it hover momentarily as her gaze drifted over to the door, half expecting Filch or one of the professors to burst through.

Nothing moved in the shadows.

Hermione pressed on, her hands flipping carefully through each book. She was dealing with dangerous knowledge, magic that had destroyed lives, the kind that usually required darkness in the caster's heart even to attempt. Her hands trembled as she found another volume, Magical Branding and Cursed Tattoos.

Every spell and description made her heart beat faster, her determination battling her fear. These accounts, too, seemed to hint at ancient magic—old magic—that was rarely practiced in modern times and almost always came at a cost to the one bearing the mark.

Hermione lost track of time as she continued to gather information. She knew she was treading dangerous territory, but her desire to help Malfoy was fierce. He deserved to be free from the burden he hadn't chosen, to live without that awful mark, branding him as something he wasn't.

She thought of his haunted eyes, his anger, his fear.

He didn't have to ask her to help him. She already knew she would.

As the pile of copied pages grew, so did her urgency. The sensation of someone watching prickled along her spine, and her mind raced with thoughts of what might happen if she were caught here. Expulsion? Possibly. Worse? Most definitely. But she forced herself to focus, her fingers brushing over one final volume—The Binding and Unbinding of Souls.

This was the last book, she decided. One more passage, and she'd leave.

"Prohibeo Vinculum," she murmured, a binding spell that supposedly tied one soul to another. She scribbled it on a scrap of parchment, wondering if a reverse spell might be possible, and the thrill of discovery flared within her.

The low chime of the clock echoed from somewhere deep within the library, and she glanced at her watch, her heart stalling. She'd been here longer than she intended. With a trembling breath, she gathered the copies, slipping them into her bag.

As she turned to leave, her footsteps muffled on the stone floor, and a cold wave of dread washed over her. Every shadow seemed to stretch closer, reaching out with ghostly fingers. She had to get out of there. Now.

She made it to the door, clutching her wand, and glanced back just as the light from her wand flickered over the dark tomes she'd left behind, their spines gleaming in the dimness. She hesitated only a moment, wondering if she'd overlooked something crucial. But then, from somewhere distant, she thought she heard the echo of footsteps.

Her heart leapt, and she cast the spell to re-shelf the books. Slipping back through the library exit, Hermione clutched the bag close to her. The shadows seemed to part as she walked, her resolve a fragile shield against the dark knowledge she carried within her bag.

As she left the library and melted into the quiet night, she made a silent vow to herself: she would do whatever it took to free Malfoy from Voldemort's grasp.

The Room of Requirement had become their sanctuary—a hidden corner of Hogwarts where they could just be.

Tonight, the room had transformed into a cozy, fire-lit nook with plush, oversized pillows scattered across a soft rug. The flickering firelight cast a warm, golden hue over the space, reflecting off the old wooden beams and illuminating their secret hideaway.

Hermione leaned back against a pile of cushions, a book resting on her lap, though she wasn't paying much attention. Her gaze drifted to Malfoy, sprawled out beside her, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he watched her pretend to read.

"You've been staring at that same page for ten minutes," he teased, his voice soft and low, carrying a hint of amusement. "Should I be jealous?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, closing the book with a thud.

"I've read this a dozen times," she admitted with a small smile. "And it's difficult to concentrate when you're staring at me like that."

"Can't help it," he replied, shifting closer, his eyes never leaving her face. "It's not every day I get to see Hermione Granger lounging around with me instead of buried in a mountain of textbooks. You should do it more often. It's good for you."

Hermione chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the fire.

"I'm sure Madam Pince would be horrified if she knew I was taking a break from my studies to sit around with a Slytherin. Especially one who has such terrible taste in reading material." She gestured to the book Malfoy had brought—Quidditch Through the Ages, dog-eared and worn.

"Terrible taste?" Malfoy scoffed, feigning offence. "I'll have you know this is a classic. Besides, it's a necessary escape from all the nonsense we deal with every day. Not everything has to be so serious, Granger."

She smiled, a genuine laugh escaping her.

"All right, all right. I'll give you that one." She tilted her head, curls brushing against her cheek as she looked at him. "What do you do to escape, then? When you're not here, hiding out with me?"

When he's not secretly working on whatever task his dark master had set for him.

"Hmm, let me think," he mused, pretending to stroke an imaginary beard. "Well, sometimes I go for a brooding walk around the lake, glaring menacingly at first-years. Other times, I indulge in some light plotting of world domination. Very relaxing."

Hermione snorted, shaking her head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

He grinned, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

"I've heard that a time or two." His gaze softened, and he reached out, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "But you're not much better. You're always worrying, always planning. When was the last time you did something because it was fun?"

Hermione opened her mouth to answer, then paused, her brow furrowing.

"I… don't know," she admitted, feeling sheepish. "I suppose there hasn't been much time for fun lately."

He frowned; the sentiment echoed all over his tired, worn face.

"Then it's time we changed that," Malfoy declared, sitting up with a sudden burst of energy. He stood, extending his hand to her. "Come on, Granger."

She eyed his hand suspiciously. "What are you up to?"

"Trust me," he said with a wink. "I promise it won't involve plotting any dark deeds."

With a hesitant smile, she placed her hand in his, and he pulled her to her feet. He led her to the centre of the room, where the rug beneath them seemed to shift into a smooth, polished surface.

"Are you trying to make me dance?" she asked, her eyes widening in playful suspicion.

"Trying? No," he replied, his lips quirking into a confident grin. "Succeeding? Definitely."

Before she could protest, he pulled her closer, one hand finding her waist and the other intertwining with hers.

"I'm terrible at dancing," she warned, but she couldn't suppress the smile spreading across her face.

"Perfect," Malfoy said, "because I'm terribly good at it."

The room seemed to respond to their whims, and soft music began to play—a slow, gentle waltz that filled the space between them. Hermione felt a bubble of laughter rise in her throat as they moved awkwardly at first, stepping on each other's toes and giggling like schoolchildren.

"Is this what you call terribly good?" she teased, trying to match his rhythm.

"Hey, I'm doing all the work here," he retorted, his smirk widening. "You're the one who keeps stepping on my feet. You might be sabotaging me."

"Sabotaging you?" she laughed. "You're delusional."

But as they continued, their movements began to smooth out, falling into a rhythm that felt easy, natural. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her waist, the gentle pressure of his fingers guiding hers, and for a moment, she let herself forget about everything else—about the war, the darkness, the fear that lingered in every corner. For a moment, it was just them, spinning slowly in a room that felt like their own little world.

"See? Not so bad," Malfoy said, his voice close to her ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.

Hermione smiled up at him, her eyes meeting his. "Not bad at all," she whispered. She could see the boy he was behind the mask he wore every day—the one who laughed with her, who teased her, who cared more than he would ever admit.

They danced like that for a while, lost in the quiet of each other's company, the world outside forgotten. When the music finally faded, they were still holding on to each other, neither one ready to let go.

"Thank you." Hermione's breath was warm against his cheek. "For reminding me what this feels like. To just… be."

"I think we both needed it," he replied, a hint of sadness creeping in. "And I like seeing you like this. Happy. Relaxed. Almost makes you bearable."

She swatted his arm playfully, but her smile didn't waver. "You know, for someone so smart, you're awfully foolish sometimes."

"Maybe." He leaned closer, his forehead resting gently against hers.

Hermione's heart fluttered in her chest, and she felt a warmth spread through her, a lightness she hadn't felt in so long. She closed the small distance between them, her lips brushing his in a soft, lingering kiss, and for a moment, all the chaos and uncertainty melted away.

In that secret room, in that stolen moment, they were just Malfoy and Hermione—two teenagers finding a bit of foolish joy in a world that had too little of it.

The dungeon was filled with the murmur of students settling in, Gryffindors on one side of the room and Slytherins on the other, like two opposing armies forced into the same space. Hermione spotted Theo as she entered, already at his seat with that characteristic lazy grin of his. She inclined her head in a subtle greeting as she passed him on the way to her seat.

"Granger," Theo replied smoothly, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Hermione returned a small smile and continued on to sit between Ron and Harry, both of whom were watching her curiously. Ron, especially, gave her an incredulous look.

"What's that all about?" His eyebrows knit together as he tried to process what he'd just witnessed ash he leaned closer to Hermione.

Hermione shrugged, pretending not to notice the look. "Just being polite."

"Polite?" Ron repeated, shooting another glare at Theo, who merely winked back at him and offered a lazy wave. Ron shuddered and looked away, muttering under his breath about "creepy Slytherins."

Beside him, Harry chuckled, enjoying Ron's discomfort.

"Relax, mate," Harry said, patting Ron's shoulder as he tried to stifle his laughter. "It's not like he's plotting our demise. Probably."

Malfoy entered the room just then, casting a bored glance around before making his way over to sit beside Theo. Hermione felt his gaze flicker toward her as he took his seat, their eyes meeting for a brief second before he looked away, hiding his face. Hermione's heart gave an involuntary jolt, and she busied herself with her cauldron, willing her face to remain neutral.

Harry noticed the brief exchange and narrowed his eyes, giving Hermione a strange, questioning look. It was a look he'd given her several times lately, usually after he'd caught her in some form of nonverbal truce with Malfoy or sometimes Theo. Hermione could practically feel Harry's curiosity simmering beside her, and she quickly turned her attention to her potion, hoping he wouldn't ask too many questions.

Professor Slughorn finally began the lesson, his voice booming as he launched into an enthusiastic monologue about the properties of Veritaserum, but it seemed the class had other things on their minds.

"Pity they don't use Veritaserum on Slytherins," Dean Thomas said, eyeing Malfoy and Theo. "Might be useful to find out what they get up to after hours."

Pansy Parkinson, who was seated beside Malfoy, gave an exaggerated sigh. "Please, Thomas, as if we'd waste time thinking about you a lot. What we get up to would turn your hair grey."

Harry shot her a crooked grin. "That so, Parkinson? Because I'm pretty sure Malfoy spends at least half his free time plotting ways to annoy us."

"You flatter yourself, Potter." Malfoy scoffed. "Believe it or not, not everything revolves around you."

"Keep telling yourself that, Malfoy," Harry quipped back, crossing his arms. "Pretty sure you have a Potter-shrine somewhere in the Slytherin common room."

The Gryffindors laughed, and even a few Slytherins snickered, Pansy included. Malfoy gave Harry a disdainful look.

Oh, if anyone else here knew how much Harry had obsessed over Malfoy this year. They'd be more likely to believe Harry had a shrine in his dormitory.

In fact, Hermione made a mental note to check on that later. Just to be sure.

Theo leaned over to whisper something in Malfoy's ear. Malfoy's gaze drifted back over to Hermione, his expression softening as he caught her watching him. Hermione looked away, cheeks tingling as she tried to focus on her notes, but not before noticing the sly grin that spread across Theo's face.

Ron noticed the way Hermione kept glancing in the Slytherins' direction and shook his head in exasperation. "Honestly, Hermione, don't know why you bother with him."

"Theo is actually very good company, Ron." Hermione sighed, keeping her gaze fixed on her notes. "Not everything's black and white."

Ron huffed, shooting another suspicious glance at Theo, who gave him a polite little wave. Draco sneered and made a rude gesture. The Slytherin best friends, Yin and Yang in their approach.

"Ignore them, Ron." Harry said, returning the gesture to Malfoy. "You can't fix stupid."

"Please, Potter." Malfoy's eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a smirk. "Unlike you, I don't need remedial lessons in brewing a basic potion."

Draco's voice dripped with feigned boredom, though his gaze flicked briefly to Hermione, a hint of something softer lingering there for just a second before he masked it again.

"Enough!" Slughorn finally interrupted, clapping his hands to regain the attention of the bickering students. "Let's get back to Veritaserum, shall we? It's far more useful than any petty arguments."

A murmur of suppressed laughter rippled through the classroom, and even Theo was grinning as he elbowed Draco. Malfoy rolled his eyes but turned back to his notes, though not before sending one last disdainful look Harry's way.

Hermione felt Ron nudge her, leaning in with a puzzled look. "Seriously, Hermione, you know Nott isn't exactly trustworthy, right? Don't get all chummy with him just because he's… being polite."

She resisted the urge to sigh too loudly, instead offering a patient smile. "Ron, you do realize that the House rivalry doesn't have to define everything we do here, don't you?"

Ron muttered something under his breath, but he reluctantly let it go. Harry, however, didn't seem ready to drop the subject entirely, his brow furrowed as he cast another glance at Malfoy and Theo, as if he was trying to piece together some unseen puzzle.

As Slughorn resumed, Hermione refocussed, taking meticulous notes and concentrating on the lecture.

The soft, warm glow of Hermione's wand illuminated the confined space behind her drawn curtains, casting long shadows against the fabric as she hunched over her notes, surrounded by piles of parchment and copies of borrowed passages. She lay cross-legged on her bed, buried in a sea of stolen knowledge, each page a fragment of the Dark Mark's mystery. Outside her cocoon, the Gryffindor dorm room was quiet, faint whispers of sleep and soft breathing coming from her roommates' beds, but within her curtain-drawn sanctuary, she was free to let her mind roam.

She highlighted passages, her quill darting over lines that seemed to resonate, that hinted at possibilities, at something that might work. Occasionally, she'd jot down a note, a hurried "Could a counter-curse disrupt a blood-based bond?" or "Consider ancient runes on skin" scrawled in the margins, each annotation a tiny piece of the puzzle. She'd traced these half-answers and cryptic clues like they were the only things tethering her to a solution, to some faint glimmer of hope.

But as she combed through the words of those who'd tried and failed before her, doubts slithered in like smoke, curling around her thoughts.

The Dark Mark had been seared onto skin, bone, blood, and soul; it was no simple spell, not even a simple curse. It was a permanent mark of allegiance and servitude that hadn't faded in the little over a decade since Voldemort's first defeat. No wizard in the Department of Mysteries had managed to solve it in all that time, no researcher had cracked it—at least none had survived to tell the tale.

If the most experienced witches and wizards had come up empty-handed, what chance did she have?

Hermione frowned, her fingers pressing into the edges of a page. Was it hubris to think she could be the one to break it?

After all, who was she to even attempt this? She wasn't some ancient spell crafter, nor was she an expert in the intricacies of blood-based magic, of curses older than her entire bloodline.

She was just Hermione Granger, sixth-year student, school prefect, and Gryffindor. What did she think she could accomplish that others couldn't?

But then, she thought of Malfoy. The haunted look in his eyes when he glanced down at the Mark seared into his skin, the way his mouth twisted with bitterness and shame. She remembered the way he'd flinched when she'd first seen it, the silent horror she'd felt on his behalf.

Her grip tightened on her quill. It didn't matter if it was impossible—she wouldn't abandon him to it. She couldn't.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to read on, eyes scanning the pages for anything she might have missed. Another hour passed, and then another, her mind pushing through exhaustion as she chased any hint of a solution. There were dead ends and hints, trails that petered off into nowhere, and words that sparked ideas but with no clear direction. It was like trying to put together pieces from three different puzzles, each one only hinting at the truth, but never giving her the whole picture.

She drew the quill down the parchment, watching as it left a faint ink trail on her latest note.

Perhaps it was hubris. Perhaps she was setting herself up to fail spectacularly. But Malfoy's life was on the line, and if she gave up now, if she let herself be cowed by fear or doubt, then she'd be no better than those who had come before her and given up. She refused to let him live a life in chains because she was too scared to believe in herself.

So she pressed on, her gaze resolute as she flipped the page and forced herself to keep reading, each note she made a quiet declaration of her own determination. She didn't know if she could unravel the Dark Mark's secrets, if she could find a way to sever its hold on him, but for Malfoy, she would try.

Because maybe she couldn't save the world, but she could save him.