Chapter 8

poison blood from the wound of the pricked hand

Blood poisoning (sepsis) is a serious condition in which the body responds improperly to an infection.
Common signs of sepsis include fever, fast heart rate, rapid breathing, confusion and body pain.

Malfoy requested a meeting with her in the Room of Requirement on an unusual night.

As the heavy door shut behind them, the cold chill of the castle melted away, leaving only the soft crackle of a fire and the dim, comforting glow of candlelight.

Malfoy paced in front of the fire, his face tense, his mind racing.

Hermione watched him pace, her brow furrowing. She had seen him anxious before, but this was different. A frantic energy radiated off him, a desperation in his movements.

"Malfoy, what's wrong?" She stepped closer, her voice laced with concern.

He stopped abruptly, turning to face her. He gazed at her, his eyes tracing every feature, every freckle, every curve, as if he wanted to etch her into his memory. His hands trembled, and his breath came in quick, shallow bursts.

Without a word, he crossed the distance between them in two long strides, his hands reaching for her, pulling her against him.

"Malfoy—" she started, but he silenced her with a kiss, fierce and urgent.

His lips crashed against hers with an almost bruising need, his hands tangling in her hair as he held her close. This kiss, though familiar, felt different—a primal, desperate craving that hung in the air like a dark cloud.

She responded instinctively, her arms winding around his neck, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. The heat between them flared to life, intense and consuming. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her chest, his breath hitching as he deepened the kiss, as if he were trying to draw every bit of comfort from her.

When they broke apart, they were both breathless, their foreheads pressed together, his hands still buried in her curls.

"Malfoy," she whispered, her voice shaky, "what's going on? You're scaring me."

"Don't," he murmured, his voice rough and low. "Don't think. Just… stay with me."

His lips found hers again, softer this time, but still insistent, almost pleading. His hands moved down to her waist, pulling her flush against him.

She wanted to push for more answers, to ask why he seemed so heated, but the way he touched her, the way he kissed her—like he was trying to imprint himself on her soul—made her chest tighten. He consumed her, the world around them dissolving into a hazy mist.

They sank onto the blankets, his hands roaming over her body as if memorizing every curve, every inch of skin. His kisses trailed down her neck and collarbone, his breath warm and ragged against her skin. She shivered, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, the sheer emotion behind every touch, every whisper of her name.

He pressed his forehead to hers again, his breath hot and heavy.

"I need you," he prayed. "I need you so much it hurts."

"Then have me," she whispered, her fingers threading through his hair. "I'm right here."

The world receded as they drew closer, their kisses and touches growing more fervent. His hands were everywhere, clutching her, pulling her closer as if he were afraid she might slip away. She could feel the urgency in every movement and feel him trying to hold on to something slipping through his fingers.

Hours passed in a blur of tangled limbs and breathless whispers. There was no urgency to sleep, no rush to return to reality. They talked in hushed tones, sharing small secrets, stolen smiles, and lingering touches. Hermione tried to pull him into lighter conversations, but he was intense, his focus never wavering from her.

"Tell me something," she said softly, her head resting on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Something real."

Malfoy's fingers traced patterns on her back, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"I'm afraid," he confessed. "I'm afraid of what comes next."

"Next?" she asked, lifting her head to look at him. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated, his eyes searching hers, and for a moment, she thought he might tell her. But then he smiled a tight, sad smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"It doesn't matter," he said, brushing a stray curl from her face. "Let's hold this moment for a little while more."

The weight of his words settled heavily in her chest, a sense of unease prickling at the edges of her mind. She wanted to push, to ask him what he was hiding, but something in his eyes stopped her. Instead, she nodded, resting her head back on his chest, trying to ignore the feeling of dread creeping in.

In their embrace, time seemed to stretch and contract, a fleeting moment that felt like an eternity as they held onto the fragile peace they had built together. She could feel his heartbeat beneath her cheek, a steady rhythm that anchored her to the present, even as her mind raced.

When the night began to give way to the first light of dawn, she felt his grip on her tighten, his breath hitching as he buried his face in her hair.

"I wish we had more time."

She pulled back to look at him, repeating, "More time? What do you mean?"

He shook his head, his eyes shadowed with something dark and unreadable.

"Nothing," he said, his voice strained. "Just… stay safe, Hermione. Promise me."

She searched his face, trying to read what he wasn't saying. Trying to peer into the future like a fucking prophetess.

"Promise," she whispered, though she couldn't shake the sinking feeling in her gut.

"Can you meet me somewhere tomorrow?" He asked, playing with her hair.

"When?"

"After classes, just before dinner." He wouldn't look at her. Why wouldn't he look at her? "Will you meet me in the Slytherin Common Room? Do you still remember the password?"

Hermione nodded. "Why?"

He finally caught her eye and smiled, but something was wrong. His eyes were again obscured by occlusion. "I have a surprise for you."

A profound feeling of dread enveloped her as she vanished from the room, returning to Hogwarts' halls.

Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, fury and frustration burning her veins. The air in Draco's dormitory was thick with the magic of countless spells—locks, wards, and charms designed to trap her, to keep her from escaping.

He had locked her in his fucking dormitory.

It hadn't been a subtle capture either. One minute, she'd been suspiciously creeping through the Slytherin common room, her mind swirling with doubts and worries about what Draco was planning. The next, he had her pinned down with a full body bind curse, moving quickly, his face set with grim determination. She'd never seen him look like that—so cold, so desperate.

She cursed under her breath, yanking free the final lock on the door with a sharp wave of her wand. The door barely opened, but she hesitated, taking in the dorm one last time before continuing.

It felt like a prison—a betrayal.

Her hands shook as she pushed the door open the rest of the way, her body still aching from breaking through all his enchantments. He hadn't even taken her wand, not really. She couldn't determine if it was a purposeful omission or subconscious, a final safeguard if someone entered the room.

She'd easily used wandless magic to break the bind. After a quick rest to replenish her magic, she'd done the same with the ropes and grabbed the wand at the end of the bed.

Her wand was clutched as she stepped over the threshold, leaving the suffocating room behind her. She could hear the distant roar of battle echoing through the castle's stone walls.

The war had come to Hogwarts.

And here she was, fighting to escape where Draco had imprisoned her.

To protect her, he had said.

Hermione's jaw clenched. Draco had tied her to his bed—physically bound her with ropes—under some twisted idea that it would keep her safe. And worse, he had enchanted his curtains to be glued shut, casting layers of protective charms and locks on the door, effectively trapping her in his private sanctuary while chaos erupted.

"To protect me," Hermione muttered bitterly, storming down the corridor leading out of the dungeons. "Locking me up as if it were the solution."

Her feet echoed on the cold stone floor, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts as the noise of battle drew closer. She had endured too much to be imprisoned by the one person who should have understood.

Draco was brilliant at Charms. Unfortunately for him, she was better.

She replayed their last conversation in her mind as she hurried toward the entrance to the dungeon. His eyes, desperate as he spoke—more like rambling, really—revealed his fear of her involvement in the impending event. He had to keep her away, far from whatever deadly mission he had been tasked with.

But Hermione was no stranger to danger. She had faced Death Eaters, fought in battles, and even now had knowledge that could alter the war's direction entirely. And Draco, with all his cunning and his Slytherin tendencies, thought he could keep her out of harm's way by locking her up?

She laughed, humourless and dark.

"Bloody fool," she whispered, pushing harder, faster.

The castle's stone walls seemed to tremble as she drew nearer to the heart of the battle. Spells crackled like fireworks, and the distant screams and shouts mingled with the clash of duelling wizards.

It was getting worse. She could feel it.

Her breath caught as she rounded the corner and nearly collided with a suit of armour, barely steadying herself in time. The urgency pounded in her chest, driving her forward. She needed to find Draco.

How could he be so foolish? It's unthinkable that he would exclude her. He needed her—whether he would admit it or not.

Draco had acted to protect her from the terrifying night ahead. But Hermione Granger wasn't one to be saved. She wasn't some damsel in distress waiting for the battle to pass her by.

She would fight. She would always fight.

The castle was a battlefield of chaos and noise. Curses whizzed through the air, blasting stone walls and sending debris from the ceiling. Death Eaters moved like shadows in the flickering light, their wands spitting green and red spells into the fray. Around them, students and teachers fought back with everything they had, spells clashing like a violent symphony echoing through the ancient halls.

Hermione gripped her wand so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Her breath was ragged as she ducked behind a shattered statue. A jet of red light streaked past her ear, missing her by inches.

Her heartbeat quickened as the reality hit her—what Draco had done, why he had tried so desperately to shield her from this. But it was too late now. She was free, and nothing would stop her from reaching him.

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand and sprinted toward the battle, her fury propelling her forward.

Another curse flew past, so close she felt the heat singe her hair. She fired back instinctively, her spell striking a Death Eater square in the chest and sending him toppling backward, his wand flying from his hand. Before she could catch her breath, a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her around, forcing her to face her assailant.

"Granger?" The voice was sharp and breathless, her name spoken like a desperate prayer and a broken curse.

"Malfoy." Relief flooded her, and her chest heaved as she realized it was him.

He's okay. They were both panting from the chaos, but they were alive.

He rushed to her, his face hard and unyielding. She hauled back her fist and punched him straight in the nose. The crunch beneath her knuckles was satisfying as pure blood sprang from his nose in a gush.

"What the fuck?" He said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back to stop the bleeding.

"If you ever try to restrain me like that again, Draco Malfoy, they will never find your fucking body." She was trembling with rage and fear and relief that he was alive. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, love," he groaned.

She nodded once and cast a quick episkey on his nose. Malfoy winced as it snapped back into place, the bleeding quelling almost instantly.

She pulled him to her, crashing her lips against his. It was a fierce, raw kiss, a collision of fear and need. She tasted blood and smoke and the desperation that clung to both of them. It was hard and fast, a reckless confirmation that he was alive and here.

They broke apart, breathless, the war still raging around them.

"What's happening?" she asked, her voice shaking with adrenaline.

"You have to get out," Malfoy insisted, urgency lacing his voice as he glanced over his shoulder at the chaos unfolding. "Hogwarts has fallen."

She shook her head in disbelief. "No. That's not possible. The castle—Dumbledore—"

"Hermione, listen to me!" He grabbed her shoulders, giving her a slight, desperate shake. "Hogwarts has fallen. Dumbledore is dead. You promised me that you'd stay safe. You have to leave. Now."

Stay safe. The promise from last night. He'd known this would happen, but instead of trusting her with the truth, he manipulated her into a trap and locked her away. Safe, protected- but also unable to tell anyone else. To call for help. To stop the whole fucking shit show.

"You still don't trust me."

"What are you talking about?" Malfoy glanced at the ongoing battle surrounding them.

"You knew this was going to happen. You knew, and you didn't tell me. You didn't warn me!"

Malfoy released her shoulders and took a step back. "It's not that I don't trust you."

"Then what is it?"

"II don't want you to be involved. This is life and death for me. It's possible you and your team of heroes prevented this. But if you did, I would be dead. My whole family would be dead." Malfoy ran his hands through his hair, which was more grey than blonde from the dust swirling around them. "And I don't want to implicate you in anything I do."

"Did you do this?" She demanded.

Her eyes widened, darting around the scene of destruction—students battling dark-robed figures, the sickly green glow of the Dark Mark blazing in the sky above the shattered roof. Her mind struggled to catch up with what she was seeing, unable to reconcile the fortress of safety she had always known with the war zone it had become.

She turned back to Malfoy. His face was pale, his eyes wide and haunted. She could see the fear etched into every line of his expression, a fear not for himself but for her.

"Did you let them in?"

He swallowed hard, but didn't deny it.

"That was your task. To let them in?" The puzzle pieces finally started to form in her mind, making up a whole picture. "Did you kill Dumbledore?"

"No." He shook his head, his face becoming more desperate by the moment. "No, that wasn't me."

Another explosion sounded above them. Rubble rained down, and Malfoy covered her body with his, blocking her from any larger pieces of Hogwarts that fell.

"I need you to go," he said into her ear, holding her tightly as she tried to pull back from his hold. "You know that if Hogwarts falls, this place isn't safe for you."

He was telling her to leave.

He wasn't asking her to go with him.

He was a Death Eater.

And despite knowing that he caused this, that he was the one who let these monsters into the school, she couldn't help but picture his face when he told her he hadn't willingly accepted the mark. Every choice he makes, or doesn't make, hangs over him, a burden for his mother to bear.

It didn't excuse his actions. But it didn't make him evil either.

What lengths would Hermione go to for those she cherished most? What boundaries would she cross to protect them? She hoped she'd never need to know.

"I'm not going without you."

They could debate about this all later. They could scream and shout at each other. They could fight until there was no reason to fight. But they had to be together to do that.

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glanced past her, surveying the wreckage. "You know that's not how this works."

"Draco!" Snape's voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding, even over the noise of battle.

Malfoy's grip tightened, pulling her further into the shadows behind a statue—out of sight of the other students, professors and Death Eaters engaged in battle. His hands came up to cradle her face, his touch cold, his rings like ice against her skin.

"Listen to me," he whispered urgently, eyes boring into hers. "No matter what they say, no matter what you hear… remember what I told you. I never wanted any of this. I had absolutely no desire to do any of it."

"Malfoy… what did you do?" Hermione searched his face, but he just shook his head, his face tightening with regret. She knew it. He all but admitted it. But she wanted to hear him say it.

"We won't be talking for a while."

"Draco!" Snape's voice called out again, closer now, more insistent.

Panic spiked in her chest as Malfoy moved to leave. She grabbed him, pulling him back into a fierce embrace, her arms wrapping around him. She buried her face against his neck, inhaling his scent of smoke and mint, anchoring herself to this fleeting moment. He froze for a moment before his arms came around her, holding her with a strength that belied his fear.

"I have to go," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "I have to go. I'm sorry."

He pulled away, his face twisted in pain as he ran his thumb along her cheek, lingering for a moment.

"If you won't leave, hide," he pleaded.

Turning, he vanished into the chaos.

Hermione's heart dropped as she watched him go. Snape emerged from the dust and smoke, grabbing Malfoy and pulling him away. He shot her a fleeting look before vanishing into the madness.

She stood frozen in place, her breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. All around her, spells flew, and screams echoed, but she felt numb, hollow.

The war had separated them, leaving her utterly alone, gripped by the ache of his absence and the cold truth of their distance. The boy she'd kissed, the boy who'd held her and told her to run, was a Death Eater.

Hermione was alone.

Alone with this strange feeling in her chest, like it was caving in.

And she still wasn't ready to give him up.