"Do you have the new bottle?"
"Yes."
"And the Decoy Detonators?"
"Yes."
"And the Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?"
"Yes, Hermione."
"Remember, Draco, those are for–
"Emergency only, I know."
"And you have your wand?"
"Of course, Hermione, I'm not an imbecile."
Hermione glared at him. "It's always good to double-check, Draco, that's all I'm doing. Thishasto go perfectly."
"I know, Hermione, trust me, I know."
"You're right, sorry."
They both released a shaky breath, eyes locked and wide holding onto each other desperately.
They were crouched down in the dank dungeon corridor, leaning against the cold wall between what Draco had said were the Slytherin Dungeons and an empty and unused classroom. They sat hand in hand. To anyone who might turn down their hall, they'd look like any other teenage couple hoping to score a few minutes of privacy before curfew. But despite how close they sat to one another, and the way Draco rubbed circles with his thumb across the back of Hermione's hand, romance and affection were the farthest things from everyone's mind.
The air was tense enough to cut with a custard spoon. They'd been at each other's throats all afternoon, trading mumbled apologies and reassuring shoulder brushes ever since classes ended. Hermione and Draco both knew not to take each other's quips and criticisms too personally in the present circumstances, which was comforting to both of them, even if no one voiced that aloud. Pressure had been building and building all week, and they both understood this. Tonight was important and dangerous and they couldn't afford to mess up or make a single mistake, for both their sakes.
"We're ready," Draco promised. "We have everything we need. We've practised a dozen times. We can do this."
"I know," Hermione agreed absently, but her shoulders didn't release in the slightest at the reassurances.
"Ten minutes, that's all we need. You hold the door open long enough for me to sneak in behind you, and then you talk to the professor about potions for ten minutes. Five even. I don't think I'll need much time at all to make the switch. Then we can get out of there."
"I know," she repeated again, this time with more of a mind. "Ten minutes," she repeated. I can do that. Blood Replenishing Potion. Powdered moonstone. New experimental Stainless Steel Cauldrons. Networking post-Hogwarts. I'm just speaking with him like I would with any professor."
"Yes, Exactly. Nothing out of the ordinary for you. Just," he paused and squeezed her hand, "don't forget to hold the door a beat. This is all for nothing if I can't get in."
Hermione smiled shyly as Draco bumped her shoulder with his playfully. He'd been certain that after all of their careful planning, practising, and preparation, Hermione would get so wrapped up in the plan and forget the simplest step. It had become the running joke that attempted to lighten the mood every few hours.
"Do you remember the signals?" Hermione asked for what was probably the tenth, unnecessary, time that evening.
"Yes, I'll come close to you and, well, it sounds rather odd when I say it plainly, but I'll, well, I'll breathe on you when I'm ready to go. Right? Like this." And in their crouched position, Draco hardly needed to turn his head before she felt his hot breath on her neck and shoulder. She fought the urge to shutter.
"Y- Yes," she managed to say. "You breathe on me when you're ready to leave, that is when you've managed to trade the bottles. That way I know I can end my conversation. And I'll tap thrice on something, anything, if I feel we need to leave."
"I know, Hermione. We've discussed our signals a dozen times today. We've also discussed potential conversation topics, how you'll encourage seating placement so I'm less in view. We can do this," Draco was reassuring. She felt his hand on her knee and, for the briefest moment, allowed herself to melt in the comfortable feeling. She felt for his hand, it was warm in hers, further steadying herself, then she jumped, startled. Thunderous laughter was heard at the other end of the hall, around the corner and just out of sight.
"Showtime," Draco whispered, snapping up and into attention.
Hermione forced the air into and out of her lungs as she stood, nerves pinching her ribs and sending her heart threshing in its place.
This mission made her incredibly nervous. Sure, she'd participated in crazier things in her five years at Hogwarts… actually, every year seemed to have its share of dangerous plans and high-stakes efforts, didn't it? But this was different. When she helped Harry and Ron through the trap door with Fluffy, they hadn't had a plan. When Dumbledore told her to use the time-turner to save Sirius and Buckbeak, she didn't know what she was doing. Even last year at the Ministry had not been thought out. She'd gone into these situations with little more than motivation, dedication, and adrenaline.
This time? This time, they'd had all week for the nerves to build up and the anxiety to rush through their veins. This was not spontaneous and fight-or-flight, this was carefully planned and meticulously thought out. And Hermione found that this added pressure and build-up was not her style.
Voices continued to drift toward them, shaking Hermione from her worried thoughts.
"Always a good time, Minerva, with your whiskey selection, I'd say. Glad to hear your holiday was a pleasant one."
"Same to you, Horace. Your story of finding the ghosts in that muggle attic was hilarious, I haven't laughed like that in weeks." Professor McGonagall sounded jovial and lighthearted in a way Hermione had never heard before.
"They're drunk," Draco whispered as he took hold of her hand and pulled her up off of the floor. "Or somewhat inebriated," Draco noted. "Maybe this is good for us."
Hermione couldn't calm her nervous thoughts enough to respond. Slughorn's joyful laughter filled the hall again, this time, a bit louder. Closer.
"Well, Cherieo, Minerva, early rounds in the morning," Professor Slughorn exclaimed.
"Ta, Horace. Have a good night," came McGonagall's Scottish accent, followed by the clicking of her retreating footsteps.
Draco's eyes were imploring as he shook Hermione lightly at the shoulders. "Hermione, let's go. It's Time."
She shook her head to clear her mind. "Yes, of course." She took her wand from her pocket and raised it above Draco's head. "Are you ready?" she asked.
"Yes," he promised. "Quickly!" She felt his warm hand wrap around hers, wand and all, as he made to guide her wand to the necessary spot above his head. "Hermione," he implored, releasing her. Nervous, and wishing he could have held on longer, she forced another steadying breath. She tapped her wand on the crown of his head and watched as magic rippled down the shape of Draco, and soon, his form was gone, invisible. A wave of relief began to settle into her bones.
"You're brilliant," Draco purred with a final, promising whisper.
They left their corner of the hallway and approached the door to Professor Slughorn's private rooms. With her shoulders squared and the feel of Draco's invisible presence at her back, Hermione knocked on the door.
Before she knew it, it was being opened.
Professor Slughorn appeared in the doorway, and Hermione noticed his face was flushed, his cheeks rosy. "Miss Granger? This is rather unexpected—and at this hour, no less! It's Friday evening, my dear, and I was just about to retire for the night."
Hermione had rehearsed this speech several times already. The words were quick to flow from her. "Good evening professor, I know it's late, and I truly hate to disturb you, but I was reviewing your essay assignment on the Blood-Replenishing Potion and its applications. I find it absolutely fascinating, I was wondering, sir, if I might have just a few minutes of your time. You see, I was highly inspired by your class this week, but I kept thinking about the common side effects—nausea, fatigue—and wondered if there might be a way to modify the formula to mitigate them. I tried consulting the library, sir, but wasn't able to find anything useful. I thought, perhaps, well, your knowledge of potions is unmatched, professor, I figured if I could have a few moments of your time, to hear your insights directly, sir."
Slughorn seemed hesitant still, pulling at his waistcoat. "I would be happy to discuss this with you, Miss Granger, but it is rather late, and I was just winding down for the evening. Perhaps you could come back tomorrow–
"Sorry, sir, I wouldn't trouble you on a Friday evening if I didn't have to, but you see, I'm considering a career in healing, perhaps, or potion making, and I'd hoped to spend the weekend researching these to narrow down my interests, and, honestly, professor, your thoughts would be invaluable and would truly ensure I'm spending my time on the right thing. You have such incredible connections in the professional world. I know, at the risk of sounding arrogant, sir, I know I can do something remarkable. I'm the best in my year, sir. With just a bit of your guidance, I'm sure I can do some real good in the world."
She knew her flattery and persistence had taken effect because the professor's expression softened considerably. "I suppose I can't deny such an inquisitive mind, can I? Quite right you are. You're one of the brightest pupils I've taught, yes. Well, come in then, Miss Granger, I'll fetch us some drinks. A nightcap to end the evening will be good, yes."
Hermione stepped in slowly, following the professor at a distance while making sure Draco was allowed in before the door shut. She felt the tips of his fingers brush her elbow as he passed her, and her heart raced.
Once inside, Hermione found her task quite easy. It appeared the potions professor had indulged in more than his usual allotment of drink at the Heads Meeting today. Maybe it had been a celebration for completing the first week back in classes. Maybe, this was the norm for the old, social professor who had been on the run from Death Eaters for years deprived of the companionship that so obviously filled his spirit.
Whatever the reason for Slughorn's inebriated state, Hermione was thankful for how it loosened his lips and brought ease to the conversation. Despite the late hour of her arrival, he was eager to see her, or rather, he was eager for another drinking companion.
Slughorn offered her a drink as soon as she stepped inside, and she caught the instinct to reach into the empty space behind her to find Draco's hand. She wasn't sure if he was there anymore anyway.
She held her breath as she watched his eyes dance over his well-stocked bar contemplating what to drink. Her eyes found the bottle instantly. It was the tallest on the cart, but barely, wedged between a bottle of Ogden's Finest 27-Year Cask Reserve Firewhiskey, and something labelled 1874 Dragon Barrel Brandy.
Slughorn had an expensive taste. She wondered if he'd purchased such high-end drinks himself, or if they'd all been gifts from the influential wizards and witches he's collected over the years.
Her lungs spluttered in relief as she finally choked in a new breath. He'd gone for the brandy, thank Merlin.
He'd done a wave of his wand before selecting his drink, and Hermione's brain spiraled into worry about what wards he had in place on the cart.
She'd been wrong.Wrong. How could she be so foolish, so hopeful? Of course there would be wards on his cart. It seemed silly now to think that a secure door meant they'd meet little resistance inside. This man had been hunted by Death Eaters, there was no limit to his interest in security.
Hermione bit her lip. Hopefully, Draco would be able to manage them. Hopefully, they were simple enough.
Oblivious to her newfound panic, Slughorn chattered on about who-knows-what as he poured his drink of choice. Hermione declined the Professor's offer of Gigglewater, but as he insisted on something, she accepted the Butterbeer he passed her way. It wouldn't be helpful to stress too much about the wards. That was Draco's job. She settled her nerves with a sip from her drink and found that once she relaxed, her task of entertaining the professor with conversation came easier.
She successfully led the old man away from the bar cart by taking a seat on his couch. She intrigued him with thoughtful questions that were loosely related to the essay he'd set, flattering him with careful phrasing that highlighted his personal potions research. That had been Draco's idea, of course – the Slytherin – and it obviously was the right move.
She was a student, she knew, he was desperate to collect. Her careful flattery and intelligent conversation, when paired with a top-shelf drink, seemed to turn Horace Slughorn into putty in her hands. As per the plan, she told him of her desire to work for the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries, and her growing interest in potion making. She allowed him to discuss with her the nuances of a career in different departments, and individual roles she was interested in and asked her thoughtful questions that clarified what about potions she was enjoying most. He was eager to connect her with his contacts at the ministry for networking purposes and aggressively name-dropped half a dozen names to show his status.
She let herself get lost in the conversation. This was the plan, anyway. Hermione's job was to get inside and to direct Slughorn's attention away from his bar cart area. That's it. Draco was set to do the rest: make the swap as soon as he had the clearest opening.
Hermione checked her watch again, casually so as not to offend Professor Slughorn, who was now eagerly explaining the subtle characteristic differences between moonstone and moondew. Fifteen minutes had passed since they entered the room. They'd thought that ten minutes would have been enough time, thought that Draco would have managed the swap by now, but he hadn't given her the signal yet, did he?
To Hermione's delight, Professor Slughorn was highly interested in discussing her ideas about the Blood Replenishing Potion. She asked about the addition of powdered moonstone and if the substance would lessen the volatility of the potion. If true, this would dramatically improve the potion seeing as nausea was the most criticised side effect.
Slughorn was delighted by the idea and energetically prattled on about the potential of the ingredients for several more minutes.
Successful in continuing the distraction, Hermione took another sip of Butterbeer and moved her hair to one side of her neck. Draco should have been done by now, perhaps he hadn't been able to give her the signal yet. She shifted to the side of her chair, tucking one leg underneath her, to make her neck more accessible, too.
She thought again about the way Slughorn had waved his wand over the cart and wondered what wards Draco might have met. They couldn't have been magical signature wards like the door, because for those, a Wizard or witch's skin must make contact with the surface, and Slughorn only needed to wave his wand. Whatever it was, she hoped Draco would manage it soon.
Once Hermione had led Slughorn into the sitting room, Draco edged closer to the bar cart, every step deliberate, his wand gripped tightly in his hand. His heart thudded in his chest, a relentless reminder that time was slipping away with every word Hermione exchanged with Slughorn. When planning, they discussed an estimated ten minutes required to make the swap, but really, there was no way they could have known what Draco would find when he got here.
The clean, replacement bottle of mead felt heavy in his pocket. Hermione's attempts on the Undetectable Extension Charm were impressive, she'd managed the extension part of the charm, at least, but she hadn't had the time necessary to work out the arithmancy needed to perfect the 'undetectable' qualities. The bottle was well concealed away in a tiny, purple handbag Draco shoved in his cloak pocket, but the thing still had weight. The bloody thing smacked against his leg with every step he took as if to taunt him. He'd bruise, surely.
Keep it together, Malfoy,he thought, eyes narrowing in focus, as he reached the cart at last. The poisoned bottle was there, thank Merlin, just barely the tallest item on the cart. It was a slender bottle with a small label from the Three Broomsticks, and Draco rather thought eyes would probably pass right over the thing if one wasn't looking for it. The bottle was squished between two much larger bottles. One was the oldest Reserve Firewhiskey Draco had ever seen (27 years!) and the other was,no, that can't be,Dragon Barrel Brandy? What on earth is a 'dragon barrel?' If he ever managed Rosmerta's forgiveness once this was all done, he'd have to ask her.
Focus, Draco, focus!
But as Draco extended his wand to levitate the poisoned bottle from its position, the faint shimmer of protective wards caught his eye—a delicate lattice of old magic, intricate and unforgiving.
"Of course, Professor," Hermione's voice chimed from across the room, drawing both his attention and Slughorn's. "But don't you think adding a stabilizing agent like powdered moonstone might lessen the volatility?"
Draco smirked faintly, despite himself. Leave it to Granger to hold court with Slughorn while he was neck-deep in ancient enchantments. The wards on the bottle weren't basic; they pulsed with a complexity that spoke to Slughorn's skill and paranoia. Breaking them would take finesse—and, more frustratingly, time.
He muttered under his breath, the incantation for a revealing charm slipping from his lips, barely a whisper. A faint web of golden lines shimmered around the bottle, confirming his suspicions. It wasn't just one ward—it was layered. A containment spell to prevent tampering, a proximity alert that would trigger if mishandled, and a nasty-looking hex designed to target anyone foolish enough to try a brute-force approach.
Brilliant,Draco thought grimly, his free hand brushing the sweat gathering at his temple.Leave it to Slughorn to treat a bar cart like it's the Ministry archives.
He glanced toward Hermione again. She was leaning slightly forward now, her hands clasped earnestly as she asked another question about the properties of asphodel in restorative brews. Slughorn chuckled, pleased by her interest, and launched into a long-winded explanation.
Draco exhaled slowly. If he rushed, he'd set off every ward and ruin everything. But if he took too long—
"Powdered moonstone, you say? Clever girl! Why, that reminds me of an experiment I conducted back in my youth…" Slughorn's booming laugh filled the room, cutting off Draco's spiraling thoughts.
Focus.He began weaving his wand through the air, a series of precise motions to unravel the proximity alert. The golden lines around the ward shifted, bending and twisting as the magic responded.
Just a little more…The hex was the trickiest. It pulsed faintly, almost like it was waiting for him to slip. His mind raced, running through counter-hexes he'd studied during his father's lessons in their dark library at Malfoy Manor. The memory of his father's cold, critical voice urged him forward, pushing down the flicker of doubt threatening to surface.
Fuck my father,he thought bitterly as he pushed on.
Draco's hand twitched. The bottle was within reach now, the wards almost dismantled. But Hermione's laughter—light and genuine—reminded him they couldn't linger much longer.
With a final twist of his wand, the last ward unraveled, the faint shimmer dissipating into the air.
Fuck. He thought the tension would lift once he'd broken through the enchantments, but bloody fucking hell, he was only just starting. He still had to switch the bottles without making any noise. Without beingseen. He still had to replace the wards.
The poisoned bottle nearly slipped from his grasp due to the sweat.He had. To calm. Down.He waved his wand to mark the poisoned bottle with an X and set it on the ground beside him.
With trembling hands, Draco removed the new bottle of mead from where it had been tucked. Slowly, carefully, he lowered it onto the bar cart exactly where the poisoned bottle had been. Turning it slightly to the left to ensure it was in precisely the correct position, Draco exhaled in relief.
The hardest part was over. He allowed himself another steadying breath before transferring the poisoned bottle to Hermione's beaded bag.
"She'd increased her flying speed by 32% over the course of the month, and her ability to avoid obstacles increased by 27%, too!" Slughorn's proud, loud voice rang out again.
Just the wards now,he thought.Nearly finished.
He ran through a mental list of each of the wards he'd had to dismantle and set about restoring them with urgency. Muttering enchantments under his breath, barely audible, he could feel the magic pouring out of him. The Proximity Alert was easy, quick, but the hex took longer. Longer than he wanted it to.
And suddenly, the faint shimmer of magic rippled, settled, and hung over Professor Slughorn's bar cart with finality. Draco's heart pounded as he stepped back, every nerve on edge as he tucked the beaded bag under his cloak.
It was done.
A soft, almost imperceptible sigh of relief escaped him as he moved toward Hermione. Eager to give her the signal, he reminded him not to be too quick lest he be seen. He reached her chair, leaned forward, and prepared to breathe the faintest puff of air on her neck. But before he could, a sharp knock echoed through the room, freezing him in place.
Hermione shook the worries about time from her mind. She needn't worry about that. Draco was fine. She'd wait for the signal, and they'd get out of there. Hopefully with the bottle, but if he found he couldn't dismantle the wards, they'd regroup and try again tomorrow.
Speaking with Slughorn was Hermione's role in this puzzle of a plan, and it was going well! While she sat there discussing her use of the Time Turner in Year Three, she could almost, a little bit forget, that she was acting part of a plan to prevent innocent death. Conversation with the smart professor was easy, and she wondered if this was how the world outside of Hogwarts would be? Less Exploding Snap. Less mindless gossip. Less adolescent complaining. More intelligence. More philosophy. More intrigue. More meaning.
Hermione was still nursing her drink, and Professor Slughorn was reaching the end of a long-winded story of how he helped Gwenog Jones, Captain of the HollyHead Harpies, hone her flying skills when he gave her a month's detention in her Sixth Year for sneaking out past curfew.
"How?" Hermione asked, her eyes crinkled with exaggerated intrigue playing perfectly into the effect the old man wanted.
Laughing through the explanation, he chortled. "Brilliant idea, it was, one of my best, I'd say, Granger, to sentence Miss Jones to nightly patrols of the castle grounds. For which, of course, she'd need a broom to accomplish the expansive patrol in the allotted amount of time each night. She'd increased her flying speed by 32% over the course of the month, and her ability to avoid obstacles increased by 27%, too!"
Hermione laughed heartily, praising the professor for his cleverness, and took another sip of her drink. "What detention would you impose on me, sir?" she wondered aloud, "If you caught me out past curfew, I mean."
Professor Slughorn laughed so heartily that he slopped some of his drink down his front. Hermione waved her wand to vanish the mess instantly, hoping it would prevent the professor from feeling like he'd need to stand up, change, or dismiss her.
"You are a clever one, Miss Granger, yes, clever indeed." His laughter continued to fill the room. Hermione forced herself to join in, letting a bright, albeit slightly nervous, chuckle escape her lips.
What to say next?She wondered.What else can I bring up that will busy the professor?
She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, her senses hyper-aware of Draco's silent presence somewhere behind her.Did he manage it?she wondered frantically. Her fingers gripped the armrest of her chair, the polished wood cool beneath her trembling hands, the nearly empty bottle of Butterbeer was even cooler.
He must have finished by now. What if he hasn't? Maybe he forgot the signal? What if—
A sharp knock at the door shattered the fragile rhythm of her thoughts. Slughorn flinched, his laughter cutting off abruptly as he turned toward the sound. "Now, who could that be at this hour?" he muttered, rising unsteadily to his feet.
Had she spoken loud enough to cover the sound of glass tinkling? Had she sat in the right spot so Slughorn wouldn't be able to see the cart in her periphery?
Her heartbeat quickened, she could hear the blood pounding in her ears.
She strained her eyes looking for clues of where Draco might be, but found nothing. This was both a blessing and a curse. The desire to sniff him out filled her anxious body, but that would clearly make her look like a fool and they'd surely be caught.
Hermione's pulse quickened, panic clawing at the edges of her composure. She forced a serene smile onto her face, her mind racing through possible explanations, excuses, diversions—anything to buy Draco more time, if he needed it. Slughorn shuffled toward the door, humming absently under his breath. Hermione resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder, knowing it would only draw attention to Draco if he was still exposed.
Please let him be finished,she thought desperately, her heart thudding in her chest as Slughorn moved to open the door. If it was Professor Snape at the door, he would surely know immediately what she was doing. He wouldknow.
She wanted to find Draco and get out of there immediately. She tapped her fingers thrice, hard, on the bottle of Butterbeer. They could come back another time to swap the bottle if necessary, but it was much too dangerous to make the swap with more people in the room. Draco could also be seen, or felt, or stepped on.
At that moment, she felt the hot whisp of breath on her neck and nearly jumped out of her skin.
Draco, she thought, flooding with brief relief. He agreed it was time to abandon the mission, too. Thank goodness.
Thankfully, Professor Slughorn was still chattering away about Gwenog Jones while he walked to open the door, so he hadn't heard her sharp intake of breath or witnessed her convulsion.
She put her hand out by her side, hoping for confirmation. Thankfully, she felt Draco's warm hand brush hers. Fingers intertwined briefly, and he gave her a comforting squeeze before nudging her toward the door to make their escape. Their hands separated.
There was a second knock. More urgent.
When has anything, ever, in the history of life that was Hermione's, gone as planned?
The door creaked mockingly as Slughorn pulled it open.
"I'msorry,sir. Iwouldn'tbother youifit weren'tabsolutely essential."
Hermione froze in her tracks. Draco did, too. They'd both know that voice anywhere.
It was too late to escape now. Slughorn was already letting him in.
"Harry?" Hermione couldn't hide the surprise in her voice, it leached out with uncharacteristic breathiness.
Harry seemed just as surprised to see her as she was him.
"Hermione?" he said, freezing a moment. "What are you doing here?" He looked over his shoulder with an expression of worry. That's when she saw the shape of Ron trip over himself trying to get into the room. He looked odd, dazed… a bit like Luna.
Her world was spinning, and her brain couldn't think fast enough under the pressure.
"What's wrong with Ron?" was her response, ignoring Harry's question.
"Love Potion," Harry explained nonchalantly. She almost scoffed. He made it sound so small as if that wasn't anything to worry about at all.
"Harry!" She admonished, approaching him with quick, anxious steps. "I warned you something like this would happen. You have to be careful!"
Harry's lips pressed together in a thin line, his eyes almost glaring at her. "I know, Hermione.Ididn't eat them!"
They both looked over at Ron precisely in time to watch as he tripped over Slughorn's ugly tasseled footstool, regaining his balance by seizing Harry around the neck, and muttered, "She didn't see that, did she?"
Harry and Hermione both sighed.
"Harry," She looked at him with tired eyes and rubbed her forehead. "I'm not blaming you, but is this in any way tied to the box of chocolates Romilda Vane gave you for Christmas?"
"Romilda Vane? Do you know Romilda?" Ron crawled onto the overstuffed couch like a toddler, crossing his legs together as he stared toward her with hope in his glazed-over eyes.
Hermione glanced back at Harry nervously. "Well, um, yes, I do," she said.
Ron brightened considerably. "Where is she? I thought we were going to see her."
"She'll be here soon," Harry was quick to reassure.
"We're getting you some tonic for the nerves first," Slughorn piped in from the other side of the room. When she looked over at him, that's when Hermione noticed Slughorn was at the bar cart again, rifling through his potions kit, which lay haphazardly in the spaces between bottles.
Draco's breath was hot against her neck again, reminding her that they needed to leave. But they couldn't leave now, could they? Not when Slughorn was drunk, her two best friends were here, and the poisoned mead was still on the shelf. Who knows what Slughorn would do now? What if–
Her heart was pounding louder than ever, loud enough she was sure Harry would hear. She stepped away decisively, deciding to help Slughorn prepare the potion ingredients.
Now that more people were here, leaving was necessary to avoid being caught, but Hermione couldn't shake the fear that Draco hadn't switched the bottles yet. If Harry and Ron were here and they hadn't yet successfully removed the poisoned mead, they'd be in an incredible amount of danger, especially around Professor Slughorn in his current state.
She could now determine that the old man was properly drunk. When she had more time, she'd probably be worried about his drinking habits, honestly, but she couldn't worry about him right now.
What concerned her currently was that a drunk professor was actively preparing an antidote that her love-poisoned friend would drink. Draco was disillusioned somewhere in the room and could not, under any circumstances, be discovered by this lot. A gracious host, Professor Slughorn would probably offer her best friends, Ron and Harry, a drink once Ron was sorted out, too.
And, well, there could still be a poisoned bottle of mead on the bar cart.
She could feel Draco's presence behind her as she busied herself handing ingredients to Professor Slughorn. He breathed on her again, slower this time, more deliberate, perhaps. Did he intend for that to feel more urgent? Was he growing desperate to leave? Or, the thought popped into her mind, did he mean that he had successfully switched the bottles? The possibility… but she squashed down the momentary surge of relief. She couldn't be sure what he meant, could she?
How could she have been so stupid not to create two separate signals with Draco? Why had they settled for one signal that could mean two wildly different things?
She took a deep breath to steady herself and noticed, in terror, that the familiar scent of pine was no longer near enough to smell. Where had Draco gone?
Why couldn't things have gone to plan?
Was it better to leave and protect Draco, or stay and protect Harry and Ron?
Draco wanted to curse himself. How could he have been so stupid not to create unique signals with Hermione?
He was watching the frenzied fire of panic grow behind Hermione's eyes with each passing second. He wanted to comfort her, pull her close, pull her out of that room, and tell her everything was fine. Everything, everybody would be fine.
But she was spiralling, he could see it in the way her breath quickened, how her eyes moved around the room quickly, darting from person to person. She was worried he hadn't done it yet.
Of course, he'd done it. He'd been studying wards all week. He'd done it. They'd done it. Everything went fine. He'd been just about to give her the signal when, of course, Saint Potter showed up with a love-struck Weasel in tow. Pathetic. Absolutely bloody pathetic.
Of course, the oaf would go and eat chocolates that weren't his. That Romilda chick had boasted for days, all around school, about how she managed to successfully infuse the love potion into a box of chocolates from Honeydukes. Everyone knew that. How could Potter be so thick to keep them? And how could Weasley be brainless enough to eat them?
It's a miracle these two imbeciles managed to survive this long. It's probably all because of Granger's influence, of course. They'd be even worse-off without her thinking for them all the time.
Her eyes were still big with worry. She was searching for him. She still couldn't see him, no one could, thank Merlin. The spell was holding and would continue to hold for hours. As long as he didn't move too quickly, and he didn't crash into anything oranyone, no one would know he was there.
He breathed against her neck again, hoping she would understand this signal to leave, that it was okay, that he'd done it.
She flinched at the contact but didn't move toward the door like he hoped. Instead, apparently, this was the best time for a potions lesson. Hermione went to help Slughorn prepare the antidote for the inebriated fool.
On second thought, maybe staying was necessary, Draco thought. By the looks of it, Slughorn was properly sloshed. He probably shouldn't be brewing anything, let alone an anti–
Fuck!
Potter nearly collided with Draco's shoulder as he passed by. So focused on Hermione, he hadn't been paying attention. Draco managed to scramble out of the way, but it wasn't seamless. The Weasel's eyes bugged in his direction, precisely where he had been a moment ago.
"What's that?" said Ron. "What was that, over there?"
At his friend's question and concerned look, Harry looked around, thankfully finding nothing.
"There's nothing here, Ron. We're in Professor Slughorn's private rooms. He has many magical items in here. Romilda is on her way."
Potter is even more of a fool than he realised. Draco rolled his eyes, thankful Hermione wasn't able to see because she would have swatted him.
But even in Weasley's doped-up state, Ron didn't seem to believe Harry as easily and continued to look around the room with a curious expression.
Fuck, Draco's blood was boiling. He wanted out, and fast. He moved carefully over to Hermione and gave another, slower, more focused breath on the back of her neck. He could see the little hairs there perk up at the sensation. She had to have felt it…
Looking around the room, Draco could see,fuck, he couldfeel, Ron's gaze focused on him. Before the fool could say anything again to Potter, Draco crouched down and, like an imbecile, crawled behind the couch and hid. He could just barely see everyone if he peeked his head around the side of the armrest just so. Disillusionment Charm be damned, he had to be careful.
Hermione was returning from brewing and thankfully, she stole Ron's focus when she presented him with a small glass.
"What's that?" Ron asked, his dreamlike state returning in full.
"Tonic, for the nerves," Harry offered. At Hermione's piercing, reproving eyes, he shrugged.
Weasley drank the antidote until it was finished, and they all stood around watching his face transform back to normal. Pitying looks rented all their faces.
"What's happened to me?"
Slughorn rounded the corner then, returning to the group. Each of his hands carried a fresh glass full of deep red liquid. Two more glasses floated in front of him until they halted, floating directly in front of both Ron and Hermione's faces.
Draco watched Hermione's jaw tense, the fire in her eyes bursting out of control.
"What's this, Professor?" Harry asked with his most charming smile. He took the offered drink from Slughorn's outstretched hand and Draco thought Hermione might fall over from the stress.
She took hold of the floating glass, as did Ron, but she didn't dare sip.She hasn't understood that I've done it,Draco realized.Bloody. Fucking. Of Course.
"I've been holding on to one last bottle of this oak-matured mead, hmm," the old man pondered, "I meant to give this to Dumbledore for Christmas… but, well… He can't miss what he's never had! I decided to open it now."
Slowly, so as to avoid being noticed, Draco manoeuvred around the room until he was standing behind Hermione. He placed his hand on her shoulder calmly, steadily, in hopes it would convey his approval. She was standing so close to the others, he couldn't risk breathing this time or else they might hear…
Slughorn continued his toast with charisma. "There's nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love… And to celebrate good friendship," he tipped his glass toward Harry and Ron. "Good conversation," This time, his glass rose in gesture toward Hermione, "and to a good drink!"
Hermione began to say something, to interrupt, he supposed, but throwing caution to the wind, Draco squeezed her shoulder hard at that moment and all that came out was a little squeak. She covered it up with a shy smile and gestured with her glass in salute.
Ron Drank first. Draco could feel the tension, the anger, building in Hermione's neck and shoulders where his hand rested, but when seconds passed and nothing happened, her shoulders began to relax.
"That was very well said, professor, thank you," praised Harry, taking his own sip in turn.
Hermione relaxed further. Only after everyone else had indulged, and everything remained fine, did Hermione relax enough to lift the drink in her hand, acknowledging the toast, and took a sip of her own drink.
As she bloody well should,thought Draco. A jealous warmth filled his chest as the image splayed before him. Three Gryffindors and a drunk-off-his-ass old man were drinking a bottle of mead thrice more expensive than anything Draco's ever tried. And he knew none of them would bloody well enjoy it properly.
When Slughorn laughed at something the bespeckled idiot had said, he spilled down his front clumsily, for the second time that night, which only made the old man laugh louder.
Hermione pursed her lips disapprovingly. "I should probably be going, sir," Hermione said, setting down her empty glass and taking a step away from the group. "I'm afraid I have patrols tonight, as prefect, you know. I wouldn't want to be late or keep you any longer than I already have."
The old man stumbled toward her for a moment before steadying himself by grasping Harry's shoulder before finding balance. "But Miss Granger, surely you can stay for another drink. Now with more guests, the conversation is sure to blossom even further. Did I show you I have an hourglass–
The batty man trailed off, swaying on his feet as he apparently began searching his bookshelves for this hourglass item.
This was beginning to cross the line into total embarrassment. If any of the Gryffindor fools had a shred of dignity, any respect, like Hermione, they would allow the man privacy and leave, too.
"Thank you for the offer, sir, but I really must be going before my patrol partner starts to worry," Hermione offered as she retreated further. "I'm sure Harry and Ron can stay though, can't you?" She looked at them expectantly, eyes boring into Harry with a purpose.
What purpose? Draco couldn't be sure. There was no time for that now. It didn't matter. They were leaving.
As Harry and Ron agreed with Hermione that they could stay, Draco took the chance to move from the sitting room. He passed the bar cart as he moved toward the door, and on a whim, Draco decided to take what was left of the clean, now-opened, exceptionally fine oak-matured mead. With a quick wave of his wand and a nonverbal, he was sure no one noticed as the crimson liquid filled a glass flask he'd found forgotten on the bottom shelf. He shoved it in his pocket with Hermione's beaded bag.
No one even looked his way. Potter was too busy staring at Hermione, Ron was too busy chugging from his glass like it was a cheap common ale, and the professor, well, Draco would be surprised if he remembered any of this in the morning.
Hermione was already at the door, she lingered there a moment offering another apology and goodbye. Draco breathed on her neck once more to show his presence was with her, that he was ready.
And with another "thank you, sir!" and a slow door creak, they were out.