Chapter 2: Hidden Secrets
The corridor was lined with doors, each bearing the names of a pair. About halfway down, they found their names engraved on a polished oak door: *Granger & Malfoy*. Draco pushed the door open without ceremony, revealing a spacious room with large windows overlooking the lake. A round table occupied the center, surrounded by comfortable chairs. Bookshelves lined one wall, while another featured a potions workstation and various magical instruments.
"Well, isn't this cozy," Draco drawled, dropping his bag onto the table with a thud. "Our own little prison cell."
Hermione rolled her eyes as she stepped inside, immediately drawn to the bookshelves. "It's actually quite nice. Better than I expected."
"Leave it to Granger to find happiness in a bookshelf," he muttered, slouching into one of the chairs.
Hermione ran her fingers along the spines of several ancient tomes, pulling one out to examine it. "These are rare editions. Professor McGonagall clearly wants us to have all the resources we need."
"Or she's trying to compensate for forcing mortal enemies to work together," Draco said, leaning back in his chair, boots propped on the table.
Hermione slammed the book shut. "Get your feet off the table, Malfoy. And we're not mortal enemies. We're just..." she paused, searching for the right word.
"Just what?" His gray eyes locked with hers, challenging.
"Different," she finished lamely, taking a seat across from him. "Look, neither of us wants to be here, but we need this project to graduate. So let's just pick a topic and divide the work."
Draco's jaw tightened. "Fine. What about a potion that makes Mudbloods tolerable?"
The color drained from Hermione's face before flooding back twice as bright. "Eight years, Malfoy. Eight years and you're still the same prejudiced, small-minded prat."
"And you're still the same insufferable know-it-all," he shot back, but something flickered in his eyes.
Hermione pulled out a parchment from her bag, slamming it on the table. "I've already compiled a list of potential topics. Pick one or suggest something that doesn't involve blood prejudice."
Draco snatched the list, scanning it with a sneer. "Memory potions? Protective enchantments? Honestly, Granger, could you be more boring?"
"Fine. What's your brilliant idea then?" She crossed her arms, waiting.
He hesitated. "Something with practical application. Something no one's done before."
"Like what?"
"Like..." he paused, then spoke quietly, "a potion that removes magical scars."
The air in the room seemed to still. Hermione's eyes involuntarily flicked to his left arm, where the Dark Mark lay hidden beneath his sleeve.
"That's... actually not terrible," she admitted reluctantly.
"Don't sound so surprised," he snapped, suddenly defensive.
"It's just..." Hermione bit her lip. "That's quite personal, isn't it?"
Draco's expression hardened. "Forget it. Let's do one of your tedious suggestions instead."
"No," Hermione said quickly. "I think it's a brilliant idea," Hermione said firmly. "If we could develop something like that, it would help so many people after the war."
Draco's eyes widened slightly at her enthusiasm before his usual mask slipped back into place. "Whatever. Let's just get started."
As Hermione began outlining a research plan, she couldn't help but notice the dark shadows beneath Draco's eyes. His skin looked almost translucent in the afternoon light streaming through the windows, and his normally immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled. His fingers drummed restlessly against the table, and occasionally, his gaze would drift toward the door as if expecting someone to burst in.
"Malfoy, are you even listening?" she asked after explaining her third point without any reaction from him.
"What? Yes, of course," he snapped, straightening in his chair. His hand moved instinctively to his left forearm, rubbing it absently.
"You look terrible," she blurted out before she could stop herself.
His eyes flashed. "Thanks for the assessment, Granger. Your opinion on my appearance means the world to me."
"That's not what I meant," she said, softer now. "You look exhausted. Are you sleeping at all?"
"My sleeping habits are none of your business," he said, but the usual bite was missing from his words. Instead, he sounded almost weary.
"If you're going to be useless for this project because you're too tired to function, it becomes my business," she countered.
Draco ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "I'm fine. Just... busy."
"With what?" Hermione pressed, leaning forward. "Quidditch doesn't start for another month."
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment, Hermione thought she saw something like desperation in his eyes. "Drop it, Granger," he said quietly. "Please."
The "please" caught her off guard. Malfoy never said please, especially not to her. "Alright," she conceded, turning back to her notes. "We should start by researching existing scar-removal potions and why they don't work on magical scars."
Relief washed over his face. "The restricted section probably has something useful," he offered, his voice steadier now.
They worked for another hour, with Hermione doing most of the talking while Draco occasionally contributed an insight. Twice, she caught him staring out the window, his mind clearly elsewhere. Once, when a first-year dropped something with a loud crash in the corridor outside, he'd nearly jumped out of his skin, his hand flying to his wand.
"I think that's enough for today," Hermione said finally, gathering her notes. "We can meet again tomorrow after Potions."
Draco nodded absently, still staring out the window at the darkening sky. As Hermione reached for her bag, her sleeve caught on the edge of an inkwell, sending it tumbling across the table. Dark liquid spilled everywhere, flooding her notes and dripping onto the floor.
"No!" she cried, jumping up too late. The damage was done.
"Honestly, Granger," Draco sighed, pulling out his wand.
Before she could reach for her own, he murmured a cleaning spell she'd never heard before. The ink seemed to gather itself up, separating from the parchment and wood, coalescing into a perfect sphere that hovered momentarily before disappearing with a soft pop.
"That's... impressive," Hermione admitted, examining her now-pristine notes. "Where did you learn that?"
A shadow crossed his face. "My mother. She's particular about stains."
Hermione nodded, remembering Narcissa Malfoy's immaculate appearance even in the midst of battle. "Well, thank you."
"Don't mention it," he mumbled, gathering his own things.
As they both reached for the last book on the table, their hands collided. Hermione felt a jolt at the unexpected contact. Draco's hand was surprisingly warm, his fingers long and elegant despite the bitten nails. Neither of them moved for a moment, their hands touching over the leather binding. The air in the room seemed to thicken. Hermione could hear her own heartbeat, suddenly loud in her ears. She glanced up to find Draco staring at her, his grey eyes wide and uncertain.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"It's fine," he replied, his voice rough. His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment. He swallowed visibly, his Adam's apple bobbing.
In a sudden, jerky movement, Draco yanked his hand away as if burned. His chair scraped loudly against the stone floor as he stood, knocking it backward with a clatter.
"I need to go," he said, his voice strained. He gathered his things with frantic energy, shoving parchments and quills haphazardly into his bag.
"Malfoy, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, concern creeping into her voice despite herself.
"Nothing," he snapped, but his hands were trembling slightly as he fastened his bag. "I just remembered something I have to do."
Hermione took a step toward him. "We still need to schedule our next meeting—"
"Don't!" Draco backed away, nearly stumbling over the fallen chair. The afternoon sunlight caught his pale hair, making it glow almost white against his ashen face.
Outside in the corridor, footsteps paused at the commotion, then continued on.
Draco closed his eyes for a moment, visibly struggling to regain control. When he opened them again, his face had hardened into the familiar Malfoy mask, but his eyes betrayed him—wild, almost frightened.
"We'll continue tomorrow," he said, his voice artificially steady now. "Or whenever. I don't care."
Before Hermione could respond, he was at the door, fumbling with the handle. It swung open with more force than necessary, banging against the wall.
"Malfoy, wait!" Hermione called after him, but he was already gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor at a pace just short of running.
She rushed to the doorway, catching a glimpse of his black robes whipping around the corner at the end of the hall. The sound of his rapid footfalls faded, leaving only the ambient creaks and whispers of the ancient castle. Hermione stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty corridor. The scent of his expensive cologne lingered in the air, mixed with sweat.
"What was that about?" she whispered to herself, unconsciously rubbing her fingers where they had touched his.
Slowly returning to the study room, Hermione closed the door behind her, trying to make sense of Draco's bizarre behavior. One moment they were working together almost civilly, and the next he was fleeing as if pursued by Dementors.
"Ridiculous," she muttered, gathering her belongings. "Completely unstable."
As she began organizing the books they'd used, her eyes caught something tucked beneath the chair where Draco had been sitting. A leather-bound book, its spine cracked with age and use. It wasn't one of the references they'd pulled from the shelves. Malfoy must have dropped it when putting his stuff away. She bent over to retrieve it. The tome was heavier than it looked, bound in dark green leather that felt oddly warm to the touch. No title adorned its spine or cover, but intricate silver runic patterns were embossed along its edges, shimmering faintly in the dying light from the windows. The corners were reinforced with tarnished silver caps, each one engraved with a different symbol—a tree, a serpent, a chalice, and what looked like a twisted crown.
Hermione ran her fingers over the symbols, feeling a subtle vibration beneath her fingertips. This wasn't a standard textbook. She placed it on the table and hesitated. Opening someone else's book without permission felt intrusive, but Malfoy had left in such a hurry... and something about the book called to her, like a whispered secret. She carefully opened the cover. The first page was blank except for a handwritten inscription in the top corner: Property of the Malfoy Collection. Removal from the Manor constitutes theft.
She should close it now and return it tomorrow. That would be the proper thing to do. Instead, she turned the pages until she found the only page that was bookmarked. The page was covered in dense, scholarly text, with diagrams sketched in the margins. Hermione's eyes widened as she realized what she was looking at.
The Vanishing Cabinet: Principles of Dimensional Transit
The text described how the cabinet created a temporary fold in space, connecting two distant points without traversing the physical distance between them. Unlike apparition or portkeys, the cabinet required no magical energy from its user—the magic was contained entirely within the paired cabinets themselves. A detailed diagram showed the magical architecture of the cabinets: intricate runes carved into the interior panels, overlapping in patterns that created a complex magical circuit. Notes beside the diagram explained how the cabinets maintained their connection across vast distances.
Why would he be researching this? She shut the book, a chill running down her spine. The only Vanishing Cabinet she knew of was the one Montague had gotten trapped in last year—the one in the Room of Requirement. But why would Malfoy be studying something like this? What possible use could he have for such information? She traced the silver embossing on the cover again, her mind racing. Why would Draco bring something like this to school? And why did he seem so... haunted?
A memory surfaced: Harry's obsessive theories about Malfoy being up to something. Her thought on the train that Draco had become a Death Eater over the summer. She'd dismissed it as paranoia, but now...
"No," she said aloud, shaking her head. "You're jumping to conclusions."
Still, she couldn't ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. She tucked the book into her bag, resolving to return it tomorrow—after she'd had a chance to think about what it meant.