The following morning Hermione moved the dagger to an unused drawer in the bathroom. It's presence in her bedroom was the only explanation she could come up with as to why her scar had reopened in the middle of the night without cause. She hoped that putting some distance between herself and the horrid item would be enough.
Malfoy was nowhere to be found. She imagined he had made himself scarce at the earliest opportunity, likely eager to avoid her after the previous night's ordeal. And with both Slytherin boys now actively evading her, Hermione thought it reasonable to busy herself with independent research.
Over the Christmas break she had managed to secure more of Professor Faulkner's books, their spines now lined neatly alongside her growing collection. At the time, it had been precautionary – in case they had not been able to secure the location of the dagger. But now, Hermione just couldn't shake the need to at least do some reading on magical rituals.
So, as the morning sun streamed through the frost-dusted windows, she curled up in the window seat of the common space. In her hands, she cradled her latest acquisition – a red leather covered book on magical rituals that was almost twice the length of the previous two books Faulkner had penned.
Yet, as she combed through the chapters, disappointment settled like a stone in her stomach. The book waxed poetically about elaborate, voluntary rituals – sacred bonds, power exchanged, rites undertaken with full consent. But of rituals forced upon the unwilling? Almost nothing.
The more she read, the more a creeping certainty solidified within her. Professor Brindlemore had been right. The blood analysis results were unreliable at best – likely even completely wrong. A dead end. She resigned herself to focusing her attention more on the research of withdrawing information from the dagger itself, now that she had it.
But it felt strange and terrifying to peruse such research without Theo. So, she persisted, her fingers ghosting over the parchment as she flipped through page after page of irrelevant text.
Until–
Her breath caught.
Near the book's final chapters, she stumbled upon something different. A passage on the intricate bond between curses and rituals. The words blurred for a moment as she took them in, her pulse quickening, her fingers tightening around the book's edges. Slowly, carefully, she began to read.
While rituals are commonly viewed as acts of willing participation – woven with intention, sacred bonds and ancient laws of balance – there exists a lesser-studied intersection where ritual and curse become indistinguishable. In such cases, the line between choice and coercion is erased and magic, when bound to the unwilling, turns volatile, corrupting both the subject and the spell itself.
Cursed rituals are often employed in dark magic, exploiting the fundamental principle that a ritual, once begun, demands completion. When a curse is affixed to a ritual, the victim becomes both conduit and prisoner, forced to sustain the enchantment with no avenue for refusal. This is why rituals performed under duress yield unpredictable results – magic resists violation and so, it twists, festers and seeks equilibrium through unintended consequences.
Notably, objects infused with both ritualistic and cursed properties develop an imprint of the magic upon them. These imprints can act as echoes of the original spellwork, sometimes even tethering remnants of the ritual to those who wield the object afterwards. In rare cases, physical manifestations - such as the reopening of wounds or the resurfacing of past injuries – may occur. This suggests that such spells linger, bound to flesh and blood until their intended purpose has been fulfilled.
Hermione's grip on the book tightened. A chill ran down her spine.
Her first thought was of Theo.
She needed to find him. He had to know what she had uncovered before the fear swallowed her whole. She didn't want to think – to puzzle out a solution through the sheer force of her own mind. She needed someone else to bear the burden, if only for a moment. But the one person she trusted was slipping through her fingers, actively avoiding her.
Still, she had to try.
Nearly a week had passed. Maybe Theo had come around. Maybe she could find him, explain everything, make him listen. Maybe – just maybe he would want to help her again.
She grabbed her burgundy coat, the thick wool a comforting weight as she pulled it over her shoulders and slipped out of the dormitory. She set course towards the Slytherin common room, her pulse quickening as her mind raced through all the ways this could go wrong. She had no real plan – just blind hope and a desperate need for answers.
But as she rounded the first-floor corridor, her mission was abruptly detailed. "Hermione!" Ginny greeted happily upon seeing her friend. "We were just on our way to your room."
Hermione plastered on a fake smile, making quick work of disguising her fear. She greeted Ginny calmly, followed by Neville and Luna who were with her. "The three of us are heading for a quick trip to Hogsmeade. Care to join us?" Her tone was painfully hopeful.
Hermione's mind faltered. She had no excuse, no carefully crafted reason to decline. And truthfully, she had no real strategy for reaching Theo once she arrived at the Slytherin dungeons. It wasn't as if someone would simply let her in.
"Sounds lovely," she heard herself say before logic could intervene.
"Great!" Ginny beamed, looping her arm through Hermione's. As they made their way towards Hogsmeade, Hermione forced a smile, pushing the dread to the back of her mind.
The groups quick trip to Hogsmeade ended up lasting into the evening. They had started with afternoon tea before doing some shopping and finally ending up at The Three Broomsticks for dinner and drinks. Hermione was glad she'd accepted the invitation to join them. The outing did wonders to clear her mind.
By the time she returned to the castle, dusk had surrendered to night and corridors lay draped in shadows. The torches flickered against the cold stone walls, their golden glow a stark contrast to the lingering chill in the air. Most students had already retreated to their common rooms, leaving an eerie stillness in their wake. With a resigned sigh, Hermione decided she would seek Theo out the following day, hoping that by then he might be more willing to hear the results of her latest research.
When she entered her dormitory, the common space was flooded with a warm light streaking across the middle of the floor. Hermione followed it to the bathroom where she found the door wide open and Malfoy standing at the sink – unmoving.
Hermione watched him for a moment, struck by the unusual curve in his back as he stood, hunched over the marble basin. He remained unmoving. A sudden sense of dread overtook her. Not unlike the feeling she had when she'd found Malfoy in the shower all those months ago.
Slowly, she walked towards the door. She forced a soft cough, hoping the sound would alert him to her presence. But there was no response.
"Malfoy?" she questioned carefully, her voice just above a whisper. Again, no response.
A pit formed in Hermione's stomach. From the mirror's reflection, she could see his face – his head bowed, his gaze fixed on his hands.
"Malfoy?" she tried again, firmer this time. Still nothing.
Hermione inhaled a sharp breath and stepped into the bathroom. When she reached him, her eyes followed his gaze down to his hands and she was stuck by what she saw. Malfoy was holding the dagger in his right hand and the blade was resting gently against the palm of his left.
"Draco," she gasped, stepping closer. His body jolted as though she had yanked him from a trance. He recoiled, pulling his hands away. His eyes met hers but they were not familiar. They were distant – like they were looking far beyond her.
Hermione immediately assumed that she had walked in on Malfoy in the same state he had been in all those months ago. Her heart rate quickened as she remembered what had followed that moment – how mad Theo had been when she tried to help on her own.
But there wasn't enough time to get him. Besides, she wouldn't dare leave Malfoy alone – especially not while he was holding Bellatrix's dagger. Taking a deep breath, she softly spoke the Patronus charm, watching as her silver otter burst forth, light shimmering off its sleek form. She pleaded with Theo to help her and sent the silver mist to retrieve him.
Then, she turned her attention back to Malfoy.
He was staring at his hands again, seemingly unfazed by Hermione's brief deviation. He turned the dagger over in his hands several times, watching the light catch on its sharp edges, scattering fractured beams onto the wall.
"Draco, put the dagger down," she tried. "Please."
He ignored her and continued to stare at the silver blade, completely entranced by it.
"Draco… please," she tried again.
Still, he remained transfixed, his fingers curling around the hilt. Hermione watched as he raised his left hand and pressed the blade into his palm. She saw his right-hand shake before stiffening, as though about to apply pressure.
"No!" she exclaimed, reaching forward to grab his hand. She pulled it forcefully away from his palm, turning it over to snatch the dagger from his grip.
But as the metal left his hand and entered her own, a searing pain shot through her palm. She cried out, the dagger clattering to the floor. A raw, angry welt bloomed against her skin, the flesh blistering before her eyes.
"Hermione?" a voice came from the dormitory entrance. Relief flooded her as she recognised it at Theo's.
"In… In here," she choked out.
A second later, Theo was by her side. His eyes flicked frantically between the pair as he took in the scene before him. At Hermione, who was clutching her injured palm and Malfoy who was staring at the floor – breathing heavily, eyes darting uncontrollably. At the dagger which was lying pointlessly on the ground.
"Are you okay?" Theo asked, cradling Hermione's hand in his own.
"I'm fine," she reassured him. "It's him I'm worried about."
Theo turned to face his friend and walked carefully towards him. "Draco," he said cautiously, his voice low.
Malfoy's eyes flickered up, meeting Theo's for a split second before he lunged.
Hermione gasped as he dove for the dagger but Theo was faster. He caught Malfoy mid-motion, gripping his arms, forcing him upright. Malfoy thrashed in his hold, fighting against him but Theo pushed him back against the cool tile wall, holding him steady.
"Hermione," he spoke through gritted teeth. "I need you to get it out of here. The dagger. Get rid of it."
Hermione hesitated for only a second, watching as Malfoy tried to lunge forward again. Theo pressed him back into the wall, arms trembling as he tried to remain in control.
Hermione reached for her wand and quickly levitated the dagger back into its box, snapping the lid shut and fleeing from the bathroom. She returned it to her room, knowing that the three of them would need to have a conversation about what to do with it once this ordeal was over. She placed the box in a chest and locked it before returning to the common space.
The scene before her had changed. Malfoy was no longer struggling. He had collapsed onto the floor, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Theo knelt beside him, his voice low and soothing.
She approached hesitantly. "Theo?" He glanced up at her and for the first time, she saw real fear in his eyes. He was so unlike the Theo she had spoken to earlier in the weak. The Theo that was cold and distant. "What can I do?"
"Nothing," Theo assured her.
"I'm sorry," she added. "For calling you."
Theo shook his head, turning his attention back to Malfoy. "You did the right thing."
By the time Theo had guided Malfoy to his room, Hermione had already transfigured the unused corner lounge back into his makeshift bed. The flickering firelight cast shifting shadows across the room, painting the newly formed bedding in warm, golden hues.
"Sorry," she said instinctively as Theo's gaze passed over the bed and landed on her. "It was probably quite presumptuous of me to assume you'd want to stay.
"It's fine," Theo assured her, his voice quiet but certain. "I do."
Hermione exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening. Though their exchange in the bathroom had been brief, something about Theo felt different – less distant, more familiar than he had been earlier in the week. "Are you okay?" she questioned.
"I should be asking you that," Theo murmured, stepping forward and taking her hand gently in his own. He turned it over, revealing the raw, inflamed welt marring her palm.
"I'm fine," Hermione insisted, attempting to curl her fingers inward. But the sharp sting betrayed her, leaving her hand trembling slightly in his grasp.
Without hesitation, Theo retrieved her stash of dittany. The faint scent of herbs and earth filled the air as he carefully dropped the liquid onto her palm. Hermione watched as the wound knit itself closed almost immediately, leaving behind only a faint pinkish mark – tender but no longer burning. She flexed her fingers experimentally, then offered him a quiet thank you before retreating to the chaise in front of the fire.
"I always knew there was a chance it could happen again," she murmured, pulling her knees up to her chest. "But I still wasn't ready for it."
Theo sighed, running a hand through his hair before lowering himself onto the chaise. "That was different," he said after a moment.
Hermione turned to him, searching his face. "What do you mean?"
"That wasn't like the other times," Theo admitted, frowning slightly as if struggling to find the words. "I don't know how to explain it… he was just… different."
A contemplative silence settled between them. Hermione turned her hand over, absently opening and closing her fingers, as though the lingering ache held the answers she was looking for. Beside her, Theo leaded back, rubbing his hands over his tired face.
"Theo…" she ventured carefully.
"Hmm?"
"You seem…" she thought for a moment, choosing her words. "Better."
The swallowed audibly then nodded once. "I feel better."
"When did it start?" she asked, sensing that he had already come to the realisation that he had changed in recent days.
He sighed, considering. "In the New Year, maybe."
"After you found the dagger?" Hermione pressed.
Theo nodded.
A chill ran through her, though the fire continued to crackle beside them. Her mind reeled back to the previous year – to the journey with Harry and Ron, to the way the locket had sunk its claws into them, poisoning their thoughts and feeding on every positive emotion.
And suddenly, everything clicked into place.
The way Theo had changed after being responsible for it since it had been found. They way Hermione's wound had reopened in the middle of the night when it had been in her room. The way Malfoy had felt suddenly compelled to harm himself with it.
The dagger was afflicting them.
Hermione's breath caught. "We need to get rid of it," she told him, her eyes wide and fearful.
Theo blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
"The dagger," she said firmly, urgency creeping into her voice. "It's hurting us."
Theo's expression darkened, confusion warring with resistance. Hermione's pulse quickened. She was suddenly, acutely aware of the weight of the thing sitting in her room, unseen but undeniably present. A sickening dread curled in her stomach. She couldn't go back to her room – not while it remained there, waiting.
Not until they had a plan.
It's not like she was going to get any sleep anyway…