Regaining sensibility, Draco leaps to his feet, unconsciously favouring his right leg. That kneecap will be black and blue tomorrow, but it's the furthest thing from his mind. He has to get Crabbe back. He has to modify his memory, imperio him completely if he must - he saw nothing, he knows nothing, Draco didn't lose his fucking mind over Hermione.
He yanks it open and Crabbe is... not there.
Now his breath grows short for a different reason. He has no idea if this works. Crabbe could be splinched, or even dead. And would that be the worst thing?
...No. It's a horrible thought but he has it.
Then where is Crabbe? That's his next order of business.
With a growing sense of dread, Draco thinks the cabinet did work and Crabbe is currently in Borgin & Burkes. If memory serves, Montague had existed between the two cabinets in a sort of half-splinch without the blood loss. If anybody had thought to check the cabinet (if anybody else even knew it existed at all), they'd have seen part of Montague. But they didn't, so they hadn't. And there's no part of Crabbe anywhere in sight, which makes Draco think all of Crabbe is in one place.
It's a starting point.
Draco shuts the cabinet door again and forces himself to count to a slow five before opening it. It's the slowest five-count of his life and he has no idea if it's actually slow or not. Time is doing odd things. But if Crabbe was still in the cabinet, he should have returned here. And he didn't. So Crabbe is both in one piece and capable of exiting the other cabinet under his own power.
Draco doesn't allow himself further indecision. He has to get to Crabbe and obliviate him. Now. It's no time for latent apprehension about the cabinet's functional integrity; if Crabbe left, then Draco will, too. He steps into the cabinet and pulls the door shut behind him.
It's... odd. It's less compressing than apparition and less disorienting than the spin of the Floo. His stomach and brain exchange a sharp disconnect, where his intestines insist he's in motion and his eyes refuse the concept. But there's no pain and no suggestion of splinching. Good...?
It works. He really fixed it.
Fuck.
His stomach demands proof that he's once again on solid ground and Draco practically flings the door open. He doesn't care if someone's right outside it as he violently carves out a space inside the cramped shop.
Crabbe and Borgin are grinning at him wildly from the middle of the floor. The expression is bizarre on Crabbe - not least because Draco half-expected Crabbe to throw a punch at him after how he ended up here. Borgin sees something across the shop and darts away, leaving Draco to figure out what to do.
Now he'll have to obliviate both. He can manage this. He takes a deep breath and tries to prepare himself. He needs to seem like his arrival here is deliberate, and not in the sense that he came here on a panicked impulse to fix a catastrophic error in his temper.
"I can't believe you did it, Malfoy!" Crabbe is busy enthusing, the instigating fight in the Come and Go Room long forgotten. "I was about to come back and tell you but I didn't know if you'd follow me, and what would happen if we both tried to use it? So I waited. Borgin can't believe it either!"
Draco gives a smile that's more of a grimace. He really needs to take Crabbe back to Hogwarts and obliviate him there. Otherwise, how can he explain the return trip? He supposes he could always do it twice. But he can't let Crabbe see him obliviate Borgin, either.
Fuck it. He pulls out his wand to stun Crabbe, obliviate Borgin, levitate Crabbe into the sodding cabinet with him, and finish off this horror show in the Come and Go Room with the best modified memory charm he can cast.
Crabbe's eyes alight on whatever Borgin saw and Draco's blood freezes in his veins.
"Malfoy! Crabbe? What are you doing here?"
Corban Yaxley is to Borgin's left and before Draco can contemplate the exponential complications of a third person to deal with, Borgin chortles, "He fixed the vanishing cabinet! The mate is in the castle and they just used it to arrive here. It's brilliant!"
Bloody Borgin, Draco swears. The shopkeeper didn't know precisely what Draco had been doing all year. He might not have even known Draco had been doing this on the Dark Lord's command. But he'd had orders not to sell the cabinet and of course, he knew they were a pair. He'd certainly heard the Montague story at some point.
And like Borgin, Yaxley's no idiot. Yaxley does know Draco had a specific mission - one the Dark Lord wants completed as soon as possible - and while he may not have known what it was, this seems like a solid bet.
Before Draco's mind can scramble together a plan, Yaxley yanks up his sleeve. He says, "Well done, boy," as he presses his index finger directly into his Dark Mark.
The mark sears white hot in a wave from the top of the skull by the crook of Draco's elbow to the end of the snake's tongue near the bone of his wrist. An envious look flashes across Crabbe's meaty face as Draco's right hand grasps his forearm to stifle the burn.
Snape. The single word ricochets around his brain and his mouth says, "Need to tell Snape people will be coming."
Yaxley approves. Draco's dismissed with a quick nod and, trying to seem controlled and deliberate about it, he gestures for Crabbe to enter the cabinet again.
"Can I go with you, Yaxley?" Crabbe's tone is almost bashful and Draco's repulsed by how blatantly Crabbe wants to be part of the invading army.
Yaxley declines anyway. "I don't know what the plan is. I do know it would be ill-advised for me to do anything else without finding out first. Your father would have my head."
Draco, too, is curious about this. He's never been told what the Death Eaters plan to do inside the castle. He can make some educated guesses, though, and all of them involve him needing to reach Snape as soon as he can.
Crabbe doesn't argue with the older man, his superior in every way. He steps to the cabinet and closes the door behind him. Draco counts to five and opens it, revealing an empty cupboard. Borgin claps his hands together and Yaxley lets out a low whistle.
"Very impressive, boy. Go and alert Severus. We'll be seeing you soon."
* * *
There's no sense obliviating Crabbe now. No sooner has Draco stepped back out into the Come and Go Room, Crabbe's hightailing it for the exit to fetch Goyle.
Even if Draco could forestall that in some way that might make sense, it would delay him in his own task. He slings his neglected bag over his shoulder and takes off for Snape's quarters.
"You unbelievable fool," Snape spits when Draco's done explaining. "Can you not stay out of your own way? Go and tell her to stay in her tower; all of them - although I think the chances of her actually doing that are minimal at best."
"I'll - I'll stay with her. I'll make sure she does. It's my fault, I can't let -"
"You can't be seen with her openly and you know it."
"It's all over now." Draco pinches his temples with his fingers, struggling not to let the sense of despair overwhelm him. "The least I can do -"
"Your mother will suffer the consequences if you do not appear to assist this attack. You will go tell Miss Granger and you will return here, to me. At once. Go, now."
By the time he finagles seventeen staircases (including a running leap when one decided to move at the last minute), Draco has a serious stitch in his side. Doubled over, he can't get his breath to speak to the portrait in the pink dress and just bangs on the painting's gilded frame with a fist instead.
He can hear the goings on of a party in full swing and begins to beat on it harder. She has to hear him. Someone has to hear him.
"Excuse you," the portrait sniffs, her chin in the air. "You must know I won't open for this sort of thing."
"It's -" he gasps, "a matter - of student - safety. Is that good enough?"
"Hardly. Do you think we portraits don't hear all manner of excuses to open up?"
Having somewhat regained his wind, Draco straightens up and tries to appear responsible, ignoring the absolute irony of it. "Can you at least see inside? Visit another portrait in there and tell Hermione I need to see her."
The lady in the pink dress who looks like she can smell something bad right beneath her nostrils doesn't budge. She blinks once, slowly, in a way that could give his godfather a run for his money.
"Please?"
With the bearance of someone severely imposed upon, she rises and exits the frame. Draco sags against the wall and uses the time to try and slow down his racing heart.
The frame of the portrait opens a crack and he hears Hermione's annoyed voice float free. "No - just give me a minute. Stop it, Ron. I'll be right back."
She's wearing the cosy red pyjama bottoms he gave her with a thin black top with skinny straps. There's a flush in her cheeks beside slightly dishevelled curls hanging loose and framing her face. Draco tries not to be jealous that he is not also enjoying a party (with Hermione) and must instead be satisfied with solely staving off disaster.
The plain irritation on her face fades as she takes him in. That she's cross with Weasley softens Draco's own vexation that she's spending the evening with Weasley at all. "What's going on? I thought you were in the Room of Requirement tonight."
Draco chooses to bypass his own catastrophic responsibility. He doesn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes. "Crabbe knows the cabinet works. Now Borgin knows, and now so does Yaxley. He's called the Dark Lord."
Her hand to her mouth, Hermione leans and looks past him in the hallway as if expecting to see an army of silver masks and black robes sweeping through. Her voice sounds far away. "What do we do?"
"You do nothing. You stay in your tower."
"Is it going to happen tonight?"
Draco truly doesn't know. "Probably. And if it is, we can't have students loose in the castle. Stay here where there's already a party. People will be oblivious to anything else happening."
This angle should be important to Hermione, if Draco knows a single thing about her. She'll care more about everybody else being tucked safely away. But she's gnawing on a thumbnail in a disconcerting manner, her brown eyes still focussed on something distant. Something Draco can't see, and maybe isn't supposed to.
Finally, they fix back on him. "Where will you be?"
"With Snape."
This does seem to mollify her, if only a little. He's never been more relieved that she considers Snape to be on Dumbledore's side.
"And he already knows?"
"He does."
But now, Draco's sliver of a conscience is twinging. Hermione believes Snape will raise a wider alarm, but he won't. And while Draco's biggest priority is standing right in front of him, he still wants to mitigate the damage elsewhere. It's important to her. Hermione had wanted him to tell Dumbledore so the other professors and adults who will be fighting tonight will have fair warning.
Hermione takes this one step further, whispering almost to herself, "What about the other houses, though? We're the only ones celebrating anything. What if they hear fighting and come out?"
This strikes with a sharp sense of foreboding and Draco knows he has to get back to Snape, soon. He can't be here much longer. "Stay here. Promise me."
"I know Snape knows, but if I just tell McGonagall -"
Draco grips his hair in one fist, feeling somewhat mad. "Where are her quarters?"
"Down the corridor there." She gestures and Draco sees the bead of blood on the cuticle of her thumb.
Hating himself for even compromising this much, he closes his eyes and asks, "Where's that cloak?"
"Harry has it with him."
But she hadn't mentioned Potter when she stepped out here; only Weasley. Strange. "Where is Potter, anyway?"
"...I can't tell you."
Draco doesn't let this distract him. "Whatever, but if you're going to alert McGonagall, go get that cloak from him. Promise me you'll keep it on you all night."
"Harry isn't here."
This distracts him. "What?"
"He's off with Dumbledore."
That single sentence carries loads to unpack and Draco just doesn't have the time. So there's no cloak. No cloak and Hermione's already cooking up some half-arsed plan to save Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. In the single most terrifying gesture yet, her hand goes to her hair and she ruffles it absentmindedly. It's her thinking tell, her 'solving a problem' tell, and Draco's stomach drops to somewhere around his knees.
It comes to him in a flash. It may be the best idea he's had in his whole life - maybe the only good idea. In September, he'd been abjectly furious that Potter had won Slughorn's little competition over him. He'd needed that prize desperately. He couldn't think of anything he'd needed more and it had gone to the Chosen One instead. But it could be for the best, now. Now it's within Hermione's grasp - maybe.
"Where's that Felix Felicis?"
The intensity of his voice clears Hermione's distracted air. She blinks twice. "Ah, in Harry's dorm, I expect. Ron probably knows. We tried to get him to take some tonight and he wouldn't, so I know he still has it. I doubt he took it with him."
Tomorrow (Draco hopes), he's going to dive into these bizarre statements Hermione's throwing out. Tomorrow.
He grabs her by the shoulders. "Get it. Drink it. For me."
She still looks uncertain and he fights an urge to shake her. He has to get back to Snape but he also has to know she'll be alright. He flings out one last card.
"I'll be with Snape but I'm still going to be in the middle of it. I won't be able to concentrate if I'm worrying about you. I have to know you'll be safe. You don't have that cloak and the only other thing that'll help is that bottle of Felix. If I think you have nothing to fall back on I'm going to be distracted."
He's going to be distracted anyway. Hermione probably knows this. He's counting on her wanting to help in any way she can, though, and that includes helping Draco. The only way to do that is if she takes the stupid Felix Felicis.
It's manipulative and he couldn't care less. He'll say whatever he needs to. He leans in close, hoping he isn't imagining her shortness of breath.
"You can help keep me safe. Promise me you'll drink the Felix."
She's just beginning to nod when the portrait hole cracks open and Weasley's grotesquely red head pops out. "Hermione, what's -"
"Fuck off, Weasley," Draco growls and Hermione shoves a hand behind her in a shooing motion.
Weasley's eyes narrow to slits and Draco might imagine the jealous glint he sees there. He doesn't think so, but maybe his emotions are just running high. He definitely doesn't imagine the way Weasley leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, plainly settling in to wait for Hermione to finish up here.
"I'll drink it, I promise," Hermione agrees and even if it's only to put an end to this awkward gathering, Draco will take it as progress.
"You promise me?"
"I promise," she insists and he only stares at her until she grips his hands tightly in her fingers.
"You're not just saying it?"
"I promise."
His hands leave hers to cup her face instead and his fingers slide back into her hair. His thumbs gently rub circles on her cheekbones. "That's three times you promised."
Maybe Weasley's stubborn presence tips him past the point of sensibility. Maybe that's why Draco says it, or maybe he just has a faint inclination that telling her will further motivate her to keep that promise.
Gently holding her face, he leans down for a kiss. Against her mouth, he says, "I love you."
She's too stunned to react but Weasley's nondescript eyes bulge out. With a final dropped kiss on her lips, Draco leaves her.
* * *
Hermione doesn't have time to process that. Abandoning Ron to scurry along behind her, firing rapid questions she ignores, she sprints to Professor McGonagall's office.
The door opens while her hand is raised for her third knock and McGonagall looks as if she expected her. "Is the party getting out of hand, Miss Granger?" Her mouth twitches and she enjoys a Quidditch Cup win as much as anyone, but Hermione's demeanour is more alarmed than aggravated.
"It's tonight, ma'am," Hermione starts, although she knows no such thing. Better to plan for it immediately, she figures. "Professor Snape knows but he might have a lot of ground to cover. Students need to stay in their dormitories. When is the headmaster going to be back?"
"I'm afraid I'm not sure. I'm not even sure what he's doing - only that he's gone and expects to be back tonight."
That's unnerving and Hermione chews the inside of her cheek. Does she know more than Professor McGonagall? How much more?
"What the bloody hell is happening?" Ron demands, breaking into her field of vision and reminding Hermione he's there. She'd quite forgotten.
"Go get the Felix Felicis from Harry's trunk and I'll explain back in the common room."
Ron's reluctant to do this until McGonagall snaps, "Do as she says, Mr Weasley. Go." She turns her attention back to Hermione. "Mr Potter still has that, does he? Good. Split it between the three of you."
"Harry's out with the headmaster, Professor."
Hermione can't tell if it's relief or dismay on McGonagall's face. Maybe both.
"How do you know about this, Miss Granger?"
What does she mean? Hermione's knowledge about Harry's whereabouts, or her knowledge about this assault? Regarding the assault, Hermione has to assume Snape shared what he knew with Dumbledore. Did Dumbledore disseminate it? Hermione had blazed down here assuming McGonagall knew about that much already, so she leaps. No sense holding cards to her chest now - not when she doesn't know if they're aces or twos.
"Draco was tasked with finding a way into the castle. He repaired the broken vanishing cabinet that Graham Montague got stuck in last year. He was waiting to tell anyone it was fixed until after term ends so the castle would be empty, but something went wrong tonight. They know. He thinks they'll try to invade but he doesn't know what they're after."
Most of this seems expected to McGonagall, as if she did know. Her expression only changes to deep concern near the end. Hermione ploughs on. Why else is she here?
"Our tower might not even notice something's going on, if the party keeps on like it is. But Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw need to be told."
"No, Professors Sprout and Flitwick need to be told," McGonagall murmurs. "Severus may have already done it, but the party is a good cover. It'll mask noise and prevent panic. I'll tell both to instigate one for their houses, an impromptu year-end sort of thing. The prefects will need to be told why, of course, but maybe no one will notice that we seal the entrances to the common rooms. Can I count on you to keep the Gryffindor common room in line?"
"Yes, ma'am, but I'm going to have to tell Ron. He already knows something serious is happening." She's dreading this part but knows there's no way around it. Maybe she should have that swig of Felix first.
Professor McGonagall doesn't seem concerned by this. Something else is on her mind. "Stay inside the tower, Miss Granger; you and Mr Weasley both."
"But Harry -"
"The headmaster will look after Mr Potter. When we become aware that they've returned to the grounds, I'll personally ensure that Mr Potter is deposited right in the common room with the two of you."
She goes to wave Hermione away but turns back with one hand still on her door. "Miss Granger, since you know about the attack, you have a responsibility to keep order amongst the Gryffindors. Stay in your tower."
Bugger, Hermione curses. The professor knows her too well and knows she can't shirk something like that. She's still torn. She promised Draco she'd take the Felix and she meant it - if she can be certain the attack is happening tonight. It wouldn't do to split it between herself and Ron (and Ginny; mustn't forget Ginny), only for the intrusion to come another time. She can't waste it.
But if it is tonight and she does drink it, Hermione would feel far more confident leaving the tower in search of Harry. They won't know when he's back but it's likely he'll arrive in the middle of everything, unawares. Her only hesitance is that she doesn't know where he and Dumbledore will reenter from, and she can't wander around clueless.
If she only had that blasted cloak.
What are her priorities? She mentally scrambles, taking a moment to think before reentering the common room. Voldemort won't come tonight. She's almost positive. He'd only come to the Department of Mysteries last spring because everything was going sideways. Draco completed his portion of the mission, but now it'll be someone else's task to complete - what? What are they here for?
Harry, maybe, and that ratchets up her anxiety to full throttle again. Dumbledore? Also a strong possibility. That Dumbledore and Harry are out tonight is coincidental, but they won't be out all night. Is it better or worse that they're gone? The Death Eaters might wreak far more damage waiting around for a confrontation, just out of boredom or basic sport.
What else could Voldemort want within the castle?
She doesn't know but she does know some of his followers could take genuine pleasure in terrorising students. It's Draco's biggest fear: that Hermione could be targeted. Well, Muggle-born students can't be targeted if they're out of sight and Hermione feels she's done her best for those in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw by informing McGonagall.
Okay, then. She can still make a difference for Gryffindor students. Keeping them inside and calm is paramount. It helps to have something to focus on, because she can't think about Draco. Not about him being right in the middle of everything, doing his best to prove his loyalty.
And not about him saying, "I love you." Not until she has a chance to say it back.
* * *
Ron's so close to the portrait hole entrance when she steps back through that she's sure he was seconds away from coming to fetch her.
"What the hell was that about?"
Hermione brushes by. Hoping it's not a gigantic mistake, she cups her hands around her mouth and whistles. The majority of the common room falls silent, looking at her and Ron. She can only hope she looks more confident at this than he does.
"I just saw Professor McGonagall." As the groans start, she hollers louder, "She said we're good to go all night!"
Cheers go up and the seventh year prefect, Kenneth Townsend, looks sceptical as he approaches. "Did McGonagall really say that?"
Hermione tugs him to the side, Ron trailing along. "She did. But there's something else happening."
She details the basics, not letting Ron's increasingly urgent attempts to interrupt sideline her. "We need to seal the common room. Everybody needs to stay in here, but without causing a panic. The party is perfect. We just keep it going."
Kenneth glances at the portrait hole, very pale. "It's almost curfew anyway. Ordinarily, we'd have started doing patrol rounds to find anyone still out. But we can't do that, can we?"
"I'm sure McGonagall has thought of that."
"Maybe we seal it up twenty or thirty minutes past curfew, just in case she finds some," he suggests uneasily.
Hermione doesn't like it very much either, but going wandering in search of stragglers defies both McGonagall and Draco.
"Let's just see if anyone's missing," Ron interrupts and Hermione blinks. Yes, quite. They can work backward.
Luckily it's not a normal night. Kenneth and Ron start this, cataloguing each group they see strewn across various furniture. Any fifth years still hellbent on OWL revision have been tempted to stick around by the illicit firewhisky of the celebratory Quidditch win and mass of treats nicked from the kitchens.
The kitchens. Hermione feels a chill of horror.
"Dobby?" she ventures in a hushed whisper. How does this work? She's never tried to summon an elf before.
The resounding CRACK is easily missed in the noise of the party. The sweet little elf gazes up at her, eyes huge and perpetually watery. He's in a striking swimming suit that resembles the fabric of a circus tent in red and white vertical stripes. His ears are slightly folded back and he taps his hands together anxiously. "Yes, miss?"
"Dobby, it's very, very important that you tell all the house elves to stay in the kitchens or their living quarters - wherever you have that's just yours. Don't let any of them come into the greater part of the castle. There are going to be dangerous people around who might hurt them."
He disappears again and Hermione feels a flood of relief that's probably disproportionate to the severity of the situation. But this is something she can feel better about, one thing handled.
Her index fingers massage her temples to fend off a headache while she watches Kenneth and Ron survey the room.
"I think we're missing two girls and Harry."
Hermione volunteers to check the girls' dorms but this can't forestall Kenneth's natural follow up.
"Where's Harry?"
She and Ron exchange an awkward look. Ron reluctantly steps up as Hermione moves towards the girls' set of stairs. "Not here, but safe. We only have to worry about here."
The two wayward girls are located in the loo of their third-year dorm, giggling and readying themselves for the party below. Hermione gives a generic excuse for looking in on them and heaves a gigantic sigh of relief in the privacy of the staircase. No one is missing.
No one but Harry.
The dialogue she'd hoped could be avoided captures her at the foot of the stairs. Ron blocks her exit with a flat expression.
"You need to tell me how you know all of this. What did Malfoy say to you, and how does he know?"