I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo.
She remembered the words so clearly, chanting them in the dull silence of her thoughts. That was precisely how she felt as she stood at the center of the lobby filled with boisterous people talking about the unfortunate accident. They murmured mixed words: some of comfort, some of pity, mostly of blame. They openly stared at her, wondering—always wondering. That's just human nature, she supposed. All these looks and whispers, she was used to them by now and it was always best to just ignore them.
Her mind was far too vacant, her eyes too bleak.
It was too quiet, not because the world around her had suddenly lost its voice and pressed its lips shut. It was because of the walls shielding her from everything else, rejecting all senses and experience, forcing her not to listen. In a way, she understood why Draco had allowed himself to be so indifferent for so long.
She could learn to get used to this— the numbness, the peace.
She thought of heading home, craved it even, anything to move away from the raging storm around her. Grudgingly, she headed towards the vault-like door of the underground passage for the second time that day, eyes red and tired, hair sticking out in all places. She shoved a baffled Auror who was blocking her way, ignored him when he started to say she wasn't allowed in.
The small safety point was currently off limits to the Unexhibitables, but she could care less. She needed to get something off her chest. She found a few people investigating the crime scene rather meticulously. Her gaze fell steadily on a man who was squatting near the edge, staring below. She'd recognize that ruffled jet black hair anywhere.
"Harry," she said quietly.
He made no move to acknowledge her presence and continued to stare down the pit, running his hands through his hair and shaking his head. "Nasty little things," she heard him mutter.
She felt sick on her stomach as thoughts of Astoria being devoured by leeches popped into her mind.
"Is—is she alright?"
"She's fine... She lost a lot of blood, but she's fine." He shifted his gaze to the blue and purple flower in the middle of the pit, still planted atop a tall pile of earth and rocks. "I told you to go home, Hermione. You should rest."
"I'm not going to go home until you hear what I have to say."
"Come off it," he said, waving his hand, as if to dismiss her. "You're just going to blame yourself ag—"
"Well it is my fault, isn't it?" she said irritably.
"For fuck's sake—" Harry finally stood, dusting off his robes and sauntering towards her.
"Oh, don't lie, Harry," she said impatiently. "I know it's my fault and I know you think so too. I shouldn't have let my guard down when he was around. And don't you try sugar-coating it just because I'm your best mate."
"You couldn't have saved her even if you tried, Hermione."
"Excuse me?" she drawled, feeling insulted.
"What would you have done?" he said, while gesturing to the pit angrily with his hand. "Climb down the bottom of this hell hole and haul her up with your superhuman strength? Pray that the leeches would let you pass untouched? We couldn't even get her out fast enough. What makes you think you could have done any better?"
"Haul her up with my—?" she said incredulously. "What?"
Harry gave her a weird look.
Hermione blinked several times and felt the gears on her head turning. She suddenly realized that her magic would have been nullified inside the pit. "Of course!" she said abruptly. "The plant noticed the shift in the atmosphere. It must've had the ability to create wards to block the magic out! How fascinating!"
"Plants can do that?" asked Harry, before he shrugged. "See I told you. You couldn't have saved her on your own. It's not your fault."
Hermione looked away from him, still unconvinced. She could see Harry's mouth curve into a frown from the corner of her eyes.
"He didn't push her off, did he?" He questioned, hopeful.
"No. He was holding onto me when she fell."
Harry furrowed his eyebrows, looking extremely disappointed.
"Listen," he said. "They told me there was no sign that he was here at all."
"What?" she said in disbelief. "But I was here! I saw him! Doesn't that count as something?"
Harry shook his head. "No physical evidence—er—sorry."
Hermione cursed under her breath and clenched a fistful of her robes in anger.
She vaguely remembered Draco carrying her back to the staircases to the lobby, taking his sweet, precious time, while Astoria screamed mercilessly behind them. She had struggled so much and had managed to bite his arm, sinking her teeth in his flesh as a growl escaped his lips. When she had finally gotten away from him, she'd hysterically ran to the lobby, screamed at everyone present and tried desperately to contact Harry.
But even though Harry had arrived five seconds after he had gotten her message, Draco was nowhere to be found.
Luckily, he'd left her wand on the ground. Godric knows what would've happened if he took it with him.
"But that's not to say I don't believe you," Harry said, trying to sympathize with her. "I do... It's just that, I doubt that they will."
Of course they won't.
"Because he's always so bloody thorough with his crimes," she muttered to herself, seething quietly. She was breathing heavily, she realized, out of anger or exhaustion. Or maybe both.
"I know that look, Hermione," said Harry, while frowning at her again. "Remember you still need to finish the potion. It's your number one priority right now. You've worked too hard for this. Let me handle Malfoy."
Her head snapped up to look at him indignantly, pissed at the idea of not being allowed to get revenge. Harry sighed deeply.
"You know, I—er— dreamt of—of Ron—last night." He paused and shivered a little. It probably hadn't been a very good dream, then. "Thought it must've been a bad sign… and then when you called I forgot everything else and went to you. I was scared, Hermione. I thought—"
She stared at the ceiling and tried her best to keep the tears from spilling out. Ron. Oh God.
"I know it's wrong, but I'm glad it wasn't you. I'm glad you're safe."
Inhaling deeply, she tried to compose herself. She had yet to tell him what had really happened. She dragged him outside, quickly, away from prying eyes. And then she told him every single detail she could remember. Harry listened carefully, his face growing redder as she continued. By the time she had finished, Harry's face was as red as Ginny's hair.
"Bloody hell Hermione!" he exclaimed loudly, catching her off guard. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her angrily, as if he was trying to slap some sense into her. "Did it ever occur to you how extremely dangerous that flower is? Did you even pause to consider that maybe—you were endangering your arse by coming here with Astoria bloody Greengrass? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
She glared at the Aurors who were peeping through the vault-like doors, rattled by Harry's loud voice.
"What are you staring at?" she snapped at them.
They jumped and quickly walked back inside.
"It's part of being an Unexhibitable Harry," she said icily.
Harry rolled his eyes.
"You could've at least ask for a different—"
"I didn't have a choice!" she hissed angrily. "She was assigned to me—Madam Dumass said—"
"Oh yes, because you always obey what Madam Dumb-ass says," Harry bit back in a sarcastic tone. "Like the time you read the Library books on the third floor, when she'd told you not to—or the time you refused to do an interview for the Daily Prophet, when she'd told you to- And let's not forget that time when you proposed a project to make the Denovorum, when all she'd asked of you was a simple truth serum! Right Hermione. Really obedient, you are."
"Oh please, this is an entirely different ordeal, Harry. This is for the Denovorum for Merlin's sake, not some petty chore!" she defended. "Besides she didn't know Astoria was unstable and neither did I!"
Harry's temper rose from the surface, rearing its ugly head, but Hermione was just too upset to even bother to calm him down.
"Yeah? Well you could have been more alert, couldn't you?" he said loudly, not caring anymore if the others heard or not. "You know how much she hates you. You've seen how it is! You think these people—Malfoy, Greengrass—you think they just want to have tea and sing songs with you? You're out of your mind! Whatever happened to Constant Vigilance? I suppose you think it's alright to just risk your life like it's rubbish—" he mocked, "—You're not even remotely considering the feelings of the rest of us who care about your well being!"
"Wh-what?" Hermione said, looking as though Harry had slapped her hard. She felt herself shaking violently in frustration, felt her nails digging into her flesh as she balled her fists. "You think I wanted this to happen? YOU THINK I DON'T CARE? Who was I to know she was a—a deranged lunatic? I'm not like you Harry! CONSTANT VIGILANCE ISN'T EASY FOR ME!" she screamed, unaware of the tears leaking out her eyes. "I'M NOT BLOODY PERFECT LIKE YOU!"
Before he could say anything else, she turned on her heel furiously and stormed off to the staircases, without another glance.
"DON'T YOU DARE GO LOOKING FOR MALFOY!" she heard him shout in equal fury.
She rushed to the lobby, ignoring the weird looks everyone gave her as she went. She headed to the third floor while wiping her eyes furiously with the hem of her sleeve. His words hurt because they were true. She had been too weak and helpless. She had allowed herself to be frightened and vulnerable, letting them have the upper hand while they used it to their advantage.
Enough of this!
She truly felt like she was standing below the grey eyes of a storm, safe and unharmed, while everyone else suffered his harsh winds and relentless downpour. Well, she just wasn't going to allow it anymore. Too long had she sat around and watched pathetically as he took control of everything around her life like a puppet master tugging her strings.
She would be damned if she let him get what he wanted again.
The numerous chairs that lined the long, polished table of the Malfoy Manor dining hall were currently occupied by twenty or so people. Hooded cloaks hung on their heads and white masks covered their identities. They were arguing with each other, raised voices resounding off the walls.
"—chair is not to be seated on. The Dark Lord specifically ordered—"
"It's been 6 years," hissed a man. "Surely, whatever spell he cast has worn off by now?"
"Highly unlikely, Langdon, the Dark Lord informed me that the head chair determines the one who is worthy, his chosen heir."
The man called Langdon stood from his seat in an exaggerated manner, catching everyone's attention. He headed towards the head chair with an air of confidence. "Well then let's not waste time, shall we? We all know it is me." He sat on the chair with a dramatic air, enjoying the astounded stares he received from everyone.
The death eaters watched in silence.
His hand started to wrinkle and dry and turn into a horrid muddy color. It started with his fingers, but it quickly spread to his arms and neck in an unforgiving speed. It dissolved his jaws and gouged his eyes right out of his skull. He was soon screaming in pain, screaming for help, but his fellow death eaters did nothing as the rest of him withered and dropped dead.
It took a while before they realized his body had decayed… putrefied before their very eyes.
"Fool," whispered one of them.
They remained quiet for the next couple of minutes, still startled by the gruesome display.
The faintest sound of soft chuckles broke the awkward silence; it was a cruel, malignant hum, one that sent shivers down their spines. They turned their heads to the lone figure standing on the doorway, wearing a crisp black suit and looking impeccable as always, hands in his pockets.
He didn't even bother to wear a mask.
"Ah, finally," said one of the masked Death Eaters. "After five years in hiding, Draco Malfoy finally decides to show himself. Tell us… Are you so daft that you've forgotten something so simple as manners and punctuality?"
"I had business to attend to, Dewhurst," Draco said while smirking. "Although I am glad I got to witness that rather wonderful display of genuine stupidity." He sniggered and checked his pocket watch. "I'm glad I finished my meeting with the Minister earlier than expected."
"And what is this meeting all about? Don't tell me you're begging for a job there now?" growled Rowle, from the right side of the dinner table. "Or is this about your darling, mudblood wife?"
A few death eaters howled in laughter. Others hissed in displeasure, shaking their heads.
Draco's face remained impassive. Aside from the slight twitch on his left eye, nothing else marred his handsome features.
"On the contrary," he said nonchalantly. He sauntered forward, perfectly calm and composed in each stride. "It was actually the Minister that did the begging, not I… You see, they requested me to help make the antidote for those—poor—helpless—pathetic—" He paused behind Rowle's chair, felt the man stiffen at his proximity. "—scums affected by Lycanthropy."
"Really now?" said MacNair with a tone of amusement.
"Yes, really," Draco said quite casually, but Rowle, who was near enough, didn't fail to hear the hint of malice in his otherwise calm voice. "I don't need the money, of course. I'm already rich enough as it is. No, this particular job was a—what was the phrase again? Oh yes—a chance to redeem myself. I've done so much for them that the public trusts me now. They're convinced that I am… reformed."
The man called MacNair chuckled.
"Oh, the wonders of the infamous Malfoy charm," he said. "They did not suspect?"
Draco continued striding to the fore, the sound of his footsteps echoing faintly as he went. "They most certainly did, but what choice did they have? I was always best at potions, you see."
He finally reached the Head chair, kicking Langdon's dead, rotten corpse out of his way and clucking his tongue.
He eyed the crowd once more with a small smirk on his face and traced the back of the Head chair with his long fingers.
"Anyone else who thinks they're worthy? Hmm?" he offered. They cowered in their seats. Not one of them was arrogant enough to move a muscle, too horrified by the events that had transpired just a while ago. "No?"
Draco sat on the head chair and placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers.
The silence stretched perpetually.
They expected him to have suffered the same fate as Langdon had but he remained breathing.
Draco's smirk widened at their fear.
"You?" said Travers, disbelief gripping his voice. Draco heard them murmur amongst each other in protest. "You are the Dark Lord's chosen heir?"
"How could you marry a mudblood?" Dewhurst said, outraged, banging her palms on the table and standing up. "This is a disgrace—an—an insult to the Dark Lord!"
Draco leaned back on the Head chair carelessly and shrugged. "He's dead."
Dewhurst's wand was out in a flash, aimed dangerously at his head, but before she even got a chance to cast a spell, Draco's curse had blasted her to the wall. The impact of the spell caused her to lose consciousness.
Another flick of his wrist and Rowle fell from his chair, convulsing and screaming on the ground.
"Never insult my darling, mudblood wife again," he said dangerously in a soft voice.
"I-It w-won't h-happen again, my Lord!" screamed Rowle.
He didn't lift the curse of, just silenced him with another spell. He felt everyone stiffen in their seats, uncomfortable with what they had just heard; uncomfortable with what Rowle hadeasily addressed him.
He had always been blessed with a skill to manipulate everyone around him. It was a talent he had used to his advantage countless of times. And the truth of it was, they had suspected it was him. Probably had known from the very beginning. They had seen the signs, noticed the amount of time he'd been spending with Voldemort, noticed how he had gotten stronger, much stronger than the rest of them. And now their suspicions had been confirmed as they looked at the young man sprawled luxuriously over the head chair, looking irritated and bored out of his mind. He had earned the title they had all dreamed of, and yet he looked as if he didn't care for it at all.
"Anyone else wish to defy me?" Draco asked in boredom, examining his nails. He patiently waited for them to say something, but no one dared. "I thought so."
His eyes were on them again, eyes that seemed to devour them whole, eyes that seemed to engrave terror onto their very minds. Eyes that seemed almost similar to his red ones had it not been for its chilling shade of silver.
"There's a way to bring dear old Voldie back to life."
Murmurs of incredulity came from their mouths in an instant. Everyone knew a spell to bring back the dead was entirely impossible. Draco ignored them as they prattled amongst themselves, feeling the need to cut off their tongues. With a wave of his wand, he summoned a piece of parchment from his room. It unrolled before him, its length reaching the middle of the table, effectively silencing their childish ramblings.
A map.
"The secret lies in the Department of Magical Research and Development. The last floor."
The Third Level Library of the Department of Magical Research and Development was enormous. It was a large room that housed millions of books. She had been there only thrice in her existence. Twice due to Unexhibitable reasons; the last because of her own curiosity. Only a few people were ever allowed inside because this Library contained thousands of forbidden books concerning the Dark Arts.
Hermione smiled as she thought back to her years at Hogwarts. The third level library was sort of like the Restricted Section… only bigger… and far more dangerous.
She had used her Unexhibitable status as an excuse to enter, when in fact the real reason she was here was to research Marriage Bonds. She knew she had already read countless of books in attempt to learn how to break a traditional Marriage Bond despite being told by all her pureblood friends that there was no way out of it. But she couldn't help but remember a time when she had asked Madame Dumass about it.
"I'm afraid there is no legal way out of it, dearest," she said. "—unless you're willing to try the darker ways. Why do you want to know, Ms. Granger?"
"Oh nothing, Madame," she said, laughing nervously. "I was just curious. That's all."
She locked herself inside for a week, hardly eating anything and barely sleeping at all. But she didn't stop reading. She couldn't.
She had to end this.
She didn't need to turn around to know he was there.
The Malfoy Manor was a stunning place, the kind of house that rich people liked to brag about. Being there made her feel like she was in a palace of some sorts, surrounded by the most beautiful furniture and paintings and other expensive things.
Nothing had changed since she'd last seen it.
She found herself contemplating, eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace of the sitting room. The pity she felt at the pit of her heart made her want to burn the house to the ground. Draco had lived here all his life and it made her want to hold him. She couldn't picture a child staying here, living here, even if it was someone as evil as him. She wasn't blind to the splendors the Malfoy Manor beheld. It was huge and beautiful, but it was miserably cold too.
It had all the luxuries needed for a majestic house, but it lacked the warmth that was needed to build a home.
And she was hugging herself, as if doing so would protect her from the dark mood around her.
The atmosphere shifted into that familiar emptiness and intensity. She didn't have to look, shefelt him standing a few feet behind her.
It was frightening to know how much he made her heart race just by his presence alone.
"Finally come to your senses love?" His voice sounded low and gruff.
She finally plucked up enough courage and faced him. Their eyes locked together, brown mixing with grey.
She let herself take in his exquisite form, his pale hair, pale skin, and pale grey eyes. He really was beautiful. She loved looking at his aristocratic features, the way they aligned themselves together in all perfection to assemble his handsome face. She adored everything, even the dark robes he wore. And she thought he looked like a fallen angel in the shadows, grand in all his beauty but broken all the same.
"Y-yes," she said quietly.
He took a step forward, making her jump back. She mentally slapped herself for showing even the slightest bit of fear. He took another step but she stood her ground this time.
"Really?" he chuckled in amusement. Hermione felt little beads of sweat on her forehead as he inched closer. "Why the sudden change of heart?"
She counted to ten and closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment's peace. She wouldn't succeed in the task at hand if she let everything about him distract her.
"I—you were—right," she stuttered weakly.
"You think so?" he asked. Despite her closed lids, she felt him circling around her form, like a predator observing his defenseless prey before an attack.
"Yes."
"Ah, there we are." She felt his breath on the back of her neck and she bit her lips to stop herself from whimpering. She wanted to move away from his closeness. He was fogging her mind, preventing her from doing what she had to. "The feisty little Gryffindor I'm so very fond of. Back to being brave and noble again, are we?"
She felt him wrap his arms around her waist affectionately, felt him cage her from behind.
"Tell me you love me," he whispered in her ear.
Hermione swallowed the dry lump in her throat. She couldn't breathe properly. She was sure he was near enough to hear the loud pounding of her heart in her chest. She tried to grasp the words, tried to feel them in the tip of her tongue. Just three little words.
"I—I love you."
She felt him inhaling deeply then, taking in her scent. They stayed like this for a long time as if he was treasuring the moment.
She struggled to move her wand hand that had been limp at her side. If she wanted to do this, now was the perfect time. But she couldn't make her body move, couldn't summon enough will to—
His sudden bark of cold laughter made her jump.
He let go of her and shook his head. Then he sprawled lazily on the couch, crossing his ankle over his knees. Her hand itched to raise her wand and curse him with every bloody curse she could think of.
She had just declared her love to him, and this is how he reacted? How dare he—
"How is Astoria, Hermione?" he tauntingly asked, interrupting her train of thought. "I heard she didn't die. Shame."
"You're a bastard, Malfoy," she said, her voice dripping with venom.
"And you're a liar," he drawled menacingly.
His face darkened. Hermione had to stop herself from turning away from his condescending eyes. It took all the willpower she had not leave this place and never look back. His words riddled her mind.
"You think I'm going to buy this? You think I'm going to believe the pathetic shit you throw at me?"
He laughed again, but this one was different from his mocking laugh. This laugh was bitter, so bitter she could almost vomit at the taste of it. Hermione knew she had hurt him. She had hurt him terribly.
"I guess that damned hat sorted you into the wrong house, hmm?" he said coldly. "You're more Slytherin than you let on! I should have known you would try to do something as drastic as this. But I didn't think you would be so conniving— lying to me and distracting me with your rubbish."
So he figured it out?
She aimed her wand determinedly at him.
"I have to do this," she said boldly, trying her best to hide the shakiness of her voice. "It's the only way!"
"Go ahead, then. Do it, Hermione!" he yelled, spreading his arms wide, tempting her to attack.
Hermione's mind went blank. She felt her hand trembling—no— she felt her whole body trembling violently. She had always prided herself for being the smart one, the one who always used her brains and never let her emotions cloud her judgment. She always knew what was right.
A whole week of research had all led to this.
The only way to break a Traditional Pureblood Marriage Bond was through death.
She had considered it countless of times, so many times that she was sure she'd lose her sanity. This past week, she hadn't been able to sleep or eat, she could only think. All her days had been consumed by the thought of him, of killing him, and it just wasn't fair. He was already controlling her life. It wasn't fair that he was controlling her thoughts as well.
He wouldn't let her escape him. And by now she wasn't so sure she wanted to escape him either. She might have said things to distract him a while ago, but she had told the truth.
She hadn't lied… not at all.
As sick and disturbing as it sounded... Hermione Granger had fallen in love with a murderer. And she couldn't let it go on.
"What are you waiting for, dearest? Do it!" he encouraged her, mockingly.
Was this right?
"Kill me."
She was doing everyone justice by ending his life forever. He had stolen so many lives, robbed so many children of their mothers and fathers. He took relentlessly and greedily and she shouldn't allow it anymore.
Draco Malfoy was a thief in the night. He needed to pay for everything he had done.
Her mind drifted back to Grindelwald and his thirst for power. It was for the greater good, he had said. He had dedicated his life to ridding the world of half bloods and muggle borns alike because they tainted the very purity he prided himself with.
Was she doing the same?
Was she doing this for the greater good too?
Draco waited patiently as Hermione battled with her inner demons, struggling so hard. He felt a wave of pity inside of him. She was clearly suffering and he just wanted to hold her. He could see how tired she was. He noticed the droplets of tears cascading down her cheeks. She was looking at him blankly as he sat on the couch, but he knew she couldn't really see him at all.
Finally, with a slight hesitance, she lowered her wand.
And then she collapsed to the floor and sobbed hysterically, wrapping her arms around herself and rocking back and forth.
"I—I can't…" she kept repeating. "I—I c-can't k-kill you."
I know, love, I know.
Hermione couldn't stop sobbing. She felt so disgusted with herself for breaking down in front of him. She felt so helpless. She knew she shouldn't be so vulnerable but she couldn't help the despair.
She felt him walk towards her cautiously, as if not to frighten her. And then he used his strong hands to carry her to the couch. He sat her on his lap and pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her securely and running his hands through her hair. It was so comforting; she couldn't help but lean on his chest. She loved the sound of his voice as he muttered soothing words into her ear.
She let pleasurable sensations overwhelm her when he pressed his lips on hers, and pretty soon she found he was kissing her again.
"You're beautiful," he whispered faintly.
A part of her was screaming at her, warning her of the relentless control he had over her every time she lost herself in his kisses, but she couldn't seem to hear them. She was drowning in him, choking on his tight hold, and yet she felt so secure, so safe.
Oh, the irony.
It scared her how badly she wanted to kiss him too. She wanted to lock her arms around his shoulders and drink from his lips. Suddenly, she didn't care if she was drowning. Not anymore. She was too exhausted. She offered no resistance when he pulled her closer to him or when she felt his tongue lick the sensitive part of her neck. She couldn't think. She didn't want to think.
All she wanted was him.
Draco found his way into her mouth again, forcefully invaded her with his tongue before she could protest. This time, she finally kissed him back. He smiled against her lips. Merlin, she tasted good. Kissing her was his temporary high, something that satisfied and elevated him. It was better than having sex with countless faceless girls he had been with. He wondered what it would feel like to be inside her.
He brushed the curve of her breast with his hand and did it again and again, until he heard her moan in pleasure. He unbuttoned her blouse, desperate to remove the thin fabric that was covering her skin. His hand slid into her thigh, hiking her skirt higher and higher.
Until Hermione wrenched her lips away from his and jumped off his lap. He groaned in annoyance. Before he could grab her again, however, she had already walked a safe distance away from him.
She was staring at him with wide eyes, panting heavily. Unconsciously, she traced her lips with her fingers. He saw the defeat etched on her pretty face. Sighing deeply, she turned away from him and headed towards the fireplace.
"Where are you going?" he asked irritably. "Stay," he demanded.
She kept walking, deliberately ignoring him. Draco felt his blood boil in anger. The nerve of this girl!
"You know, I was at St. Mungo's a couple of days ago."
She stopped in her tracks.
"I was making antidotes for Lycanthropy," he continued. "—on the fourth floor."
The alarm bells in Hermione's head started ringing madly. Draco had done something again. She didn't miss it: the underlying tone of malice in his voice. To a stranger it sounded perfectly normal and harmless, to her however, it sounded the way it was supposed to sound—a warning— like dark clouds that informed her of an upcoming storm.
"What did you do, Draco?" she said, facing him again.
His lips curled into another malignant sneer.
"Why I cured them all of course," he assured her; at least that was what it looked like. "I'm surprised those pathetic healers don't know how to do it. It was easy."
Hermione didn't buy it, not for a second.
"The Ministry will know you did it," Hermione said firmly. "Whatever you're planning it'll be traced back to you. You gave them the antidote, you're to blame."
He snorted.
"Who said anything about the antidote being poisoned?" he retorted. "Don't take me for a thick moron, Princess. I'm not Potter."
Hermione gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to wrap her hands on his neck and strangle him with every fiber of her being. So he didn't poison the antidote. What was it then? What had he done?
"Enough games, Draco!" she shouted in annoyance. "Tell me what you did!"
He smirked again. It was one of his more disturbing smiles but Hermione refused to be intimidated.
"Nothing really," he said, boring his eyes on her. "Unless…"
"Unless?"
"Unless you count the fire whiskey they had drank hours ago, to celebrate their permanent recovery."
Fire whiskey?
"Come on, Princess, think," he said. "What's the main ingredient for Lycanthropy antidote?"
Alcohol reacted with the main ingredient used in Lycanthropy antidote. This type of magical reaction causes heat. They would melt..
"Oh Godric," she said in horror.
"They only have thirty minutes left," he said unfeelingly. "Now, you can either try to whip up the potion that removes alcohol from the body…"
Hermione didn't like the idea. The potion was hard to make. Even if she could whip up the potion in time, she wasn't sure if it would be effective.
She couldn't take that risk.
"…or I could just give you the potion myself. I have one here somewhere," he said happily. He looked like he was clearly enjoying her discomfort. "In return, though, you have to stay here with me."
This was what he had been planning all along. She clenched her fists tightly.
"What will it be, Princess? Save them, or save yourself?"
"Both," she said determinedly, turning her back on him and heading towards the fireplace again. She heard him chuckle behind her.
"You're going to make the potion? What happens if you fail, Hermione?" he asked her in a sickeningly sweet voice. "Would you be able to live with yourself, knowing it was your own selfishness that caused their deaths?"
Draco knew her too well. He knew she was blaming herself for everyone's death. He knew how much her guilt was eating her alive. He always knew the right words, always knew how to get to her.
She ignored him and flooed to St. Mungo's, not wanting to hear anything more. She was going to make that antidote if it killed her, and then she was going to come back and shove it in his face. He was underestimating her. She was not an Unexhibitable for nothing.
Draco smirked and sprawled lazily on the couch again, waiting. She was going to break; it was only a matter of time. In her current state of mind, he doubted she would succeed. This little episode was proof of that.
She was slowly slipping. Now all he had to do was catch.
"You brought this upon yourself, Princess," he said darkly, clucking his tongue. "You just had to do this the hard way."