Chapter 4
Draco had disappeared.
Hermione had not heard nor seen the platinum blonde since their agreement to keep the cabinet between the two of them two weeks prior. No owl. No exchange of words at work. And being the straightforward witch she was, she’d hesitantly decided–against Ginny Weasley’s heedful warnings–to go to Malfoy Manor in search of him.
The midday sunlight cast upon the manor and its grounds. Ethereal and peaceful, it almost felt welcoming to Hermione. She’d not allowed herself to think twice about the manor before her since being in the drawing room with Bellatrix Lestrange years ago. Now that she stood before the extravagant estate once more, the memory of Bellatrix carving into her skin teetered with the inviting appeal of the grounds.
Hermione tried her best to shove the memory away and lock it behind the iron wrought gates within her mind, similar to the ones in front of her.
Her mind wandered to Draco. She knew it was wishful thinking, but found herself hoping the Draco who had been upbeat and full of banter would show himself. The last time they’d spoken, she knew he was beginning a regression into his former self.
She pushed forward on the metal, but immediately yelped. She yanked her arm back at the burning sensation sent through her palm. Hermione turned her hand over to examine it. Searing pain, mimicking waves of the ocean, rolled through her hand. The skin was an angry patchwork of pink and red, as blisters formed before her eyes.
Her eyes locked onto the iron gates, a red aura glowing. A warning, she thought.
“Miss.”
Hermione glanced down around her legs, half expecting the random high pitched voice to be a mere figment of her imagination. At her feet, now standing in front of the gate, was a small house elf, wringing her hands together apologetically.
“Miss, Pipp is so sorry for the burn. Pipp has informed the master that the wards are harmful, even to friends.” Large, bulbous eyes peered up at Hermione, as the small elf spoke.
“Is Draco home?” Hermione asked, disregarding that Pipp had labeled her as Draco’s friend. She held her hand close to her, the burning sensation still cresting.
“Pipp has come to tell the Miss that, Master is not accepting any visitors.”
“But he’s home, correct?”
Pipp, now full of nervous energy, plucked at what Hermione could only guess was a stray piece of fuzz from her clothing.
Clothing.
Draco had given his house elves clothes?
“Pipp is not at liberty to say.”
“Could you at least tell him it’s Hermione Granger and I really could use a healing salve for the burn his gate has given me.” Hermione was starting to become frustrated. Shacklebolt's orders had been clear. For her and Draco to work together. Yet, here she stood pleading with his house elf.
“Certainly miss.” A quick pop followed the absence of the elf.
Hermione waited outside of the gate impatiently. She had no other plans today, but the pain in her hand was becoming increasingly worse.
Another pop this time and Draco appeared instead of Pipp. Draco, in his casual black attire, stood out drearily against the bright setting of the manor and its lush greenery. His face indicated annoyance with both Hermione and the anxious house elf.
Upon a second glance, Hermione noticed the dark circles under his eyes and stubble growing along his chin. A rare sight for anyone, much less her. She assumed the idea of Voldemort’s possible return was taking its toll.
“Your gates burned me.” Hermione said flatly.
“As they’re enchanted to do to those who have no business being here.” Draco replied just as equally flat. Pipp emerged from behind his legs wearily, her arms full of medical supplies. “Pipp, tend to her hand, then send her away.”
Pipp stepped up to Hermione and extended her tiny arm with bottles and jars of salves, offering them to her. Without thinking, she angrily gripped a bottle from Pipp and aimed it at Draco’s head as he turned away. It hit him with a resounding thud and she felt dignified as the Malfoy heir reached for his head.
His nonchalant attitude had tripped a wire in Hermione’s brain, sending her into an absolute fit of rage. How could he? How could he act as if this cabinet ordeal was as unimportant and as trivial as if it were another one of his tasks he could shove off on someone he deemed unworthy of his time.
Hermione could not help the burning fire within her. It boiled to the top, threatening to spill over. For years, she, Harry and Ron had worked tirelessly to put an end to Voldemort. Years they’d spent fighting, friends lost, sacrifices made. All for there to be a chance of the Dark Lord returning. All of it, just for Draco to stand in front of her annoyed that she’d interrupted his probable self-loathing.
“That’s it?!” She yelled. “Two weeks I’ve been waiting around for you to help me with this cabinet. Two weeks and not a word from you and all you have to say for yourself is ‘tend to her hand and send her away’?! You are just as insufferable as when we were children!”
“Did you just hit me with a bottle of salve?!” Draco’s mouth gaped as he looked at her, shock spreading through his face, then anger.
“Yes! Maybe it hit you hard enough to knock some sense into you!” Hermione seethed. “Here! If that didn’t work, try another!”
She greedily grabbed one bottle after another from Pipp, launching them continuously at Draco who was now shielding himself as if he didn’t have a wand that could do the work for his battered arms.
Pipp scrambled away from her, apologizing fervently as she apparated away from the scene.
Draco, who’d seemingly had enough, remembered his wand, murmuring a protego. “Enough, Granger! Have you gone absolutely mad?!”
“I suppose I have!” She shouted, her breathing heavier from the labor of lobbing the bottles. “And if I haven’t, working with you will surely get me there in no time!”
She cursed under breath when she felt a jolt of pain rush through her hand again. The small blister, now festered largely across her palm.
Draco observed her sorely, his mind trying to decide whether helping her would be a good idea or if it would lead to another knot on the back of his head–courtesy of a salve bottle. Thinking about it, he rubbed the initial knot.
“Here, let me-”
“Don’t.” Hermione’s voice was clipped. She had no intention of letting Draco anywhere near her, especially not after touching the gate had burnt her hand to a crisp.
“I can help if you will let me”, Draco tried again. His voice was somewhat softer this time, but Hermione was too angry to notice.
“You can help me by pulling yourself out of whatever pity party you’re throwing and figuring out this cabinet.” And without another word, she vanished.
“So wait, let me get this straight”, said Ginny. “You hit Draco Malfoy in the head with bottles of salve? You? Hermione Granger?”
It wasn’t Hermione’s proudest moment, but over multiple glasses of wine and Ginny’s help to aid her with her burn from the gates, she’d described the order of events as best she could.
She winced as Ginny carefully applied her own medicated salve to the palm of her hand.
“You speak as if I didn’t break his nose in third year.” Hermione had surely held her own. Still could if one were to ask the knot on the back of Draco’s head.
“What’s his deal anyway?” Ginny asked as she focused on applying more of the salve to a softer part of Hermione’s hand.
Hermione shrugged slightly as not to interfere with Ginny’s first aid process. “He heard me say the name Voldemort. It’s as if he’s worried the words themselves will cast an unforgivable on him.”
She jerked slightly. “Sorry”, Ginny murmured before she continued. Her hands worked a bit softer on the sensitive area. “Can’t blame him really, can you? I mean, I know he was awful in school, but I imagine being ordered around by Voldemort does things to you.”
“But it’s not an excuse, is it?” Hermione questioned. “Plenty of people suffered. None of them act this way.”
Ginny finished the area, then set her supplies down. Her eyes met Hermione’s. “Everyone deals with it in their own way, I suppose. Harry overachieves and overextends himself. Ron spends his free time volunteering with Neville at Hogwarts, and you-” Ginny paused momentarily. “Well, you spend every waking moment up to your neck in your work.”
“Overworking myself doesn’t hurt anyone.” Hermione argued, her eyes examining the burn on her hand.
“Hermione”, Ginny spoke with clarity and calm. “You threw salve bottles at Draco Malfoy’s head today because he’s retreated like a hermit crab.”
“Yes, but…” she sighed. “Okay, maybe you’re right, but it still doesn’t justify him not helping. Shacklebolt ordered it.”
“I agree”, Ginny responded as she finished wrapping Hermione’s hand. “But maybe he needs time to process everything.”
“Two weeks?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.
“I’m a professional quidditch player, not a wizarding world mental health professional, ‘Mione.” Ginny returned her gaze.
Meanwhile, at the manor, Draco had settled into a green leather couch as Pansy ran her fingers through his hair searching for the knot Hermione had given him. He’d normally object to anyone touching his hair, much less Pansy, but after a stern conversation between the two, Pansy had ultimately convinced him to let her look.
“How’d you let Granger get a hit on you?” Blaise Zabini sat across from Draco. He watched as Pansy examined the knot.
“You mean a second hit.” Theo Nott, who sat beside Blaise, commented. “If we recall, Malfoy took the brunt of Granger’s right hook in third year.”
“She barely hit me.” Draco argued from under Pansy’s grip. She pushed his head forward, the only thing keeping him from burning holes into Blaise and Theo.
“She broke your nose.” Pansy countered, hands spreading more of the fine platinum blonde hair on Draco’s head. She conjured an ice pack and placed it on his head without warning.
Draco hissed. “A little warning would have been nice, yeah?”
Pansy stepped around the couch, her eyes rolling. Blaise and Theo chuckled at their friend who was now holding the ice pack to his head.
“What’s all this about you and Granger working together anyway?” Blaise asked.
“Shacklebolt's orders.” Draco replied. “Wants us to examine a vanishing cabinet.”
Blaise’s eyes widened a bit. “There’s no way. They were destroyed after the Dark Lord was killed.”
Draco inclined his head in agreement.
“What’s the big deal? Maybe it was just some extra the ministry had been holding onto for furnishing an office.” Pansy flopped onto the couch opposite of Draco. She flipped her wand between her fingers as if she were bored of the conversation.
“The big deal is, there’s life essence infused into it.” Draco winced at the pain in his head.
“It’s alive?” Theo’s head shot up. “Oh mate, this is like that one muggle movie with the talking furniture. There’s this beautiful girl who loves to read and a beast who lives in this castle alone.”
“Beauty and the Beast.” Pansy corrected dryly. She shook the interaction away, used to Theo’s mindless additions to their conversations. “And it’s not alive you idiot. Life essence means someone has used their magical aura to infuse the cabinet. It’s like creating a horcrux but way less invasive.”
“Sounds complicated.” Theo added.
“Well yes, for you”, Pansy stated. “But for a powerful wizard, it’s child’s play.”
Draco adjusted the pack on his head, the cold numbing his skin providing him with some relief. “Granger seems to think it’s the Dark Lord himself.”
The room stilled.
Blaise braved the silence. “Is that even possible?”
“Honestly?” Draco inhaled deeply then exhaled longer than normal. “I don’t know. What I do know, is the magic in the cabinet is attached to my magic somehow. It calls to me, like it wants something.”
“If it’s not the Dark Lord, then who?” Pansy mused.
“Hopefully not a lonely beast in a castle.” Theo’s eyebrows raised.
The other three Slytherin Alumni looked at him in unison with confusion, but eventually shrugged it off.
“Someone who would want to get to you.” Blaise offered.
Draco snorted. “That list is excruciatingly long, Blaise. If we tried to narrow down a list of those who have a problem with the Malfoy name, we’d be here a while.”
“Maybe working with Granger won’t be so bad then.” Pansy stated. “As much as it pains me to say it, she is intelligent.”
“Granger is not so much of a problem.” Draco replied.
“Then what is?” Blaise asked. The three of them glanced over at Draco awaiting his response.
Draco let his eyes wander towards the fire. It was hard enough admitting his fears, much less saying it directly to his friends' faces. “The Dark Lord returning.”