Bloodroot
STUPEFY!
With a loud crash, the figure vanished. Gone were those pale, pleading eyes, which had so bewitched Hermione, and with them went all life, all feeling. Her body slumped back to the floor.
The bedroom door had burst open with Harry barrelling in; stumbling over the mess to reach her. He began digging out her limp body from the heavy books, and despite how he held her and lifted her, Hermione thought that must be a million miles away.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Harry said frantically, waving his wand over her body to begin any healing spells.
“I’m… fine.” She whispered after awareness began to creep back. What had happened? How had she lost herself so easily? Embarrassed, and diligently fighting back exhaustion—an exercise she was adept at—she began pulling herself up to stand. Harry held her elbow as she absently dusted herself down. “I’m not hurt…” She muttered. “But how did you get here? I mean… why are you here?”
Harry bent down and located Hermione’s wand from the pile before handing it to her.
“I enchanted the detector to send me an alert if it is ever activated—” he said soothingly until a strained groan sounded behind them.
Stunned, they both turned toward the body. He had fallen into the light from the hallway, showing that his black clothes and heavy boots were covered in dirt. Awkwardly, and as if he were a body being supernaturally brought back to life, his long limbs began to jerk and twitch.
“Must… SPEAK,” He shouted while erupting from Harry’s Stupefy spell, bursting upward with explosive energy.
INCARCEROUS!
Hermione cast, flicking her wand assuredly toward him. Silky ropes burst from the tip of her wand, singing through the air like a whip and then wrapping themselves possessively around his body as he fell back to the floor with a deep groan.
“What the hell is going on,” Harry shouted.
The light from the hallway shone brightly down onto his head, and though his eyes were closed, Hermione could now clearly see his face. His features had been illuminated, casting deep shadows and blending his hair and skin into one shade as if he were carved from marble—a statue of some long-dead warrior, their expression permanently set haunted.
Hermione stepped toward him, her eyes fixed on that strange face, believing that she had never seen anything so beautiful, until slowly, and regretfully, she began to recognise him.
Despite how he had changed—his face having grown broader, matured, even—it still held those sharp edges, those piercing features. And though his icy blonde hair was dishevelled and peppered with dirt, it was still the same—distinctive, unforgettable.
“It’s… It’s Draco.” She whispered.
“Malfoy?!” Harry stepped quickly toward him, bellowing, “What the fuck are you doing in Hermione’s bedroom in the middle of the night!”
“Harry— the vampire detector went off—”, she brought her hand up to her mouth in horror. “He can’t be—”
Malfoy moaned. “Need… Granger.”
Hermione looked down at Draco. How on earth had he grown so much? And how could a man, with so much power—socially, academically, and now physically—be so pathetic? Resolved, she turned promptly from the pair and retrieved the only thing still hanging on the coat stand: her precious beaded bag. She pulled the drawstring wide and threw it into the air.
The bag took to the air like a selkie to water: it spun as it turned upside down, pirouetting rapidly and puffing out like a glittering ball gown. Shimmering lights sparked from the beads as the bag sped up and the opening grew wider—like a black hole or an enormous open mouth. Draco looked up toward it, dazed, as it hovered above him. He could only let out a croak as it flew down and landed upon him, swallowing him whole.
~*~
Chaotic animal noises rattled against her ears as Hermione slipped down the silky braid into the centre of the room, just behind Harry. Crookshanks trotted toward them, flicking his fluffy tail animatedly.
Since Hogwarts, Hermione had worked extensively to apply further Undetectable Extension Charms onto her beaded bag, so much so, that now it had become her own, personal travelling tent—one that she could carry anywhere, and was now stuffed with the wild, magical creatures she had come across on the way.
The room was a large circle, lit by hanging brass lanterns and with walls made of the same purple, shimmery fabric on the exterior of her bag. Working stations were positioned intentionally throughout the space, with animal enclosures, hanging bird cages and glowing turquoise aquarium tanks placed between them, each a home to a different magical creature.
In front of Harry and Hermione stood a slim potions station. An array of coloured glass bottles sat securely behind a mesh-windowed cabinet, dotted with hanging roots and herbs. Jars of hair, dust, venoms and other non-descript matter were neatly arranged on the ledge below, beside a cauldron bubbling away slowly atop its enchanted burner.
Behind them stood a wall of vertical botany planters, backlit with ultraviolet light, overflowing with lush green plants, next to a curtained alcove housing a travel toilet.
And to their left was where Hermione spent most of her time: her veterinary station. An enormous desk followed the curved wall for almost a quarter of the room, with wooden filing drawers and shelves covering the wall behind it. Almost every book Hermione had ever come across relating to Magical Creature Care was on the shelves, alongside folders of her own discoveries, and hovering at Hermione’s chair, a pair of knitting needles were working efficiently to produce a bright orange elf hat.
Positioned in front of the veterinary station was the examination table: a solid black platform Harry had gifted Hermione from Grimmaud Place, and lying on top, with his muddy boots hanging off the edge, was Draco, still bound in Hermione’s ropes.
“Malfoy—” Harry lurched forward, “I am going to give you one opportunity to tell me what the fuck you are doing here, or I will Apparate you right to the doors of St Mungos.”
“No,” He growled out, “You can’t,” his clear eyes darted about the room, though Hermione could tell he saw nothing.
She dragged her eyes from his face to his broad, angular shoulders to his narrow hips before stopping at his hands, which stuck out from the bottom of the ropes. They too were covered in filth, but as Hermione looked harder, she realised it was not dirt—it was blood.
Frantically, she grabbed Harry’s arm and pointed toward Draco’s hands.
He grunted as if his eternal suspicions of Draco had been distinctly confirmed, “Caught with the blood on your hands Malfoy? Been doing something you shouldn’t have—again?” Harry said aggressively as he pointed his wand toward him.
“I… I have…” Sweat glistened on his pale face, the circles around his eyes seeming darker than ever.
Noise from the caged creatures seemed to amplify as they screeched and rattled against the walls. Harry and Hermione could barely Draco hear over it.
“Oh, will you shut up everyone!” Hermione snapped, and the room fell silent—except for one dark final chuckle from the caged Erkling.
“Say it Malfoy,” Hermione demanded, her hands planted on her hips. It felt like an age passed before Draco mustered the word.
“…Bitten.” His voice rumbled as his eyes closed—as if it had taken the last of his energy to speak.
Harry and Hermione glanced at each other.
“Bitten by what?” She asked, trying hard to hide how her voice wavered.
But Draco was already gone. He lay silently atop the examination table, as still and pale as a cadaver in a morgue.
Harry turned to Hermione and muttered, “Do you think he could’ve been attacked by… whatever it is we are investigating?”
“It’s possible,” She whispered.
“Or, he is the thing we’re looking for,” Harry said, furious.
“I don’t know, Harry,”
“Wouldn’t put it past him…” Harry muttered.
Hermione stepped toward Draco until Harry held out his arm to stop her. He shook his head as he lifted his wand toward Draco’s head.
Hermione wondered what on earth Harry was about to do, but Harry only used the tip of his wand, gingerly, to lift Draco’s top lip. Draco flinched away, frowning.
His teeth looked normal.
“Fangs can retract, Harry…” Hermione said, before realising that Malfoy had begun whispering.
“…Five… drops… Murtlap, two… phoenix tears…” he coughed. “…Bloodroot… Three… Unicorn hair…”
“He’s listing the ingredients for the Blood-Replenishing potion,” Hermione said as she strode toward the potion station. “I already have a bottle,” she said while pulling a dark red glass bottle from the haphazard collection on the shelves. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Useful if any creatures are injured.” She advised.
Hermione uncorked the bottle as she stood beside Draco’s head. Using the tips of her thumb and index finger, she gently opened his mouth.
“He is freezing,” She whispered to Harry, quickly retracting her hand.
She poured the viscous liquid between his lips, making sure to not spill a single drop. He swallowed and almost immediately, colour began to return to his face.
As Hermione watched his face transform, she spotted, just peeking out from the collar of his black t-shirt a dark, bruise-coloured mark. Holding the fabric of his shirt, she pulled it aside.
There, lacing up from his taut shoulder to his neck, a savage—yet recently healed—scar. Each wound followed the other round in a circle, like dark pearls of a necklace, with some being much larger than the other, some deeper, some torn.
“The bite... It’s basically healed,” Harry said, frustrated, “How long ago did this happen Malfoy?” But, it was useless. He was gone again, deep asleep—dead to the world. “Is that what a… vampire bite looks like?” He asked Hermione.
“Not the ones I’ve seen—in books, I mean. They’re always just two little red dots… This is…” She failed to find an answer.
“But the detector went off,”
“He’s not a vampire, Harry.” She said, exhausted, “His eyes—they are not red…” She still felt the intensity of the icy flame in his irises that had so deeply penetrated her. “Every vampire throughout history has had red eyes.”
“Perhaps he has only been bitten by one. But I’m not sure why the detector went off for that. And, in any case, he should’ve recovered by now.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t a normal vampire…” Hermione said as she looked down at Malfoy, his marble-carved features now seeming a little more alive than earlier.
Harry stared. “We should still take him to St Mungo’s.”
“No Harry, don’t you see? This gives us the perfect opportunity to figure out what kind of creature is out there—attacking people.” She looked down again at the scar, left by a bite which had clamped down at the base of Draco’s neck, “This bite—no, it doesn’t look like the ones I’ve seen in books, but I know what it does look like,” She advanced toward Harry, seizing his jacket and pulling the brown envelope from his Mokeskin pouch, “It looks exactly like these,”
She whipped out the photos, searching through image after image of broken and bloodied body parts, until finding one which showed the bite mark in clear distinction. She held it beside the scar on Draco’s neck, and it was a match.
“We can’t tell anyone. Not even Robards. He even said himself—don’t tell The Ministry,”
“But where are we going to put him?”
“He’ll stay here, of course.”
“No Hermione—” Harry shook his head, panicked.
“No, I can do it. This bag has numerous wards on it so none of the creatures attack each other, nor escape. I’ve even had a Wampus cat here before—”
“Why on earth—” Harry began before shaking his head, “Doesn’t matter now. Hermione, I can’t leave him here with you. It’s Malfoy, and it looks like he’s got himself into some serious shit—worse than usual.”
“Harry,” Hermione spoke firmly as she positioned herself in front of him, “the fact that it is Malfoy is exactly why I can do this. Just look at him,” she swayed her arm toward Draco, still limp and unresponsive. “When has he ever won against me?”
Harry smirked, recalling that time in Third year when Hermione laid a punch directly onto Draco’s nose, “That’s true… Fine. But if Malfoy’s staying, then I am too.”
“But you can’t!” She insisted, “You can’t neglect Ginny like that. Please don’t neglect her—don’t do what I did.” Her voice broke as her eyes shone. Suddenly, she planted her face into her hands.
Harry, at a loss, put his arm around her.
Hermione spoke into his armpit, “I’m tired… I’m tired of always having to fight everyone—” She let out a tiny whimper as she sighed, “Please, just trust me.”
“It’s okay,” Harry said while rubbing her arm, “Look, okay…” He gave in, knowing he could never win against Hermione either, “I’m going to be back here first thing tomorrow. 8 a.m. Don’t take those ropes off him—and get some sleep, will you?”
~*~
Hermione was startled awake: not by noise, but instead by the lack of it.
Having gotten used to the chorus of croaks, barks, sniffles and squeaks, even her unconscious mind could detect the change in the room.
Her unkempt curls bounced wildly as she jerked her head off the examination table, spotting Draco as he sat silently on the travel bed, where she had used the Leviosa charm to carry him only hours before.
The small bed was nestled in a tented alcove, and Draco leant against the mulberry wall—his long hands draping over his crossed legs as he stared ahead, his face hidden in shadow.
“Get that thing away from me, now.” He spoke, breaking the quiet, his voice low and guttural.
Hermione stumbled from her seat, yanking herself out of sleep. She was exhausted, but daren’t show it—especially to Draco.
“Come away from there Celestine,” she said as she attempted to guide the one-eyed mooncalf away from the bed. Still seemingly entranced and smiling dumbly, Celestine craned her neck toward the bed and sniffed deeply. “Don’t do that darling, you don’t know where he’s been.”
“Where I’ve been?” Draco snapped, “I don’t know where that thing’s been.”
“Well, where have you been, Malfoy?” Hermione retorted sharply as she locked Celestine behind the picket gate of her small, hay-filled enclosure. “And why, exactly, are you here now?”
Draco turned away, moving further into the shadows of the alcove. Hermione noted how his body seemed rigid—tense with the movement—and that dark scar peeking slightly above the collar of his black t-shirt.
“Nowhere else to go,” he said finally, and for a moment, she felt a drip of empathy slide through her stomach, until he said, “I’d never come here, come to you, if I had a choice.”
She scoffed. “Dear mummy finally had enough of you?”
He darted his head, his cold colourless eyes locking with hers, “You have no idea what you are talking about.”
Again, that flush of energy, that cold flame, surged through her body from her head to her neck to her fingertips, while her vision went tunnel-like.
Draco broke away and Hermione stumbled forward, steadying herself on the examination table. God, I need to eat something she thought, as she shook the feeling from her body, hoping he had not seen.
“I know that I am the last person…” He sighed, quiet for a moment while searching for the words. “You’re a Magizoologist. Aren’t you?”
“Well, yes—but I treat creatures.”
“Something bit me. An animal, I don’t know—” His voice was harsh, blunt. Since when had it gotten so deep? “You can tell me what it was, and I’ll leave.”
“But why didn’t you just go to St Mungo’s? And how did you even find me here in the first place?”
“I… I saw you, in the courtyard with Harry earlier. And I can’t go to St Mungo’s,” He growled, “Just tell me what bit me and fix it, because it… Because I…” he faltered.
“Because what?” She demanded, “I don’t have all day Malfoy, I am starving hungry—”
“Because I can’t do magic.” He gritted out, interrupting her.
Hermione gasped. “How?” She said as she walked to the centre of the room. Her hand was on her mouth as she considered. “But that’s not true. You broke out of Harry’s Stupefy spell last night. And… and the wind—”
He turned back to the shadow, looking at the lines of sparkling beads which ran down the fabric of the walls. “I… don’t know what that was.” His words were cold and distant.
The silence was palpable, only occasionally interrupted by the odd grunt or snort from the Knarls and Murtlaps Hermione kept caged.
“Look, Malfoy, I am going to help you. But only if you help me.”
He turned, his mouth twisted into a bitter smile, “I wouldn’t expect anything less, Granger.”
She stepped forward and spoke frankly. “There’s been some attacks. Murders. And it’s possible that whatever killed them, may have bitten you.”
He somehow managed to look paler than before.
She continued. “You need to tell me everything that has happened. And I will be conducting some tests on you so I can figure out what the hell is going on.”
“Going to wrap me up in your ropes again, Granger?” he said smoothly, though Hermione could see that he still looked pale.
“No need.” She whipped her wand from her back pocket and twiddled it between her fingers. “Aside from the usual charms that’ll keep you from misbehaving, I cast a one-sided Protego Totalum charm on you while you were asleep. I can approach you, for running tests and spells, of course, while you will be blasted back to mummy’s bed at Malfoy Manor if you so much as attempt to approach me.” She smirked.
He continued to stare at the wall, until he sighed and cocked his head back, looked directly at Hermione, his eyelids half closed and lazy, “You have no idea how much of a relief that is to me.”
A shiver ran through her body, and she put her wand back in her pocket. “Right. Well, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get some breakfast as, quite clearly, I am famished. I suppose you need something to eat, too?” She held onto the silky rope that dangled from the black hole at the centre of the ceiling.
“No,” he said, staring back at the wall again.
“Not hungry, then? Fine. Though, help yourself to more of the blood-replenishing potion. Evidently, it’s working. You are returning to yourself.”
Draco did not watch as the rope lifted her, disappearing, into the dark hole in the ceiling.
~*~
“Got anything with garlic, Tom?” Hermione sighed as she sat on the bar stool, plonking her beaded bag on the seat next to her. Now that a possible answer to the murders in London was hidden inside, there was not a chance she was going to let that bag out of her sight. Not that she ever did, really.
“Have you an unwanted admirer you’re trying to frighten off, Miss Granger?” Tom winked as he continued cleaning a butterbeer glass. The large hearth roared behind them, clearing away the early morning chill.
“Something like that.”
“Ooh, well, I can add roasted garlic to your breakfast. Garlic sausages, too. Bacon, eggs, toast, grilled tomatoes and mushrooms,”
Hermione groaned. “That sounds incredible. Oh, and a pot of coffee. Strong coffee.”
“Not a problem, Miss Granger. You go get yourself comfortable and it’ll be right over.”
“Make that two, Tom.”
Hermione spun round to find Harry behind her, holding up two fingers.
“It’s not eight o’clock yet!”
“I know, I know. But I couldn’t wait.”
Hermione huffed, yanking herself and the bag from the bar.
“Look, It’s totally fine,” he reassured, resting his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve explained it all to Ginny, and she agrees. In fact, she was kind of annoyed I left you alone with Malfoy in the first place.”
“Shhh,” She whispered, gesturing to the few wizards dotted about the inn, eating and smoking. “I’m taking care of it, Harry.”
“I know, it’s just after seeing you… on the floor last night…” he trailed off.
“That was… That was an accident.” Hermione stuttered, leading them toward the small table at the corner of The Leaky Cauldron.
“…It’s just you looked so… I don’t know what.”
“Harry, it won’t happen again,” She said firmly, as they nestled into the corner seats. “I promise.”
“Do you think that you might be… working a bit too hard?” Harry asked tentatively.
“I’m working the same amount as you.”
“Hardly! You’ve probably read more in the past week than I have in my entire life—”
“That’s because I have to.” Hermione didn’t know why, but a bubble began to surface in her throat and her eyes began to sting. “Harry, I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Okay,” he said softly, sitting back in his chair, as Tom brought two enormous steaming mugs to the table. Hermione grabbed one and took a long, comforting gulp.
After setting the mug down, she was starting to feel a little more human again—hopefully relieved of those strange fainting spells. And when she had left Draco in her beaded bag that morning, she found the bedroom at The Leaky Cauldron had changed.
“But—thank you, for last night. The bedroom, I mean.”
The books that had been scattered across the floor were now neatly organised into low piles on the desk, beside the golden bat. Trash had been cleared away, while Hermione’s clothes had been cleaned and neatly folded into the chest of drawers—smelling curiously like cinnamon. But, most impressively, the bed had been made. Hermione all but collapsed onto the set of fresh sheets, groaning at the soft, clean fabric, before stumbling into a wonderfully hot shower in the en suite.
“Oh, that!” Harry laughed, “It only took a few minutes. Molly taught me some great domestic spells— it was one of her conditions for moving in with Ginny, actually,” He frowned, as if recalling the memory, “I could show you them if it would help…?”
She waved her hand dismissively, “I already know them, Harry. I’ve just been so distracted—” She looked up at the eaves, as if she were to say something, “anyway. First, we need to talk about The Plan.”
“You have a plan already?”
“You’re surprised?” Hermione said as she pulled out her wand from her back pocket and began flicking it in the outline of a square and whispering.
“I’m always surprised.” he conceded.
Imperturbare,