Chapter 3
“Give me to you?” Hermione couldn’t make sense of his words. She was trying to rationalize the image of Dumbledore she and the rest of the wizarding world had with what was being said post mortem. “Like I was a slave?”
Snape let out a disgruntled sigh. “No, not as though you were a slave. There was a prophecy that was created before the attack in the Department of Mysteries during your fifth year. No one knows the contents of the prophecy, but Lucius Malfoy found the newly recorded prophecy on a shelf marked with the initials D.L.M. H.J.G.”
Only those the prophecy references could take the recording. She knew this from that same night when Harry grabbed his glowing crystal ball and then all hell broke loose. But what in Merlin’s name did that have to do with her? Her initials might match, but there was no way there was a prophecy about her and Draco Malfoy. Who even foretold the prophecy?
“I don’t believe in prophecies,” she said with as even a voice as she could.
The cruel laugh that erupted from Malfoy’s lips made her sit straight in her seat. “You’re friends with The Chosen One”—he said it with such malice—“you’ve been to the Department of Mysteries to retrieve a prophecy he was included in, and you don’t believe in them?” He tsked at her. “My what loyalty and faith you have in the Scarhead.”
“Draco,” Snape’s disapproving tone cut off her response, “try not to irritate her into hexing you. Give it to her.”
After rolling his eyes, Malfoy reached into the pocket of his robes and held out a sphere to her. She hesitated. This could still be a trap.
I’m not important enough to warrant a prophecy.
The thought passed through her shields before she could stop it. Malfoy’s expression darkened.
Then how do you explain this, you brilliant witch? His tone didn’t match the expression on his face. He wore a bitter, angry look on his sharp features, but his internal thought spoke of softness, emphasizing the small nickname he had used.
She stood up and walked over to his outstretched hand. The orb started to glow slightly, and when she touched it, a voice started to fill the silence around them. Raspy, gasping, the distorted voice of a man spoke to her.
“The one with wounds from a silent curse sleeps for four days,
Healing what was broken, darkness lies ahead.
The one whose future is marked by the dark,
Connected to her unknowingly.
Together they will forge the key for the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord,
Then fall into oblivion.”
It started to speak again, but Hermione stepped back before she could hear the disturbing voice again. The one with wounds from a silent curse… That was too targeted. She was the only one injured from a silent unknown curse sent by Dolohov, she spent weeks in St. Mungo’s in a magically induced coma trying to heal.
“How do you know it’s about Malfoy?” Her voice was even, not giving away the dread that wormed its way into her veins.
Snape looked to Malfoy, who looked slightly paler than he usually was. It was him that spoke. “Because the night after you and your friends went to the Department of Mysteries I was marked for my father’s failure.”
The one whose future is marked by the dark… D.L.M. Draco Lucius Malfoy.
The one with the wounds from a silent curse… H. J.G. Hermione Jean Granger.
How did we end up able to do this? She wasn’t sure how much Snape knew, and didn’t want to risk him finding out something that should be kept quiet.
I have been able to hear thoughts that weren’t mine since the middle of August. His voice held a sense laughter, a kind of voice that allowed for carelessness, something she hadn’t heard from him in months. It took you defending me to Potter over Christmas for me to finally realize it was your thoughts.
She remembered that night. Harry had been going on about Malfoy and his shifty ways for months, basically since the blond broke his nose on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione had tried to reason with Harry; Voldemort wouldn’t want to recruit a child, his mother would never let that happen, his father had just been arrested for criminal connection to Voldemort. No matter what she said, Harry dug his heels in further.
Does Snape know? He nodded. Out loud she asked, “does he know how this came about?”
Snape seemed to know she was talking about him, so he spoke. “The night Draco was marked, all the Death Eaters were called to watch. It was touted as a great honor for the youngest Malfoy, he would be the beginning of a new generation of Death Eaters. But when his first assignment was given, everyone knew it was a punishment for Lucius’ failure to deliver the prophecy.”
Finally, Snape moved to sit on the couch adjacent to her. Had he been standing there all that time? No wonder he was the one to come grab her in the Astronomy Tower a week ago, his stealth was impeccable.
“Narcissa was beside herself when she learned Draco would be marked. She came to me and made me swear an Unbreakable Vow to protect him,” his voice carried a hint of sadness, a far cry from his usual nonchalance and bitterness. “During the ritual, something unusual occurred. I have only seen three Death Eater Markings; mine, Regulus Black, and Draco’s. But the murmuring from the rest of the Death Eaters signaled what had occurred during Draco’s marking was not normal.
“A black mist erupted around him, and eventually battled with the Dark Lord’s spell casting. It took him three days to completely finish the Dark Mark on Draco. Each time the mist would try to fight, but on the third day, it stopped.”
Malfoy shifted in Hermione’s periphery. It felt like a heartbeat. The pulse of the mist felt like a heartbeat engulfing me. And it smelled like primrose.
She met his eyes. Primrose. Her mother had given her a bottle of her favorite perfume when she turned thirteen. She told Hermione that primrose was meant as a symbol of protection. Hermione loved the scent; it reminded her of her mother and the safety she felt whenever she was with her parents. It had become her signature perfume ever since.
“You were marked the night after the Department of Mysteries, but the mist stopped fighting the mark three days later?” She asked in a quiet voice. That would have been four days after, when she was in the hospital. Malfoy simply nodded. “My heart stopped.”
“What?”
“Four days after the Department of Mysteries, I was in a magically induced coma,” Hermione’s voice wobbled slightly. No one ever talked about her recovery from Dolohov’s curse. “The healers weren’t sure what curse Dolohov used, but I was told by the head healer and Harry and Ron that my heart stopped four days after I was brought to St. Mungo’s. When they restarted my heart, I didn’t have any trouble.”
Snape nodded. “I remember Dumbledore mentioned that, but I didn’t think anything of it. I think your magic was depleting itself to try and save Draco’s.”
She shook her head. That wasn’t possible. Malfoy hated her then. She didn’t hate him, but she wasn’t keen enough on him to have her magic deplete itself for his sake.
What’s the point of this? She thought. What is the point of my magic saving you if you’re fighting for Voldemort?
I’m not. His voice was sharp and clear in her mind. I am fighting for my family.
“Then why was Dumbledore so interested in me keeping a secret?” She said aloud, hoping Snape could provide some context.
“Dumbledore had an agenda that suited him at all times,” the potions master began. “Nothing anyone said could stop him. Think back to the Triwizard Tournament; Potter should not have been allowed to compete, but nothing anyone said would sway him from forcing him to compete.”
Malfoy let out a soft huff of air. “Sirius could’ve.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Maybe, but Black was notorious for throwing fits and wasn’t considered to be a free man. Anyway, Dumbledore didn’t know the contents of the prophecy, only Lucius, Draco, and I know. He knew there was another prophecy, he tried to get me to divulge the information, but I wouldn’t. It would go against the Vow I made to Draco’s mother.”
“My father wrote to me to tell me about a prophecy that was in the Department of Mysteries with my name on it,” Malfoy’s voice sounded far away. “He urged me to go find it, to keep the contents of it to myself and Snape. When he was on trial, I slipped away from the press and went to retrieve it.”
Only those who the prophecy is about could obtain them from the Hall of Prophecy.
Malfoy continued. “My mark was still fresh, it needed cooling charms every four hours, but I was determined to find out if my father was telling the truth. When the crystal ball started to glow as I approached, I noticed the initials next to mine: H.J.G. and still picked it up.”
He looked her in the eyes. “After learning about your hospitalization from Dolohov, I knew it was about you. Snape started helping me with my Occlumency skills, my mother picked up where he couldn’t, although she didn’t think it was for anything other than the return of the Dark Lord. I told my father I wanted to defect, but he told me to have patience and learn from Snape. And here is where you come in.”
I want to work with you to bring down the Dark Lord.
“Dumbledore wouldn’t accept my defection on the Astronomy Tower. He thought I was going to spy for the Dark Lord, but he asked me what I wanted. Wanted to know what I was fighting to protect so he could get something from me outside of a Death Eater removed from the Dark Lord’s army,” his voice sounded so dejected. His eyes met hers, and Hermione saw the depths of his silver irises shine with so much emotion.
“He wanted something from Bellatrix’s vault, right?” That much she had remembered from earlier. Her anger at being treated as an exchange was rippling under her skin. “How did he know you would want me?”
Malfoy looked down at his shoes, avoiding answering the question. She looked to Snape, but the potions professor just stared at Malfoy. When it was clear the blond wouldn’t be answering, she glared at Snape.
“Because he went through Draco’s mind.”
The lamp on the table next to the couch exploded. Malfoy jumped, Snape vanished the debris and stared at Hermione.
“He went through your mind?” A slight nod, one of shame. “Don’t lie.”
I’m a trained Occlumens, Granger. He tore through my mind.