A Thousand Words

Chapter 24: Swirling Mist

'The Wolfsbane II Potion?' she repeated, her eyes dark with confusion. 'There's such a thing?'

'Not yet,' said Draco quietly. He gazed down at the murky surface of the potion proudly. 'Hopefully someday soon, though.'

Hermione gawked at him. 'You're inventing a potion?!'

Draco shook his head. He couldn't let himself take all the glory, even though he would have liked to. 'Snape started the project. He handed it over to me before he passed.'

'And it's meant to cure lycanthropy entirely?'

'That's right,' Draco confirmed. He sighed. 'But it's not going very well at the moment.'

'Maybe...' Hermione started to say, but then she blushed and looked away.

'Maybe what?'

'Maybe I can help.'

Draco stared at her incredulously. Then he shook his head. 'No, I can't. You can't. I mean, I intended to finish this on my own...'

'Oh...okay,' said Hermione in a small voice. She shrugged. 'It looks like you've got it covered anyway.'

She turned her gaze upwards and began examining the many potion ingredients on the shelf above her with what Draco recognised as forced indifference. After all, he had practised the very same expression in the mirror many times in the past.

Draco felt guilt stab through his insides. Why was he turning down her help? Hermione was the brightest witch he'd ever known; she would certainly be a useful asset if she were to offer her knowledge. And the days when he could put the development of the potion aside were gone; they had a murder to solve now, a case involving a man whose life might even depend on the potion.

'Fine,' he mumbled grudgingly. He moved aside and gestured at the cauldron. 'Work your magic.'

'Are you sure?' she asked, but Draco could tell that even if he said 'No' at this point, she would still insist on helping.

'Only if it makes you feel better,' he said sarcastically, but then he realised how honest the words sounded as they came out and quickly busied himself with searching for his copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

Hermione appeared to have picked up on the reason for Draco's discomfiture, because she smiled and said, 'It's okay to be nice to me once in a while, Malfoy. I promise I won't tell anyone.'

'How very thoughtful of you,' said Draco as he eased Advanced Potion-Making out from under the cage of rats, flicked off a spider crawling across the binding, and transferred the book onto the tabletop. 'Here, go ahead and read over my notes, they'll get you acquainted with the progress I've made so far.'

As Hermione studied the cramped script both Draco and Severus had contributed to, Draco wandered around aimlessly, picking up various vials and half-filled jars lying scattered around the room. He kept shooting anxious glances over his shoulder at Hermione, who was deeply immersed in her reading.

Every once in a while, he wondered what she was thinking. This was the second time he had confessed to her a secret he'd never revealed to anyone else. What did she think of him now that she had seen the real him? Did she think of him as a freak, or perhaps a hermit who had nothing and no one but his potions?

I hope so, he thought half-heartedly. Maybe she'll leave me alone now.

Draco didn't actually feel this way, though. Other than Harry, Hermione was the first person to give him multiple chances to redeem himself since his return from obscurity, and this made him cling to her with an invisible desperation that made him sick. It was this desperation that had incited him to spill his two secrets.

And then there was what she had said to him the day before about his scars...It was almost as if she had tried to comfort him. No, what was even stranger was that she had lied for the purpose of comforting him. Draco turned this puzzling fact over in his head. Why was she trying so hard to keep him around? He could think of no satisfactory answer.

'Malfoy?'

'What?' said Draco sharply, looking over at Hermione.

'You're having trouble trying to stimulate the purgation, right?'

'Yes,' said Draco. He returned to where Hermione was standing and looked curiously over her shoulder at his own handwriting. 'I tested a mixture of essence of belladonna, bubotuber pus, and Acromantula venom - that removes the fur and some of the other symptoms of the transformation in the ordinary Wolfsbane Potion - but that ended up increasing claw length, which isn't supposed to happen.'

Hermione frowned thoughtfully. Draco could almost see the wheels in her brain turning furiously. After a moment, she said slowly, 'You wrote down that you added hellebore a few days ago. But doesn't hellebore cancel out some of the properties of belladonna?'

Draco's jaw dropped slightly. She was right. How could he have been so dense? Of course some of the traits of the two poisonous plants would annul each other. Just as he opened his mouth to admit his mistake, however, he remembered something.

'I checked the mixture on a rat as well, though,' he said, disappointed that the problem had not been solved. 'I didn't feed it any hellebore beforehand.'

'You what?!' Hermione gasped, turning around swiftly as if to berate Draco for his display of animal cruelty. However, whatever reprimand she had lined up in her mind seemed to die on her lips when she found that her face was inches away from Draco's, for he was still leaning over her.

'You've got to stop bumping into me like this, Granger,' said Draco quietly. They were so close he could feel her breath tickling his nose. He felt the overwhelming urge to touch her cheek, to see if her skin really was as soft as it looked.

A number of different emotions flashed by in Hermione's eyes before she whispered in a breathless rush of words, 'A rat isn't a dark creature, so its genetic structure isn't affected by that blend of ingredients in the same way a werewolf's is.'

'I see,' Draco murmured, forcing himself to straighten up. He smiled tightly at Hermione, knowing he had just cracked her composure. However, it was all he could do to not reveal his own flustered feelings. Before it had just been when they made contact; now he was experiencing these bewildering sensations whenever she was simply near him.

'Wh-what were we talking about?' Hermione stammered.

But Draco couldn't remember either. 'Maybe we should finish this another time,' he mumbled.

Hermione nodded rapidly. Draco could tell she was determinedly avoiding his eyes, and he was perfectly fine with it. The two put away everything they had brought out in silence.

When they finished, Draco accompanied Hermione back to his fireplace without a word. They bid subdued good-byes to each other. When Hermione had disappeared into the spinning flames, Draco sat down on his couch with a sharp exhale of breath.

A smirk ghosted across his lips as he briefly wondered what Ron would have done if he'd known about what had just happened between his girlfriend and Draco. In Draco's eyes, imagining Ron's reaction almost made the earlier queasiness and discomfort worthwhile.

Draco saw Hermione with Harry and the Weasleys later that night when he went to Sherwood Park for the countdown to the New Year. He felt oddly satisfied to see that Hermione and Ron were standing as far apart as possible.

'Granger,' he said, nodding at her as he brushed past her. 'Happy New Year,' he added to everyone else, forcing himself to smile tightly at them.

'Let's move over there where there's more space,' Ron said pointedly before anyone could respond to Draco.

He led the group off in the direction he had specified, but not before narrowing his eyes threateningly at Draco. As the group walked away, Draco heard Ron's mother hissing to him about his manners. Rolling his eyes, Draco watched their retreating backs. He was surprised to see Hermione look over her shoulder quickly and smile apologetically at him before she disappeared into the crowd.

'TEN!'

The countdown was starting.

'NINE!'

A father carrying his son on his shoulders was obstructing Draco's view. Annoyed, Draco searched around for a place where he might be able to see the fireworks.

'EIGHT!'

All around him, families and couples whispered excitedly to each other. None of them paid any attention to Draco.

'SEVEN!'

A pang of jealousy and longing struck Draco. When had the air gotten so chilly?

'SIX!'

Shielding his eyes from the bitter wind, Draco squeezed past a witch hugging her boyfriend for warmth to an isolated spot.

'FIVE!'

While he waited, Draco searched the mass of people, wondering where Hermione and her lot had disappeared off to.

'FOUR!'

He found her at last. She was sitting on a bench and gazing at the ground while Harry and Ginny, who were the other occupants of the bench, talked animatedly.

'THREE!'

Draco saw Ron walk up behind the bench and touch Hermione's shoulder. She glanced up, realised who it was, and turned away angrily.

'TWO!'

Suddenly the chill seemed to fade away again. Draco looked up at the dark sky.

'ONE!'

An explosion of lights momentarily blinded Draco's vision. Several cracks filled the air; loud cheers followed. For a minute or so, he watched the fireworks display blankly. It held no interest for him. Eventually, his attention fixed itself on Hermione, who looked just as indifferent towards the celebration.

Finally, Draco decided he had had enough. Turning around, he squeezed his way through the large throng of people. Luckily, the light cast by the fireworks helped him find his way to one of the Apparation points.

As the grand finale of the fireworks display lit the sky with a multitude of luminous colours, Draco closed his eyes, thought firmly of his sitting room, and Apparated back home.

They had been old school friends, and now here Draco was, tightening the shackles on his wrists and ankles and guiding him down the hallway to the dreaded Dementor's Kiss room.

'So, how have you been?' said Draco conversationally as he walked alongside Blaise Zabini, his wand pressed against the side of Blaise's neck in case he attempted an escape.

'What do you think, Malfoy?' Blaise spat. 'Isn't it obvious that I haven't been enjoying the comforts of a caged life like you have?'

'I hadn't noticed,' said Draco lightly, though in reality, he really had. Blaise looked dreadful. His cheeks were sunken in, scars - though none as noticeable as Draco's - marred his grey-tinged skin, and his arms, which were the only parts of his body that weren't obscured from sight by his tattered robes, were bony and scratched. 'Not as pretty as we once were, are we, Zabini?'

'Speak for yourself,' Blaise growled in reply.

Despite the chains that dragged Blaise down, he walked in a proud, straight-backed manner. Draco had to admire his old friend for retaining his poise even though the Kiss loomed over him with each step he took.

'Come now, Zabini, can't we at least put the last few years aside for now? Do you want to spend the last few minutes of your life ignoring me?'

'You're a traitor, Malfoy. I'd rather not make small talk with you.'

Draco sighed and shook his head. 'I never was on your side. I didn't know which side was on. I was a boy; we were all boys. Who were we to choose our alliances?'

'Well, I must say you knew a great deal more about the right kind of alliances back then than you do now,' Blaise snapped. 'What're you doing here, hanging around with this Ministry riff-raff? We had faith in you, Malfoy. We waited for you to come back and restore our previous power. But you turned your fucking back and walked away.'

'Language, Zabini,' said Draco mildly.

Despite his unruffled exterior, however, Draco was seething on the inside. How dare Blaise speak of cowardice to him? Blaise had never been anywhere near the Dark Lord's closest circle of followers; he'd always been on the outside, boasting about important positions he didn't have. Blaise was nothing but show, and he had always been that way.

'So how're they treating you, eh?' Blaise suddenly asked maliciously. 'Haven't quite received the same kind of acceptance the Dark Lord granted you, have you?'

'Been having nice chats with Amycus during your tea parties?' said Draco, slightly nonplussed that Blaise had picked up on the lack of trust the Ministry workers regarded him with but determined not to let the words affect him. 'Do you two fancy yourselves experts on my life, then?'

'I haven't spoken to Amycus since weeks before the final battle,' Blaise retorted. 'Last I heard, you brought him in.'

'Damn right I did,' said Draco. 'He deserved it. He was worthless...he and his filthy sister were wasting breathing space...'

'If I recall correctly,' Blaise said snidely, 'you weren't so plucky towards those two when they were teaching you the Unforgivable Curses. I expect your new "power" at the Ministry gives you the prerogative to say whatever you'd like, though.'

'I'm not a coward, Zabini,' Draco snapped. Against his better will, he was letting Blaise's slams perturb him. 'You try living amongst these people for a few weeks; five Galleons says you'll be back in the forest after a week.'

'Then why aren't you back there with us?' Blaise retaliated. 'If it's so bad here, why don't you just return to where you belong?'

'Because it's not where I belong,' said Draco simply.

He halted. They had arrived at a heavy stone door. Pulling out his wand, he taped the doorknob thrice, then stood back and waited.

After a minute or so, the door swung open. The numbing coldness of the dark room hit Draco before he even stepped forward. He shivered and looked over at Blaise. Blaise was staring straight ahead, looking quite determined to meet his end with as much dignity as possible. Draco once again marvelled at his control.

'Zabini...' Draco hesitated. 'We were friends once, weren't we?'

'I'd rather not talk about that,' said Blaise through gritted teeth. He was shivering and staring into the room before him with a blank look in his dark eyes.

'I - I have a question.'

'I've already given you all the advice I've got, Malfoy.'

Draco sighed and jerked Blaise away from the door way. 'Zabini, what if...what if someone really wanted something, and they were offered the chance to have it from the unlikeliest person. But what if they can't take it? Or rather, they don't want to admit that they want it. What if -'

'You forfeited your honour when you ran back to their side out of fear,' Blaise interrupted coldly. 'You haven't any pride left to hold you back from taking whatever you desire. Now let go of me.'

Blaise tore his wrist out of Draco's grip and took a few steps closer to the open door. A faint rattling sound was now emanating from inside the room.

'Pity,' he murmured, turning to look at Draco one last time. 'Your father would have been ashamed were he still alive to see what a disgrace you've become, Malfoy.'

In silence, Draco watched Blaise enter the room and become swathed in the darkness. After a moment, he too walked into the room.

He could feel mist swirling around his feet, could feel the presence of the Dementors; with each rasping breath they took, more warmth seeped out of his bones and flesh and dissolved away in the cold air. Faint voices filled his head - they were all screaming. Draco tried to take steady breaths. He could handle the Dementors. He had faced them several times in the past. They couldn't affect him anymore; he was immune to their powers. The fog clouding his mind...it would clear away soon...

What a shame... he thought numbly as he watched a team of three or four hooded Ministry workers sit Blaise down on a metal chair. The chair looked more like a throne than anything else; perhaps Blaise would finally get his moment of glory now.

'See you on the other side, Zabini,' Draco murmured quietly.

The Dementors were surrounding Blaise now, blocking him from sight, cutting him off from the rest of the living world. Draco began to see, in his mind's eye, faces contorted in agony, white hands - his hands - dotted with the blood of his sins; the creatures were too close.

And then they began closing in around Blaise. Draco had to get out of the room. Without waiting for the Kiss to be performed, he stumbled blindly away, trying to shut his ears to the hiss of an unnaturally long intake of breath coming from somewhere inside the circle of death behind him. The last he heard before he fell back into the soothing glow of the torch-lit hallway was a gentle, almost inaudible whoosh - the sound of a soul leaving its confinements at last.