“Draco, stay behind,” said Snape in a barely audible hiss as the rest of the class practically ran for the door to leave the dungeon.
Harry sent Hermione a significant look that clearly said, “I told you so.”
Hermione felt a twinge of annoyance that showed when she spoke. “What?” she snapped, annoyed.
“I’m going to try to listen outside the dungeon.”
“Are you mad? What would you do that for?” she demanded in hushed tones.
“She has a point, mate. I mean, if Snape found out, it’d be the equivalent of tickling a dragon,” Ron interjected.
“I have to find out what he’s up to,” Harry persisted.
By that time, most of the class was gone, and Hermione cast an anxious look at Snape, who looked grim.
“I’ll do it,” Hermione said, feeling resigned.
Harry grinned. “All right.” The three of them bustled out of the dungeon, but Hermione lingered outside the dungeon, feeling as if she really were preparing to tickle a dragon. She heard nothing for the space of thirty seconds, until an all too familiar drawling voice issued. Her heart thudding in anticipation, she pressed her ear against the wall, wishing wistfully that she had an Extendable Ear at hand with her.
“I don’t need you butting in,” Malfoy said crossly.
“Your mother””
“Leave my mother out of this, will you?”
“Draco, do you have a plan? The Dark Lord gave you a task, and we both know his wrath will be terrible to behold if you fail…you must succeed. I can help you.”
“You help me,” Malfoy sneered contemptuously. “What can you do to make Hermione Granger feel differently about me?”
Hermione’s heart thudded still faster as she raced to the Great Hall, her bag swinging against her knees as she ran noisily, her shoes slapping against the tiles. She couldn’t have heard right. She couldn’t have. From the sounds of it, Malfoy had been given a task of some sort from Lord Voldemort…but what did she have to do with the task? Why had her name been brought in the conversation? And how did Snape know of the task, whatever it was?
She arrived in the Great Hall pink-faced and breathless, dropping down beside Ron, who was stuffing himself with chicken with undisguised enthusiasm.
"Well?” Harry asked expectantly. “Anything strange?”
“What?” she said, feeling disoriented.
“Anything strange?” he repeated. “Snape and Malfoy?”
“Oh, that…” She wrung her hands agitatedly, trying to gather her thoughts. “Er, no, I couldn’t hear anything, sorry.” Ignoring the look of disappointment and incredulity on Harry’s face, she excused herself from further conversation by digging in to shepherd’s pie, still reeling from the day’s revelations.
“What was that?” Snape hissed softly at the sound of noisy footsteps. He looked unnerved, a rarity for him.
Draco shrugged, his expression haughty. Frankly, unidentified footsteps didn’t mean very much to him.
“As I was saying, Draco””
“I don’t need this. And don’t ask me to stay behind class anymore,” Draco said menacingly in a low hiss to match Snape’s own.
His feet pulled him straight to the entrance of the Great Hall and keeping his eyes on the floor at all times, settled at the end of the Slytherins’ table, which was mostly isolated except for a few first-years marveling at the automatically refilling treacle tarts. He snorted in derision, remembering his own first year at Hogwarts…trying to befriend Harry Potter, who had rejected his offer of friendship, a stain to his ego. However, the stain had been removed as efficiently as Mrs. Skower’s All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover, and been replaced with hatred suffuse enough for a rivalry.
But leading him to his death…he had never wanted that. A recollection of a day in June when the Dark Lord had told him what he had to do was as clear as ever.
“You will bring Harry Potter to me to his death…Sixteen years his death he has managed to evade death from me, but I will bring it upon him, with your help…you are excited, are you not, Draco?” A high, completely mirthless laugh echoed in the drawing room, and Draco felt his insides boiling with equal parts dread and despair. “Ah…and why not vanquish dirty blood at the same time? You will also bring me the Granger girl…have her give herself away to the foolish notion that is love.” The Dark Lord laughed again, his laugh cold as frost. “For your own sake, you must hope to be more successful than your father,” he said with a cruel smile and in a flash of robes, he had Disapparated, his laugh still echoing in Draco’s head and leaving him in an ominous silence louder than anything.
He was in too deep, and he couldn’t pull himself out of the dangerous waters. If he didn’t do something, he would drown, and no one could save him. Without thinking about it, he reached for the ring and slid it on and let himself sink still further.