Unbidden Love Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight: Confrontation

They watched the silhouette of Draco Malfoy walk off toward the woods, alone, for what seemed like endless minutes.

After a long silence, Harry turned to Hermione and said, “What did he want with you, Hermione? What was so important that he felt compelled to forfeit his own safety by coming here?”

Hermione shrugged, unable to voice aloud all the thoughts flying through her head. So many of his actions these past few months just didn’t add up: Draco being named as the head of the Neo-Death Eaters; Draco kidnapping her after her attempted escape but then releasing her; rumors that he wasn’t actually plotting anything with the Death Eaters; and finally the ridiculous conversation they had had just minutes ago. What did it all add up to?

Confusion, that’s what. And a hint of doubt. Who the heck was Draco Malfoy right now?

“Harry, I don’t know what to think right now. His actions don’t match his character, or at least the character we’ve known for years. What if someone is impersonating him with Polyjuice? Or what if he finally realized that following his father is a stupid idea?”

Harry frowned down at her. “Don’t go there, Hermione; we all know that Draco’s intentions, whatever they are, point toward nothing good. As far as Polyjuice Potion is concerned, we’ll have to keep an eye on his actions for awhile. We’ll go to the Ministry if we have solid evidence that Draco is not himself and possibly being impersonated. Perhaps we can track him…”

“Bloody hell, Harry, you know what this reminds me of?” Ron faced Harry so directly that he avoided catching Hermione’s eye. “Sixth year and your obsession with Malfoy’s every movement. That got you nowhere in the end, so why do we have to do the same now?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Because I was only tracking him inside Hogwarts, Ron, in sixth year, and now we can track him all over England! I’ll speak to the Minister and get permission, because tracking spells are generally discouraged among Ministry officials. I bet the Ministry’s keeping close tabs on him, anyway, if the rumours are correct that he’s the head of the Neo-Death Eaters.”

“If he is,” Hermione interjected, “he’s doing a rubbish job of it. They’ve stopped their invasions and Muggle torturing right now, but I can’t figure out why. My guess is that they’re after something more important…”

This time, both Ron and Harry turned to her with wide, fearful gazes. Harry put a hand on her shoulder and looked deeply into her eyes. He reminded her instantly of her father trying to get a secret out of her.

“Hermione,” Harry said slowly and carefully, “did you give Malfoy any impression that there was something important to go after?”

Hermione bit her lip nervously, although she knew she had done nothing wrong. “Err…no. I mean, I never spoke to him about anything like that! I told him that it’s rubbish if he thinks our side is creating some great destruction weapon. I don’t know if he suspects something or just wants to suspect something, but I swear I gave away absolutely no sign…”

“Okay, okay, Hermione,” Harry cut in, squeezing her shoulder affectionately. “I believe you; you don’t have to convince me of anything. But still, I think we should track him. If he starts to organize search parties or the like, we’ll have to come up with a Plan B.”

Hermione shivered, pulling down the sleeves of her jumper as chills raced up her arms. “I don’t want to think about that, Harry. I don’t want to imagine what would happen if Malfoy found…”

“He won’t find it!” Ron shouted a little too loudly for their whispered conversation. “We won’t ever let that weak sod find it. We took too many precautions when we buried it; it can’t and won’t be found.”

Harry nodded his head contemplatively as he stared out at the woods, where Malfoy was no longer visible. “Agreed, Ron. Let’s not speak of it anymore; you never know who may be listening, especially if Malfoy really wasn’t alone when he ventured here. Care for a nightcap, Ron? Hermione?”

Ron eagerly ventured with Harry into the house while Hermione dragged behind. She wished there was a spell or potion that would halt all unwanted thoughts and memories from entering her mind. Perhaps a good sleeping potion was warranted that night…

When she finally did hit the sack, however, Hermione fell asleep without the need for extra aide. But the images she had fought during the day rose deep from her subconscious and terrorized her sleep, though the dream was more like the real memory than mere invented images…

“Harry, are you sure this is the spot McGonagall picked out?”

Harry turned back to her with his deep, thoughtful green eyes. He seemed to be masking his fear well, for he led them through the woods without one shaky step.

“I rechecked the location fifty times, Hermione, so don’t keep asking me the rest of the trip.”

Hermione sighed wearily, pulling her robes higher off the forest floor as she checked for any protruding branches and roots.

Ron, who had been lagging behind, rushed up toward Harry. “Harry, you have made this girl walk through too many woods. She’s going to catch her death out here in the cold or sprain her ankle on a root…”

Hermione rolled her eyes, although she was amused by her boyfriend’s overprotective nature where she was concerned. “Ronald, I am not a pretentious indoor girl who can’t walk through a bit of dirt. Who do you think camped out with Harry all those weeks during the War?”

Ron ignored her and instead unexpectedly lifted her off her feet and pulled her into his arms.

“RONALD WEASLEY, put me DOWN! I am perfectly capable of…”

“You think I’d let my princess get her delicate feet cramped and dirtied on yet another woodland adventure? What kind of boyfriend do you think I am?”

“A domineering and stubborn one…” Harry muttered quietly.

Ron glared at his friend’s back before setting Hermione down on the ground. “Just don’t say I do nothing for you,” he murmured to Hermione, making her laugh and push him away playfully.

“Quiet, you two; I think this is it.”

Hermione’s smile vanished as she followed Ron up to the point where Harry had halted. The patch of dirt was hardly different than any other spot in the forest.

“Harry, um, how are we supposed to find this spot again? In a…in an emergency?”

Harry looked up at her with a furrowed brow. He directed his wand at the tree growing to his right, the trunk mossy and overgrown with roots. With a muttered spell, two branches intertwined themselves into a shape Hermione strangely thought resembled a heart.

“That should help us find it again, that and I memorized the coordinates so we’ll be able to track it down the Muggle way with a compass. You know that we can’t leave any physical hint of the location lying around, even if we locked it up in Gringotts. The wand is too dangerous to be kept in any ordinary place.”

With those words, Harry withdrew the Elder Wand carefully from his pocket, barely glancing at it as he placed it in the dirt. He then pulled out his own wand and pointed it at Dumbledore’s. “Incarcero!” he cried. Instantly, a square of solid cement encased the deadly wand.

Hermione, who had been watching Harry’s actions with a muddled mind, broke out of her reverie and directed her wand at the spot Harry had indicated. A small explosion sprang up from under the ground, creating a hole about six feet deep and two feet wide. Harry wasted no time before levitating the cement box and letting it fall deep within the hole. Hermione covered it up quickly with piles of dirt and grass, flattening off the top to make the spot look completely undisturbed.

Harry wiped sweat from his forehead wearily. “Well, that’s all McGonagall asked us to do. The three of us, excluding her, are the only ones who know the exact location of this wand. You both know what that means?”

Ron and Hermione nodded desolately as they formed a small circle beside Harry.

“I’ve already made the Vow with McGonagall, as you know, Ron, since you were our Bonder,” Harry explained, his voice dropping as he peered around them cautiously. “Then Ron made the Vow next, but we didn’t yet do you, Hermione. I wished it didn’t have to turn into something this serious, but McGonagall convinced me otherwise. It’s safer this way.”

Harry swallowed hard as he watched Hermione and Ron hesitantly link right arms. Harry pointed his wand at their hands, and there was a terrible silence before Ron spoke:

“Do you, Hermione, promise to keep this trip a complete secret from any living being?”

“I will,” Hermione replied strongly.

Tongues of fire from Harry’s wand wrapped themselves around the couple’s hands.

“Will you also swear to never disclose even part of the location of the wand to any living being?”

“I will.”

More tongues wrapped steadily around their hands.

“Lastly, do you promise to never take the wand and use it for your own uses without the consent of McGonagall, Harry, or I?”

“I will.”

The tongues continued to swirl, making Hermione’s promise as concrete as the box the dreaded weapon was wrapped up in…

The darkness closed around Hermione, and it took her awhile for her to realize that she was staring at the almost indiscernible ceiling of her bedroom. She was shaking and sweating profusely, chills running up and down her body like the flu. She rose slowly, clutching her stomach and concentrating on her breathing.

Why was the Elder Wand suddenly haunting her? It had to be because of Malfoy, she quickly decided. His horrible interrogations had unnerved her, although she had disclosed nothing even resembling a hint at the location. Her worst fear, though, was that he suspected something. Some part of her behaviour had tipped him off…

Shut up, Hermione! That kind of thinking will only destroy you! If Malfoy had any idea that I knew, he would have kidnapped me again and questioned me with added torture. His disappearance yesterday only proves that he did not suspect me of withholding information.

Just as she was preparing herself to return to sleep, a howl so similar to the one she had heard with Malfoy blasted into her room. She bolted upright with a yelp, clutching her heart.

She made up her mind in a millisecond. She was determined to be proactive instead of sitting alone in her bedroom, terrified out of her mind. If Malfoy was going to haunt her thoughts, she might as well confirm for herself that there was nothing to be afraid of.

Thus, with more fear than she was willing to admit, Hermione crept out of the Burrow with only a thin coat and her wand. She saw a soft light flickering in the forest, and it was too small and contained to be the beginnings of a forest fire.

It had to be some sort of watch fire.

She kept all thoughts and fears walled off as she ventured slowly toward the fire. She tried her best to keep her feet from snapping any loose twigs on the ground, but creeping upon the site without a sound was impossible. She suddenly hated herself for not stealing Harry’s invisibility cloak from his room. She was, though, halfway hoping there would be nothing but a lone fire to discover once she had inched closer…

Her faint hopes were extinguished when she heard the easily distinguishable voice of Draco Malfoy within the trees. He was standing only a few hundred metres from the forest edge, which Hermione thought was foolish. Did he really think no one would find him here?
But as Hermione crept closer to Malfoy (who had his back to her), she noticed that he was not alone. Racing behind a thick tree trunk, she peered around the corner to find at least seven tall, shirtless men appear beside the fire Malfoy had supposedly created. Their chests were deeply tanned and muscled, they wore no shoes of any kind, and their eyes glowed such a fierce red that a sweeping fear encompassed her.

She had been so hypnotized by their eyes that she had missed the first words Draco had spoken to them. She shook her head hastily to dispel the sensation and focused on the conversation.

“How do we know you speak the truth?” the man closest to Draco spoke, his eyes wide and dead-set on Malfoy. Hermione wondered how Malfoy, himself, remained so controlled when in their presence. “You don’t possess the same aura as your father, young Malfoy. You could already know everything after speaking with Granger and plan to keep the information from us. Did the Mudblood poison your thoughts?”

“Always afraid of deceit, aren’t you, Rubin?” Draco shot back, his voice full of confidence. “Granger knows nothing; this I am sure of. We must forget her and seek elsewhere for the location.”

Rubin, apparently the leader of the group, eyed him carefully. “There is a reason why I am weary of you, Draco. I sense something odd about this whole situation …why did you let the Mudblood go so suddenly? Why have you not contacted the rest of the Death Eaters since returning to the Manor? Surely there is more reason to your actions than one would expect. Why are you tracking Granger?”

“You fell for the rumours as well? How foolishly naïve, Rubin; I expected more from you.”

Rubin and a few of his companions let out a low snarl and approached the defenseless wizard, trapping him among the sprawling trees. Hermione’s pulse quickened and she held her breath, for suddenly it was all too clear: Draco Malfoy was speaking to a pack of werewolves.

Malfoy’s words to her convinced her of this fact: “What do you know about werewolves, Hermione Granger?...What if I told you that the werewolves are just another species after what you lot have hidden?”

Hermione wanted to scream out at him to run, to save himself before the werewolves attacked or worse…bit him. For some reason, she cared what happened to Malfoy. She didn’t want to see him torn into a million pieces before her eyes…

“I do believe there is some truth to the rumours,” Rubin continued, a nasty glint in his red eyes. “There is a certain…oddness about your closeness to her. Did you spike her pumpkin juice with a love potion, Malfoy?”

Hermione automatically released a gasp, inadvertently shifting her weight so that her right foot landed on a broken branch. The wood broke with an echoing snap, and Hermione froze with terror. She stopped breathing as silence filled the woods and drops of perspiration grew on her forehead.

Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed her forearm, hauling her to the center of the group. Draco Malfoy glared down at her with uncontrolled rage, his teeth bared and eyes flashing almost like his visitors. To Hermione, there was no physical difference between Malfoy and the werewolves closing around her. Draco now looked as deadly as the forests’ beasts.

“Well, Granger, care to share your opinion on the issue?” Draco hissed. “For surely you’ve heard all that was spoken.”