Harry Potter: Among Shadows and Silence

Draco scowled at her and clicked his tongue. "You will not tell a soul about this, Granger."

"I couldn't even if I wanted to, Malfoy," she reminded him. "Everything that happens in this room remains between us."

Something about the brunette's comment made his throat run dry, and he gulped down a scratchy swallow as he reluctantly revealed his hand. As he settled it in her cupped palm, he grimaced when he realised it was a lot worse than he'd expected. There was a deep gash slicing across the centre, clotted with half-dry blood and still oozing in some areas. His skin was folded back like grotesque petals, and little red lines branched away from the large cut and spread across the rest of his hand like roots; stretching up his fingers and wrist.

Draco could feel residual magic crackling under his flesh, and the weeping scold burned like torture. His smoky eyes shifted to Granger, half expecting to find her choking on the fumes of vomit, but she was simply nibbling her lip. Her hazels were calculating the damage, and he watched the clogs of her brain churn with too much attention. He noted that they were, once again, effectively holding hands, the smell of blood lingering between them, just like the first time on his bed after the bathroom incident.

"This will take a couple of minutes," she murmured, pulling out her wand and beginning the work on his wound. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he lied through gritted teeth, eyeing the golden glow at her wand's tip. "Just hurry up, Granger."

She dampened her lips with a flick of her tongue as she healed the mess, starting at his fingertips and working her way down to the gaping slash. Ignoring the searing sensations sparking in his nerves, he focussed instead on her gentle touches and found them the perfect distraction. They sat in a silence that oddly bordered on comfortable, and he was too lost in the soothing exercise to do anything when she tugged up his sleeve.

Granger's harsh breath broke his trance, and his head snapped down to find her amber eyes round and shocked. He wanted to melt away at that moment; disintegrate into nothing. He followed her stare down to his arm, knowing full well what had shaken her. His Dark Mark.

No, no, no...

He didn't want her to see it...It just didn't feel right. She was too pure for it, as if just looking at the ugly scar would somehow taint her. Salazar strike him down, he didn't want that; he didn't want her anywhere near it. He tried to snatch his arm away, but her grip on him tightened, holding it in place.

Hermione studied the hideous brand intently, realising she'd never been this close to the Dark Mark before. She had read countless texts about Voldemort and his trademark spells; particularly the Morsmordre and the inky emblem that Death Eaters bore, but there was something off with the mark on Malfoy's flesh. The skin surrounding the skull and snake was still raised and red with irritation, but Dumbledore had been dead almost six moths, which meant the swelling should have gone down by now. Unless...

"Wait," she whispered absently as she leaned a little closer, oblivious that her breath ghosted across his forearm and caused him to shiver. Draco observed her warily as a rather striking flash of understanding danced in her eyes, and he held his breath as she parted her lips. "You weren't willing."

He actually coughed in bewilderment. "What?"

"You weren't willing," she repeated, lifting her chin to give him a long look. "Not completely, anyway."

"What the fuck are you-

"Your body rejected it because you didn't want it," she explained, gesturing to the inflamed skin around the tattoo-like symbol. "This would have calmed by now if you had been completely obedient."

Draco had no idea how he was supposed to respond to that, because the infuriating witch was, yet again, right. He'd had too many reservations to count during the ceremony, and he'd regretted that fateful night with aching pores ever since. He'd been far too influenced by a reckless urge to avenge his father's imprisonment, but the moment he'd stepped into Borgin and Burkes, he'd sealed the painful transaction that had left him with this disgusting scar. And what had come from it? Nothing but haunting nights, breaking down in the Prefects bathroom, and his six-month hell of hiding.

He knew all this; had long accepted that it was a fatal mistake which had led to the most degrading and awful moments of his life, but he didn't want her to know that.

"What the hell would you know?" he challenged with a condescending sneer, ripping his arm away from her and covering the brand back up with his sleeve. "Let me guess; one of your precious books, Granger? You should know better than to trust everything you read-

"I know it wasn't your choice, Malfoy," she argued in a calm tone that only infuriated him further. "And I didn't have to see your Mark to figure it out-

"Spare me your philosophical bullshit, Granger," he spat, but he couldn't stop his features twisting into a pained grimace as a sudden bout of nausea hit him.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked quickly, reaching out. "Here, let me-

"Just leave me be!" he snarled, attempting to rise from the couch, but the fuzziness in his head wouldn't allow it. "For fuck's sake-

"It's the magic," she sighed, shuffling a little closer to him across the cushions. Maybe too close. "Let me finish healing you-

"I don't think so-

"I won't touch the Mark," she offered with a meek shrug. "I swear, I won't even mention it. As I said, what happens here remains between us."

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