Ginny interrupted. 'His leg's broken, Charlie,' she said.
Charlie stopped grinning. 'How did that happen?'
'It's kind of a long story,' said Ron, looking nervous.
'Fell off my broomstick,' said Draco shortly.
'Apparently not that long,' said Charlie, and dropped down on his knees next to Draco. 'Which leg?'
Draco pointed. While Ron, Harry and Ginny watched — Ron with surprise, Harry and Ginny with concern — Charlie took out his wand and touched the tip of it gently to Draco's leg, just below the knee.
'Compound fracture,' he said briefly. 'Looks like you put a right lot of work into messing up this leg, young Malfoy. Broken and twisted.
You'd better come back to the camp with me — it's not far from here.
All of you,' he added, looking pointedly at Ron.
'How?' said Harry. 'Malfoy can't fly with his leg like that.'
Charlie reached into his breast pocket and removed a small silver box, about the size of a cigarette case, which he flipped open to reveal a hollowed-out square in which rested a small metal orb, about the size of a marble. 'Portkey,' he said. 'We all carry them.'
'And when we get to your camp, you can fix Malfoy's leg?' said Ginny anxiously.
'When you work with dragons, you get used to dealing with horrible injuries,' said Charlie cheerfully. 'One of our medic wizards can fix him right up. And in the meantime,' he said, giving Ron a hard look, 'you can tell me just exactly what you've been up to out here.'
Hermione, who had been sitting with her back to the stone wall of the tower, looked up as the door opened. To her surprise, it was Wormtail, not Slytherin. He closed the door behind him and turned to face her, and she saw that in his hand he was carrying a carved silver goblet, which was smoking and steaming.
A cold fist of fear clenched inside her stomach.
'Hello, Hermione,' he said calmly.
'What do you want?' she said coldly.
'I just don't understand,' he said in an unpleasant voice, 'how a clever girl like you never learned any manners.'
'You know what I don't understand?' said Hermione. 'How Sirius and Harry's father ever could have been friends with you in the first place. You're disgusting.'
She thought, but could not be sure, that she saw him flinch. A moment later, though, his smile widened, and he took several more steps towards her. She saw, with a sinking sensation, that in the hand that wasn't holding the goblet, Wormtail was gripping his wand. 'My Master has given me permission to hurt you,' he said.
'Just give me the chance, and I will.'
Hermione was silent.
'Quiet now, are you?' he said nastily. 'Throat dry? Here.' He held out the goblet to her. 'Have a drink.'
She stared down into the intricately carved cup, which held a bluish-red liquid that swirled and steamed and popped with bubbles. It had a strong smell — not a bad smell, actually, rather a pleasant one, like lemons and roses and freshly baked bread.
'I'm not thirsty,' she said tightly.
Wormtail grinned. 'It's up to you,' he shrugged. 'You can either drink it, or I can put the Cruciatus Curse on you and torture you until you no longer have the use of your limbs. Then I'll force you to drink it anyway. But if you want to be stupid and brave, I'm all for it. Because I really want to torture you.'
Hermione could feel her heard beating in ugly, pressurized thumps against her ribcage. She remembered how Lucius had used the Cruciatus Curse on her back at Malfoy Manor, trying to get her to tell him where Harry was… remembered wishing she could die. It wasn't something she would ever forget.
Dully, she held out her hand and let Wormtail put the goblet in it.
She considered dashing the contents of it onto the floor, but Wormtail was gazing at her with an expression that looked horribly like hunger. He was itching to hurt her. She could tell.
She raised the cup to her mouth, and drank.
It tasted of bitter sugar, sweet and stinging. She coughed, looking up to see Wormtail watching her avariciously as she swallowed.
The world seemed to tilt around her. Somewhere, Wormtail was giggling, but Hermione barely heard him. A dizzy whirring noise had started in her ears; it sounded like there were a thousand trapped butterflies struggling to get out of her head. She could feel the potion burning its way down into her stomach, as if she had swallowed fire or pure light; she almost expected her skin to start glowing like a torch. She was terrified, and at the same time, felt a strange sort of dizzy and sickening pleasure, which was almost worse. 'Was that…' she gasped out, 'Was that poison?'
Wormtail laughed harshly. 'Not at all,' he said, leaning forward and deftly plucking the cup from her loosening fingers. 'That, my dear, was what is commonly termed a love potion.'
Her eyelids were so heavy they felt like stones, but she dragged them open and stared at Wormtail with dimly realized horror. 'Love potions…they're not real…they don't work…'
'Oh, but they are, and they do,' said Wormtail. 'That was one of the oldest. The use of it is quite illegal, of course. Life sentence in Azkaban. But,' he shrugged, 'that hardly matters.'
'I can't,' gasped Hermione, as the world tilted around her, 'I can't stay awake…'
'That's right,' said Wormtail in a singsong voice. 'The potion takes a few hours to work. When you awake, the first person before your eyes will be the person you will love from that moment on, desperately and unconditionally and forever. Dark magic,' he smiled, showing his little rat teeth. 'There's nothing like it. Sleep tight, dear girl,' he added, as Hermione sank back into the straw.
