'Right,' said Lupin. 'Lycanthe. Old magic. Like I said.'
Sirius blinked and lowered his arms.
'The question is,' mused Lupin, 'why would Draco have something like that? They were common hundreds of years ago — when werewolves were a problem — but now-'
He broke off as the library door flew open. Sirius leaped to his feet and spun around, obviously hoping that Harry, Hermione and Ron had managed to retrieve Draco — but it was Narcissa.
She was very pale. 'Sirius — ' she said, uncertainly. She was holding two letters in her hand — one, tied with a green-and-silver ribbon, Sirius knew immediately, was Snape's reply. The other she had opened already, and was holding unfolded in her shaking right hand. Sirius could see, even across the room, that it was an official- looking piece of paper, and that it was bordered with black. 'Sirius,' she said again. 'It's Dumbledore — he and Fudge were on their way here and they were attacked — oh Sirius, I'm so sorry…'
Draco, who had dashed down a little-used staircase he was fairly sure the others didn't know about, emerged out in the garden, and began racing towards the gate where he had stashed his broomstick.
He was halfway there — not running, but walking quickly — when he heard footsteps on the path behind him.
Harry, he thought. He couldn't have said why, but for some reason, was sure it was Harry. It made sense, didn't it, for Harry to come after him — after all, Harry knew —
He slowed to a walk. 'It's like you said, Potter,' he said, without turning around. 'I'm storming off. It doesn't work if you come with me.'
There was a short silence, and the footsteps behind him slowed.
Then he heard a voice say, 'Draco. It's me.'
He whirled around, and saw Hermione, and felt something that he never would have expected he could feel upon seeing her. But there it was.
Disappointment.
He had thought Harry had come after him.
And Harry hadn't.
A cold miserable anguish lanced through him like a sharp steel point, and made his voice harsh when he spoke. 'You shouldn't have come after me,' he said.
'Where are you going?' she demanded. 'Where do you think you can run to?'
'I was pretty much concentrating on 'away from you', and figuring I'd fill in the rest of it later.'
'This from the guy who thinks Gryffindors can't plan?' Hermione put her hands on her hips and glared at him. 'You can't go,' she said. 'This is your house, where you belong. Where else are you going to find people who can help you?'
'Maybe I don't want help,' he said, knowing he sounded as if he were about seven, but unable to help it.
'Maybe that just proves you need it,' she said.
'And you're completely objective about whether I stay or go, I suppose?'
'God, you sound just like Ron,' she said, sounding surprised rather than critical. 'Of course I'm not objective. But I'd be telling you this even if — even if I wasn't in love with you.'
'You're not in love with me,' he snapped. 'This is just a spell. A spell that makes you think you care about me. But you don't.'
Hermione looked as if he had hit her. 'Don't say that. I'm still your friend.'
'Is that why you came bolting after me? Friendship?'
'I'm not the only one who came running after you!' she snapped.
'Everyone's worried — '
'So where are they?'
'Looking for you!' she shouted. 'But they don't know where you went, idiot. I'm the only one who can find you, because of this-' And she drew out the Epicyclical Charm, on its thin gold chain, holding it up between them. 'I always know where you are,' she said. 'I don't get a choice about that, and neither do you.'
'Why should you get a choice?' he almost shouted. 'I don't! I don't get a choice about my family or my life or my destiny, if I've even really got one. And I don't get a choice about loving you, even though I personally think you were put here on this earth to give me pain. I mean, I know I'm not a nice person, but what the fuck did I do in my past life to deserve this? I must have run down a cartload of nuns while driving a stolen carriage on my way to sell drugs to school children.'
Hermione took a shuddering breath. 'When I find out how to take this spell off — if there's some sort of way to reverse love, or change it — do you want me to use it on you, too? So you won't — '
'So I won't love you any more?' He was looking at her in sheer disbelief. 'God, that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. This — this isn't even you,' he said. 'This isn't what you're like. That potion is turning you into someone else.' He laughed, not pleasantly. 'It's ironic, isn't it? The you that I love, loves Harry. This you — this is someone I don't even know.' He looked at her, and something in the expression on her face made his voice soften slightly. 'Never mind,' he said. 'It's not your fault.'
'I just thought-'
'Forget it,' he said, walked up to her, and put his hands on her shoulders. She bit her lip. She knew perfectly well that if he were to kiss her, she would kiss him back. She had always prided herself on her self-control, and now, not to have any, was more terrifying to her than to be suddenly blind, or suddenly deaf. She hated it, and somewhere under the potion-induced love, she could tell she was beginning to hate him, too, for what he could do to her.
