burning butterfly's wing, his touch was light, and scorched her. When his mouth touched hers she tasted her own blood on his lips. She arched up against him, her shoulders dropping back, her throat bared, and he seemed to recognize this as a gesture of submission, because his eyes went heavy and dark with amusement.
He drew back, releasing her wrist, moving his hand to her shoulder to pull her into a better position, and as he did, she threw out her arm, thrusting her hand into the center of the blazing fire, and the pain coursed up her arm like a shriek but it didn't matter because what mattered was that the charm bracelet around her wrist had caught on fire and every charm on it was activating all at once.
It was like an explosion. Like several explosions. The force of so many powerful spells activating simultaneously knocked them both sideways, knocked Tom off of her, and Ginny rolled to the side and curled herself into a ball. Brightly hued lights burst out of the fire, lighting the room in carnival colors. Jangling, discordant music poured into the room, half-deafening her, and then the air was full of flying objects — birds and silver arrows and dinner plates and furniture and through the teeming air Ginny saw Tom trying to struggle to his feet, and she tried to scramble away but the pain in her hand was too bad and then something dark came hurtling at her out of the fireplace and there was a bright pain behind her eyes and then there was blackness.
****
'It smells like mud,' said Draco, looking glumly down at the glass of murky fluid Madam Pomfrey had set on his bedside table. The morning sunlight poured through the half-open window like a benediction and laid a sheer gilded varnish over his bright hair and light eyes and even made the glass on the table sparkle, although anything would have looked good to Hermione on this particular morning.
She yawned and scrubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. 'That's too bad. Drink it.'
Draco took the glass and sighed. 'I suppose it would be a bit much to hope for an antidote that tastes like a 1982 Chateau Haute Brion.'
'You are so spoiled,' said Hermione succinctly, 'that it is either a thing of wonder or a thing of horror. I am not entirely sure which.'
'You know,' said Draco, raising his eyes from the glass, 'I think Madam Pomfrey has designs on me.'
Hermione gaped at him. 'What?'
'Yes, indeed. She keeps offering to bandage me up in places that don't need bandaging. The poor woman is mad with lust. Not that one could blame her…'
'Draco, this is a transparent attempt to distract me. Drink your antidote.'
'But it tastes bad,' he said in a small, pitiful voice, hunching his shoulders inside his pajamas.
'You haven't even tried it.'
'It smells funny and it looks like mud.'
Hermione got to her feet. 'Draco Malfoy,' she said, in a dangerously quiet voice. 'I have been up since three o'clock this morning with Professor Snape, talking about your antidote. I know exactly how often you have to take it, and exactly what will happen to you if you don't. I am also extremely tired and irritable. And if you do not take your antidote right now, I will SNEAK UP BEHIND YOU WITH A RAZOR BLADE AND SHAVE OFF
ALL OF YOUR HAIR. AND I MEAN IT!'
Hermione finished on a gasp, and crossed her arms furiously across her chest.
To her great annoyance, Draco was laughing at her. 'You're cute when you're hacked off.'
'Flirt with me, Malfoy, and I'll pour a bottle of Skele-Gro on your head.
Let's see how cute you think you are when your head's swelled up to the size of a beach ball.'
'There are many who would say my head is swollen already,' Draco pointed out, lifting the glass to his mouth.
Hermione felt a smile building behind her eyes. She quashed it. 'Be quiet,' she said. 'And drink your antidote — now, please.'
To her surprise, he drank it, then dropped the glass with a shudder and pressed his hands to his stomach. 'Ugh,' he groaned.
Hermione leaned forward to retrieve the glass, and gave his hair a sympathetic gentle tug as she did so. It was so fine and silky, it clung to her fingers. She drew her hand back and picked up the glass. 'Was it awful?'
He straightened up, wincing. His mouth was drawn as in pain, but his voice was light when he replied. 'Tasted a bit like cinnamon and sugar. If you took cinnamon and sugar and sprinkled them on an old shoe, then dumped a vat of Bubotuber pus on it. How often do I have to take this stuff?'
'Three times a day.'
Draco moaned, and sprawled tragically backward onto the pillows.
Hermione decidedly did not notice that when he leaned back, his shirt rode up, showing the smooth pale skin of his torso, the elegant curve of his ribs. He had lost weight, and his pajama bottoms were loose around his narrow hipbones. She hoped that the antidote, temporary though it might be, would keep him from losing any more weight after this, at least until a more permanent antidote was found.
'It burns,' he said, fretfully, and looked at her, wide-eyed. 'I have a very low pain threshold, really. Hardly a threshold at all. More like a small but tastefully decorated foyer.'
Hermione, knowing this to be patently untrue, made a face at him. 'If it makes you feel better to writhe about and complain, then writhe about and complain. But if I catch you not taking your antidote, I'll kill you.'
Draco rolled over onto his stomach and grinned up at her disarmingly.
'That reasoning represents a logical fallacy,' he said.
'I can live with that,' she said. 'And stop batting your eyelashes at me.
That pitiful-puppy business might work on Harry, but it will not work on me. Snape says you should get up, and get up you shall. On your feet, Malfoy.'
'I thought you were here to lend a bit of delicate feminine presence to the proceedings,' Draco complained woefully. 'Soothing my fevered brow, patting me with damp washcloths…'
'Snape said the antidote will work faster if you move about a bit and get the blood going through your veins,' Hermione pointed out. 'So either get up, Draco, or my delicate feminine boot will make contact with your — '
'Squabbling as usual, I see,' said Snape, appearing suddenly and almost noiselessly at the foot of the bed. 'Miss Granger, has he taken his antidote?'
'Yes,' said Hermione, wondering momentarily at the bizarreness of a situation which found her allied with Snape. 'He complained a lot, but he took it.'
'Sit up, Draco,' said Snape. 'Let me look at you.'
Looking mildly surprised, Draco sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Hermione looked closely at him — did he look any better? She was forced to admit to herself that she could see no real difference, except perhaps a bit more color in his cheeks, but that could be a number of things.
Snape peered down at Draco as if he were staring at something growing in a petrie dish. Then he folded his arms, apparently satisfied. 'There will be side effects,' he announced.
'I don't suppose these are side effects along the lines of 'fortuitous ability to conduct a light opera in French'?' Draco asked, somewhat wistfully.
'No,' said Snape flatly. Hermione wondered why Draco bothered. Snape had less of a sense of humor than Voldemort, who at least, according to reports, was prone to cackling evilly. 'You must be cautious, Draco. While I encourage you to take part in physical activity, you must be very careful with your psychic strength. Please keep your performance of magic to a minimum. This antidote will interfere with your abilities, especially your Magid gifts. I would prefer if you avoided wandless magic entirely; your telepathy — '
At that, Draco's head snapped up. 'I couldn't reach Harry last night,' he said. 'I was trying…'
'Well, stop trying,' said Snape, but something flickered behind his eyes, and Hermione, for no reason she could explain, felt a sudden twinge of cold panic. 'I see no reason for you to waste your energy attempting to contact Potter, who is doubtless still asleep in his dormitory. You should concentrate on conserving your energy.'
'Thank you, Professor,' said Draco. 'I appreciate it.'
'And go outside,' said Snape. 'It is a very pleasant morning.'
