it his imagination or was the man looking quite warmly at Hermione as he said this?
Draco's eyes narrowed a fraction. "How about you have a look at mine and leave hers up to your imagination, which I'm sure is quite up to scratch." His voice was deceivingly mild.
"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, completing forgetting to call him 'Merrybones'.
"Actually I'd very much like to look at yours in particular," Arne told Draco, unfazed by the intimidation.
Hermione sighed. "Is there some benefit in actually seeing them?"
Arne nodded. "It's not a necessity, though it does help sometimes to observe the extent of the spell's physical manifestation. I gather you've been experiencing periods of" he searched for a word, "joined-ness?"
Draco wasn't finished being irritated by Arne, but he was sufficiently distracted by the question. "Yes," he breathed, "it's"
Hermione took over for him. "Like living in his skin for brief moments, feeling what he's feeling. I think it happens when we feel particularly strongly about something. I get bursts of insight, or dashes of his personality. It's very startling."
Arne gave her an admiring nod. "Most affected people usually describe it to be a horrid tingling and not much else."
"Oh, there's the tingling too," Draco assured, dryly. "Much tingling."
"Good. Let's see it then." Arne said, already on his feet.
Looking only a little bothered, Draco stood and pulled off his t-shirt. His back was to Hermione as he did so. Her hand came to her mouth in a loud gasp when the dark wings were revealed.
She was having trouble believing that she was looking at the same tattoo Draco had so cavalierly displayed in the Prefects Bath. It was no longer a static thing. Rather, it moved, like dark ripples on the surface of a pond.
His fair, pale skin made for a fitting canvas. The feathers were as black as jet, but there was colours deep in the black too, swirling, gathering. Like an oil spill on dark water.
The wings looked restless, mimicking Malfoy's disposition, no doubt. At the moment, they look faintly ruffled.
The urge to reach out and stroke them, stroke his skin, was fairly overwhelming. Hermione gripped her hands tightly together until her knuckles were white.
Draco' s turned around and their eyes met briefly. "Told you they' ve changed."
Hermione was reminded of their conversation in the forest, before the Dark Mark was sighted.
"Where's your scholarly interest, Granger?"
Where indeed? It had gone the way of her better judgement, surely.
Arne was busy making his own inspection of the tattoo. He looked excited, for lack of a better word. He was walking around Draco holding an instrument which looked a lot like callipers and saying things like 'beautiful', 'remarkable' and 'excellent workmanship'.
Hermione shivered and agreed with all these descriptions. 'Mr Merrybones' ' tattoo made hers look like a love bite in comparison.
"How come he has a pair of wings?" she asked. "And a dragon for me?"
"Haven' t you guessed yet?" Arne replied. "Your mark is on your husband, and his, is on you. It is how you see each other."
Hermione was not even close to understanding what Arne had just told her, but she could spot an opportunity to annoy Malfoy a mile away. "If my tattoo is how I see him, then why isn't there a horrid little gnome clinging to my thigh?"
Malfoy sent her a look from over his shoulder. "Ha-ha."
"The symbol on your skin is something personal. It could even be something subconscious that you perceive about your partner. There are many types of dragons, as you know. Perhaps you might find it interesting to look up the qualities of the one you have on you. The oriental dragon is a symbol of wisdom and benevolence." Arne told Hermione.
"Thank you, Arne. Mystery solved," Draco announced. He turned to look at Hermione. "I have a dirty great pair of annoying harpy wings because that's how I see you. While you apparently consider me to be something of a kindly sage."
Hermione gave Malfoy the finger when Arne wasn't looking.
"Roll your shoulders, if you would?"
Draco did as requested and the feathers moved in tandem, as if they were connected to the muscle beneath the skin. Arne took note of the fading but distinct bruising on Draco's left shoulder.
"Looks nasty. What happened here?"
"Quidditch injury."
"Ah, Quidditch," Arne nodded. "Very popular in Denmark also, though the Danish are not as mad about it as you English. Yes?"
Draco shrugged. It was true.
The wings seemed to shrug a second in delay. Both Hermione and Arne observed this. "Our Ministry is not so keen