even more unsettled now that his pale gaze was fixed on her. Nervous, and extremely thirsty, she licked her lips. His eyes flickered momentarily to her mouth before moving upwards to her eyes.
"Do you really have to make this any more unpleasant than it already is?" she asked him quietly.
"It's going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better, so I suggest you accustom yourself to the unpleasant," he said, with sarcastic emphasis on 'unpleasant'.
"Do you really think your father will know someone who can reverse the spell?" She might as well have asked if castles were made of stone, or if Quidditch was played on broomsticks. "No, Granger. We're going to see my father to have a spot of tea and scones. He so rarely gets to entertain these days what with being a prisoner in his own home."
Hermione scowled. "I would just like to know how exactly you think telling your father is a good idea!"
"Oh I don't know," Malfoy snapped. "Might be that apart from Voldemort himself, my father knows more about the inner workings of dark magic than any other wizard alive. Or because his list of contacts is so long and sordid that despite being Voldemort's second-in-command and guilty of things you couldn't even begin to imagine, he managed to arrange a deal with the Ministry and avoid the whole getting his soul sucked out through his mouth business!"
"We're not complete morons, either, you know," Hermione countered, which made Malfoy roll his eyes at her.
The statement probably qualified as the first compliment she had ever (and likely, would ever) give him.
"Do you think it's a good idea traipsing around school reading about how to remove illegal magical tattoos?" He gave her a narrow-eyed look. "Though I suspect people like yourself have a certain level of freedom the rest of us do not."
Hermione made a frustrated noise. "I'm not beyond suspicion, if that's what you're getting at."
"As am I, despite my enthusiastic campaign over the past two years trying to convince everyone I know that I hate my father and everything he stands for."
That much was true. Whatever could be said about Draco Malfoy, ever since his father's deal with the Ministry, he had made it plain knowledge that he wanted nothing to do with all things Voldemort-related. Of course, many people speculated that this was the only logical tactic by which to maintain his entitlement to anything Malfoy-related.
The Ministry might have already helped itself to a hefty portion of the family's money and holdings in the name of reparations, but there was still a sizeable trust fund, several holiday residences and a looming inheritance from his mother and grandfather. And then there was Malfoy Manor itself...
Belatedly, Hermione realised she really ought to stop reading Witch Weekly.
But Malfoy was right, of course. They would have to do it quietly and secretly. In any case, she doubted they would find a remedy at Hogwarts. The counter-spell would most likely be something homemade and illegal.
"I gather it's not to be a happy reunion for the two of you then? No father-son picnics by the old duck pond*?"
She couldn't care less if Draco was having troubles at home. But the subject of his father was an extremely raw one. Hermione felt she owed him a snide comment or two.
He looked instantly angry. He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, jabbing a threatening finger into her personal space. "You shut your hole, Granger, or I'll tell you, in fine detail, what that prim and proper little mouth of yours is capable of when it isn't spouting rubbish."
It routinely amazed her how he could revert from cool and callous to scary in the space of a heartbeat. Hermione quietly seethed. Nobody spoke to her like that. Not even the other Slytherins dared to openly insult the Head Girl. But then, they were not at Hogwarts, and she was not within shouting distance of her friends. And despite how atrociously Malfoy was treating her, Hermione couldn't help but suspect that his black mood was due to the fact that he had more to fear from his father than she did.
So she kept her tongue in check.
The carriage lumbered on, until the slate coloured stone of Malfoy Manor finally appeared over an outcropping of trees. Hermione released the breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding in, although forcing her hands to let go of the edge of the carriage seat proved to be more of a challenge.