Chapter Seven: The Opal Necklace

Draco sat in darkness, a small wooden box clutched in his hands. His back was against the wall, his head leaned back in helplessness. He was consumed in almost endless thought. It was Friday and Draco hadn't left his dormitory. He would explain away his absence in potions with a false ailment, but it wasn't as if anyone would miss him in that class. Slughorn didn't know him from Adam and none of his fellow Slytherins had qualified for NEWT level potions. The rest of his day was blissfully free—or would have been if he didn't have a murder to plot.

He remembered everything now. His summer 9 years ago spent in complete isolation from friends. He recalled Aunt Bella with her arduous and demanding lessons in occlumency, nonverbal spells, and the unforgivable curses. Her patience was short, her punishments swift, and Draco had learned at the age of sixteen what it meant to be a death eater, even if he didn't bear the mark yet. That would have been too obvious not to mention difficult to hide. So they had settled for making Draco Malfoy a death eater in every other way: vows, ceremony and all—anything to bind the son of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy to His service.

Draco's first mission was simple: kill Dumbledore. It was a much more difficult task than he thought and every plan had failed spectacularly. Then Snape… Snape was finally forced to attempt killing Dumbledore himself, which set into motion the sequence of events that haunted him for years after. Snape had died that night, at the hands of Harry Potter, and Dumbledore had lived.

Shaking his head as he looked down, he groaned. His body had been sitting still for so long, the muscles were stiff and achy.

The last six hours had been spent pondering what he could do. There was the obvious answer. Tell someone. But who? He couldn't trust Snape. Snape was a frighteningly devout Death Eater and his own hide was just as much on the line as his own. He couldn't trust Dumbledore. He distinctly remembered Dumbledore's words in the Astronomy Tower that night so many years ago.

…

Draco waited in the shadows. Dumbledore was inside the Astronomy Tower, he knew it. He could hear him talking, even now. But to who? It didn't matter. He would kill them all.

Stepping into a beam of moonlight, Draco threw out his wand, pointing it directly at Dumbledore. The man didn't seem surprised by his appearance, but worse than that, he didn't even look afraid.

"Good evening Draco… What brings you here on this fine spring evening?" The man had asked. As if Draco didn't have a deadly weapon pointed at him—as if not even Dumbledore believed him capable of causing harm.

His resolve was strengthened by that thought. No one took him seriously. No one cared. Voldemort himself expected him to die before the end of this, but Draco meant to live. Wand already trained on Dumbledore, Draco moved sideways as he asked, "Who else is here? I heard you talking."

The old man had lied, but Draco was too lost to know it. He responded that he often spoke to himself, which Draco had in fact known to be true. Many great minds did so. It had seemed a logical explanation to his panicked mind. "Draco… You are no assassin—"

"How do you know what I am?" Draco had asked, his voice cracking in desperation. "I've done things that would shock you."

"Like cursing Katie Bell and in return hoping that she would bear a cursed necklace to me? Like replacing a bottle of mead with a bottle laced with poison?" The old man had looked at him then, really looked. His periwinkle eyes took in his sallow face, his sunken cheek bones, his lost gray eyes and he had known the truth. "Forgive me, Draco. But I cannot help thinking these actions so weak that your heart couldn't have really been in them."

"Trust me," Draco had spat. "I was chosen."

Dumbledore had then spread his arms in a gesture of surrender. "I shall make it easy for you then."

"Expelliarmus!" Draco shouted. Dumbledore's wand landed just inches from him.

"Well done…" The sound of a door opening at the base of the steps to the astronomy tower distracted them both. Dumbledore stepped forward, his eyes wide. "There are others," he stated matter-of-factly. "How?"

"The vanishing cabinet in the room of requirement," Draco said proudly, lifting his chin and tightening his sweaty grip on his wand. "I've been mending it."

"Let me guess. It has a sister… a twin," Dumbledore said, his eyes sparkling in what Draco had wrongly hoped was fear.

"Borgin and Burkes. They form a passage."

"Ingenious," Dumbledore whispered, meaning it. He looked down suddenly, as if looking for words that had been lost. "Draco… years ago, I knew a boy who made all the wrong choices. Please let me help you."

"I don't want your help!" Draco roared, stepping forward, his want arm shaking. "Don't you understand? I have to do this. I have to kill you…" His face contorted with the fear and terrible purpose he felt crushing down on him. "Or he's going to kill me."

…

Draco felt a single tear roll down his cheek and quickly wiped it away. That moment had been gathering dust in the furthest reaches of his mind for years. Since Hermione had eked it out of him and forced him to finally confront what had happened to him. What should have happened—and what almost did was still enough to wake him in the night, his skin covered in cold sweat.

But here he was, nine years in the past and he was not bound to any decision. He could make a different choice, if he wished. He could choose between altering the past beyond recognition and creating a new future that was completely unknown to him. Or he could again walk the path that had left him broken in spirit and scarred for the rest of his life, one in which Hermione no longer existed. Whatever choice he made, there were consequences. He knew and understood very well the danger his family was in.

Dumbledore knew, Draco thought angrily to himself. Unlike his sixteen year old self, Draco was fully able to process the implications of that fact. Dumbledore knew Draco's task was to kill him. How he knew, Draco couldn't begin to contemplate. There must be a leak within Voldemort's ranks. Whatever he knew though, Draco couldn't trust him. The man had spent a year watching him sink into darkness and despair without once offering a hand up. There was no one in the world who had ever thought he was worth even that much… No one except Hermione and she currently loathed him with an intensity that broke his heart anew almost daily.

Draco sat up suddenly. That was it. Hermione. He had been thinking of her chocolate eyes and chestnut brown hair when the idea struck. He would tell her about the necklace. About his plan to switch the mead. Forget his plan to win her back… wasn't it more important to stop the impending rise of Voldemort? Stop her death?

"But I can't tell her that," he said to himself as he hopped up from the bed and threw on his clothes. He began pacing, his thoughts coming in waves that were almost too fast to follow. He would tell her just the basics. Nothing about time travel. Nothing about their marriage and unborn child, her death, or any other parts of the future that would now never be.

That would be too much for anyone to accept, let alone a sixteen year old girl—someone who had every reason to doubt him. He had to tell her in a way that wouldn't make her run screaming to Dumbledore. Who knew what the man would do if he realized Draco was defying his direct command.

Probably find a way to lock him up or something—quieting him so that history could repeat itself, damn the repercussions. Draco shuddered to think of spending a single second that way ever again. His imprisonment after his failure to kill Dumbledore had been one of brutal silence and solitude. He saw no one, family nor friends. They refused to speak to him or even mention his name. Almost a year surviving on gruel and rats had almost killed him.

…

The letter he wrote to his mother was short and sweet, or so it seemed. He had used their coded language. Though the words reflected that he was struggling with a more rigorous schedule and failed to sleep regularly enough, the dots and smudges warned her to hide. This was the most he could do for her. For his father… nothing.

He folded the letter and stuck it in a yellowed envelope. He rushed upwards from the dungeons, barely cognizant of where he was going. The owlery had not been one of his first stops upon his arrival in the past, so he had to search his memory to find it.

Turning the corner to the base of the stairs to the owlery, Draco ran straight into something—someone as it turned out. Draco fell backwards with a painful thud and the other participant in the collision cussed profusely. Draco didn't understand why they were so upset. At least they were still on their feet. He rubbed his forehead, waiting for the ringing in his ears to stop.

"Malfoy?" Snape's voice was low and menacing.

"Sorry…er, professor. I didn't see you," Draco said, still rubbing his head. His vision was blurry, but he could now see the outline of the exact person he had meant to avoid.

"Get up," Snape growled and Draco scrambled to his feet. "What in the hell are you doing?"

"I needed fresh air," Draco replied.

"So you're heading to the owlery?" Draco nodded, realizing by his expression that Snape didn't buy it. "Is the smell of owl pellets refreshing to you, Mr. Malfoy? Because if so, I can make it your personal responsibility to clean to floor of the owlery every night for the next year."

"No sir. I got… turned around." Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Let me make myself perfectly clear," he said, leaning in so close that his hooked nose almost met Draco's. "Un-turn yourself right now. Stop wasting your precious time writing letters. Stop skipping classes. Stop mooning over girls and just fucking do what you have been told to do. I am holding up my end of the bargain. See that you hold up yours." Snape straightened as students came around the corner. They were two third year Ravenclaws. It was no one Draco knew but he felt a pang of jealousy as they passed, talking and laughing without a care. "Am I clear?" Snape asked once they were out of ear shot.

"Crystal," Draco said shortly, his body filling with rage. If only Snape knew the things he had done—the witches and wizards he had murdered or tortured on his way here. Looking at him, Draco really felt as though Hermione wouldn't blame him for just one more, especially this one.

Snape smiled suddenly as he looked at him and Draco didn't like it one bit. It spoke of things he knew that he shouldn't. Snape turned and began walking away.

"Professor!" Draco called after him, but Snape didn't pause. "You have something in your teeth!" Snape halted, his form rigid. He stood, swaying for what seemed like ages before he took one step, and then another away. "Coward," Draco spat.

Worried that Snape would return, he shoved his letter in the pocket of his robe and set his mind to finding Hermione. He would have to warn his mother at a more opportune time. The truth was, he was more eager to see Hermione than ever. Making a decision had been hard, but now that one was made he was anxious for it to be over.

…

Hermione may have looked fine, but she was exhausted. Several nights of nightmares had left her tired and afraid. Ron and Harry seemed worried, while Ginny mostly seemed amused. Hermione was the one falling behind this week and the others were picking up the slack—except in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, which neither of them understood even at a basic level.

"You look awful, Hermione," Harry said as she joined him at the Gryffindor table in the great hall.

"So much for looking fine," she sighed as she slammed her book bag down on the bench beside her. She settled herself in and began slicing thin pieces off the very finely roasted turkey sitting in front of them.

"I'm sure it doesn't help that you don't even eat without a book present," Ron interjected helpfully as he too sat down, no book back in sight as usual.

"Books don't make you tired," Hermione stated sardonically.

"Speak for yourself," Ron replied, his mouth completely stuffed with food. He hadn't wasted any time in piling his plate with various meats and cheeses.

"You're in a hurry to get through dinner," Hermione observed suspiciously.

"You should be too. First Apparition class of the term is tonight," he said between bites. "Mum and dad scraped together the galleons this summer and there's no way I'm missing even one class. They've already threatened to disown me if I don't pass the first time and not even Percy passed the first time."

"Apparition classes? Aren't those held after Christmas Holiday?"

"Really, Hermione," Harry said in fake exasperation. "You should read the bulletin board."

"Twycross has a schedule conflict," Ron explained with air quotes. "Whatever that bloody means. We have a different Ministry official this year."

"Of course we do," Hermione muttered. She looked down at her plate, suddenly not hungry. "Damn. I was looking forward to a night off."

"You must be tired," Harry reflected calmly.

"What time does it start?" Hermione asked.

"Seven sharp," Ron and Harry spoke at the same time and began laughing hysterically. Hermione smile politely.

"I should probably go to the library then," she said, standing.

"Aren't you going to finish eating?" Ron asked, as if wasting a few slices of turkey and some mashed potatoes was an abomination.

"I really have to study."

"You have all weekend!"

"I also have two more classes than you two lazy bones," she said in good humor.

"There's no arguing with this one sweet brother of mine." Ginny appeared so suddenly that they all three jumped. "Wow, scaredy cats," she said laughingly, immediately taking Hermione's spot and plate.

"See you at seven," Hermione said to Ron and Harry. They waved after her before returning their full attention to the piles of food in front of them.

The hallway outside the great hall was shockingly cold comparatively. It was a mystery how a few large fires could warm a castle as large as Hogwarts. Then again, she thought dumbly, how many castles in Europe were magical?

With determined footsteps, she passed the central staircase and turned left down the library corridor. She had to hurry if she was going to get the books she needed and return in time for the Apparition class, which in all honesty she was very underprepared for.

As she walked she hummed, reciting the names of the two books she needed in cadence. Ancient Runes: An Alternate Interpretation. Viking Magic: A Look at Runes in the Development of European Magic. Both volumes were for an essay due Wednesday. Seventeen inches minimum on the influence of Ancient Runes in modern Witchcraft and Wizardry. With both books, Hermione was sure she could manage at least twenty inches, which gave her a little room to breathe in a class she was struggling to maintain a decent mark in.

Pushing the doors to the library open with a loud screech, every eye turned on her. "Sorry," she whispered in answer to Madame Pince's glare. "Squeaky hinges."

"Open the door more slowly next time," Madame Pinch squeaked, insulted.

"Alright," Hermione said as she turned away, rolling her eyes.

She stopped short when she realized Draco Malfoy was standing just four feet from her. His back was to her and he was turning his head this way and that as if looking for something. She moved to walk past him when he turned suddenly. His expression told her that she was the something he had been looking for and her stomach dropped.

"Granger," he said, stepping forward gravely.

"Oh, god," she responded. "Not tonight, Malfoy. Two books and I am out of here. I don't have time for this."

"You were looking for me Monday," he said. There was no question in his voice. "After breakfast."

"I remember," she said dryly.

"I've been avoiding you." His voice was low, almost a whisper.

"Yeah? Is that why you missed potions this morning?" She asked and he nodded. "And why is it you're avoiding me exactly?" She asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Because there is something I need to tell you, and I didn't know how until yesterday."

"This is a fun game," Hermione snarled. "Let me guess. You wish the Basilisk had killed me properly?" Draco blanched. "No? Maybe, you wish Arthur Weasley had actually died, the filthy blood traitor?" His eyes narrowed in what she recognized as anger and she reveled in it. "Still not right? Perhaps, you wish that Harry had died the night your master came knocking on his parents' doo—"

"Shut up!" Draco yelled abruptly and the entire room went silent. He was panting, trying to control his anger. "None of those things are true and you know it," he spat.

"Do I?" Her own eyes narrowed. "All I know is that you've been watching me every day for the past month and it's unnerving. I can't sleep…" Her voice trailed off and she immediately regretted her words and their implication. He had seen the fear in her eyes, heard it in her voice. His face changed, registering what she said in the way she imagined a computer might.

His face changed from red to white in seconds and he released his fists, which were balled up at his sides.

"That's what I want to talk to you about," he said, his voice heavy with what sounded like disappointment. "I haven't been trying to frighten you."

"Don't pretend intimidation isn't an Olympic Sport for you and your friends."

"A what sport?" He asked.

"Oh never mind," she said, annoyed. "What else could you possibly want to do, Malfoy, except harass and scare me?"

"Warn you," he said.

"Warn me?" She asked suspiciously.

"Yes, but obviously I can't talk to you about it here." He motioned to the room of people that were pretending to read or whisper, but even Hermione knew their ears were focused on their conversation.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because I wouldn't lie to you." His answer was simple and sincere. There was no basis for either sides of this situation. Draco Malfoy had exactly no known motivation for warning Hermione about anything and she had zero motivations for trusting his warning. But looking at him, she realized he would be heard. Like it or not, his warning would come whether it was now when she was alone, or later when she was with her friends.

The thought of them witnessing Malfoy's new behavior towards her made her stomach flop. It was too bizarre. Even Ginny never talked about that day a month ago when Draco Malfoy had almost landed on their heads. His behavior at that moment was so queer, and had continued to be queer since then.

"If not here, then where?" She asked. He opened his mouth to speak and she cut him off. "And don't you dare say an abandoned corridor or the dungeons."

The thin line of his mouth cracked into a grin as he replied, revealing very white and very straight teeth—the observation of a dentist's daughter, she convinced herself. "Wherever you would like."

They walked up a single flight of stairs and turned left down the first corridor. "This should be enough privacy without drawing attention to us."

"Afraid to be associated with a Slytherin?" Draco drawled moodily.

"Aren't you? With a Gryffindor? Especially a mudblood like myself?" Hermione asked. The word sounded forced and again, she watched him blanch and wondered at it.

"No." It was a short reply that ended all conversation. A minute passed and Draco seemed to be at a loss.

"Well? My warning?"

Draco reached inside his robes and Hermione immediately jumped back, drawing her wand. Whatever he held flew from his hands in surprise and skidded across the stone floor, landing at her feet with an ominous screech. She saw the horrified expression on his face and looked down. Something shiny was poking out of a wooden box. She bent down, not moving her wand an inch.

"What is—"

"Hermione, DON'T," he shouted, throwing himself down. His reaction caught her so much by surprise that she just watched stupidly as he used the sleeve of his cloak to gather whatever he had dropped. When he finished putting it back inside the box, he held it far from his body, as if he was deathly afraid of its contents.

"What is in there?" She asked, her voice serious, but shaken. Her wand however, remained steadily pointed at his face, which was disconcertingly nearer after the debacle.

"You have to promise to tell no one," he breathed.

"Yeah, right," she scoffed.

"I mean it!" He demanded. "No one else can know."

"I'm not going to keep secrets for you, Malfoy, especially dangerous ones." Her voice was like stone and his face began to turn red again. She could tell this encounter was not going at all the way he had planned. The thought brought her more pleasure than was appropriate considering the circumstances. "Tell me what you wanted to tell me before I hex you and leave. Don't think I won't take your magical trinket with me either. I will take it straight to Dumbledore. Let him sort it out."

"Fine," Draco snapped bitterly. "Listen to me, take some time, and decide if you wish to tell anyone. I can almost guarantee you won't."

"We'll see."

Draco opened the box slowly and carefully, revealing a shining opal necklace. The metal was white gold, the opal pieces a brilliant bluish-greenish white that sparkled in the candlelight of the hallway. Hermione was instantly drawn to it—wanted to touch it.

"It's cursed," Draco said, watching her carefully. "You mustn't touch it. Not ever." Hermione looked up into his eyes and saw that he was dead serious. "Up until two months ago, this was sitting inside of Borgin and Burkes in Knocturn Alley. Just two hundred galleons for a necklace that has killed nineteen muggles and sent more than one witch or wizard to St. Mungo's."

"Why do you have it?"

"I purchased it," he said simply and her eyes widened in shock. "What did you do this summer?" He asked suddenly, catching her off guard. "Did you meet with your friends in Diagon Alley and reminisce about a summer vacation perhaps? Or did you meet any boys that you liked? Maybe had a good snog or two?" He asked painfully. She blushed, her skin paling underneath the rush of blood. How trivial he made her summer seem. How very adolescent. "Well, my summer was spent preparing."

"Preparing for what?"

"Voldemort has tasked me with killing Dumbledore."

Hermione stared open mouthed and wide eyed. This couldn't be true. If it was, why was he telling her? Of all the people in the world whom he could tell, what on earth made Draco Malfoy think that he could not only tell her this secret, but keep her quiet as well.

Hermione didn't know exactly when it happened, but in what seemed like a split second, she was running down the corridor. Away from Malfoy and his cursed necklace and dirty secret. She was a swift runner, but Draco Malfoy was a Quidditch player in very good physical shape. He caught her just as she was about to round the corner into the next hallway, which she knew would be at least sparsely populated.

His fingertips closed around the hem of her cloak and with all his strength he yanked her backwards to a complete stop. She yelled for help, but his hand covered her mouth before the sound could amplify and he dragged her roughly into an empty classroom. He was going to curse her with this necklace, she thought, dread filling her. She fought even harder, but it was no use. He was much stronger.

A/N: Before the clamorous uproar, yes I took a lot of liberties with this chapter. I changed the basis of the Half Blood Prince to fit my story snugly within the Harry Potter universe. I also used direct quotes from the movie, which I studied meticulously to get it right. I acknowledge none of these characters are mine and changing these situations firmly establishes these parts of my story as off cannon (as if we all didn't already know lol). I still hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I think I have found my stride :) let me know what you guys think! Continued readers, thank you for your follows and new readers, I hope you leave a review! Have a great day.