"Morsmordre!"
With that, an enormous, glowing green skull burst up out of the darkness, a serpent slithering from its mouth. It rose above the treetops, soared into the sky, and set off screams of terror through the surrounding woods.
Draco's face turned deathly pale at once.
He knew exactly what it was, of course... the Dark Mark. The dark memories of his past life came flooding back all at once, and an overwhelming dread left him quite dizzy.
He remembered the Dark Mark appearing on the night of the Quidditch World Cup, in his past life too.
The trouble was, he had never truly witnessed it for himself back then. In his previous life, he had only glimpsed it faintly, at the edge of the woods; at the time, not knowing what the mark meant, he had thought it rather a novelty, even rather impressive.
Now, the experience felt utterly different, especially with a Death Eater possibly lurking somewhere nearby.
He swallowed his fear and swiftly positioned himself in front of the rock where Hermione sat, gripping his wand tightly, its tip warily trained on the dark thicket from which the spell had come, dreading that some far worse curse might yet burst forth from it, or that some Death Eater might leap out to harm her.
However, by the vast light thrown out by the skull, Draco could gradually make out that the spot now stood empty.
"What was that?" Ron, still quite unaware how close things had come to disaster, looked up and pointed at the sky, asking.
"What is going on?" Harry asked, entirely in the dark himself.
"That is the Dark Mark, the sign of the Dark Lord! I read about it in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts!"
Hermione said, pale-faced, trying to rise from the rock. She hopped twice on one leg and tugged at Draco's sleeve. "It is dangerous here, we should go."
"Yes. We must leave at once." Draco, prompted by her, reacted quickly. He had barely finished speaking when some twenty wizards descended from the sky all around them, wands raised...
Without hesitation, Draco shouted, "Get down!"
Giving no thought to Harry and Ron further off, he seized the unprepared Hermione and pulled her straight down to the ground, out of harm's way.
He spun nimbly, taking the fall on his own back first, rolling across the grass, before finally curling over to shield her beneath him.
These actions happened almost entirely in the blink of an eye. Rather than the product of careful thought, they were closer to pure instinct.
"Stupefy!" some twenty voices shouted, all together, a second later.
Hermione's heartbeat, her very breath, seemed to freeze. Everything had happened far too fast. Before she could even think, Draco had suddenly pulled her tight against him.
The world spun round her.
She found herself, inexplicably, rolling onto the cool grass, held fast in his arms. From over his cedar-scented shoulder, she saw a series of dazzling flashes of light.
In an instant, beams of scorching red light criss-crossed above their heads, struck the tree trunks, and rebounded off into the darkness.
Like blazing, fiery meteors, they crashed through the air just above their bodies, deadly and close.
She could scarcely imagine what might have become of her, had Draco not thrown himself over her so quickly. She might easily have been struck.
Perhaps, in a manner of speaking, she already had been struck. Struck hard, by him.
By the flickering red light, and the cold moonlight filtering through the branches above, she could see a stray lock of hair fallen across his furrowed brow.
She could hear his laboured breathing, could see how deathly pale his face had gone.
His expression seemed nothing like his usual calm, composed self. Yet his tightly pressed lips carried a look of firm resolve.
Neither of them dared move until the shouted spells finally ceased. Her hands gripped the back of his shirt tightly, trembling slightly.
One of his hands cradled the back of her head, the other rested at her waist. He shielded her with great care, in spite of his own faint trembling.
Hermione could feel that trembling; she could even feel his heartbeat, a rapid, drumming thud, pounding through his black shirt against her.
He felt like some warm, cedar-scented parcel, wrapped so closely round her that every part of him registered, with startling clarity, upon her heart.
"Draco..." she called his name softly, as though the word alone might offer some safety. That same feeling returned once more, that hopeless, inescapable pull towards him, at once terrifying and impossible to resist.
What could she do?
In that terrifying moment, held so close in his arms, she felt herself teetering on the edge of despair. She buried herself, quite without hope, in the boy's embrace.
This boy, who thought of her only as a sister, had become the one safe harbour she could find, amid all this chaos.
With him there, neither the deadly red light nor the fall to the ground could touch her. He had, once again, thrown his own body between her and danger. Why would he do such a thing for her?
She murmured his name between breaths, feeling, if anything, more hopeless than ever.
"I am here... do not be afraid," he said.
He turned his head quickly, his cool cheek brushing against hers. He meant only to check that she was unharmed, but his gaze suddenly caught hers, for she too had turned to look at him at that very moment.
In that instant, she saw his grey eyes properly.
They blinked, anxious, fearful, as though afraid she might vanish from his sight.
She knew there must be some confusion showing in her own eyes too, and something else besides, something she could not quite put a name to.
That feeling rose up from her suddenly racing heart, climbing all the way to her eyes.
Amid the pounding of her own heart, she suddenly realised she could no longer escape the pull of his worried gaze. It was as though her very soul had been drawn taut, straight towards his eyes, pulled clean out of herself.
In that moment their eyes met, a single second seemed to stretch into an eternity. Within that endless gaze, she could feel their warm breath mingling.
Had he leant a fraction closer, or had she, she felt certain their lips would have met at once.
She parted her lips slightly, blinking in confusion, and felt, quite suddenly, the hand cradling the back of her head tighten.
Draco tilted his face, involuntarily, just a fraction closer.
They were face to face now, close enough to feel some subtle pull between them. The faint, sweet scent of her, so young, so alive, brought him right to the edge of his own control.
In an instant, the whole business of the Dark Mark seemed to fade entirely from his mind.
Only one strange thought remained to him: how close her lips were. If she came just a little closer...
"Stop!" Mr Weasley cried out in terror, from some distance off. "Stop! That is my son!"