Hermione made herself think about what was on Draco’s left arm – the one he always kept covered. The thing she didn’t think about. The Dark Mark, marring his smooth, pale skin. Hermione gulped and shuddered as the booze slid icy and burning down her throat. Later, Hermione would go down the cellar steps to see Draco, and he would look at her with gut-wrenching relief hidden behind flippancy, and she might tell him how she almost killed his father. Maybe she would even ask to see the Mark.