Enchanted

Enchanted

Chapter Six "House of Roses"

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"...mione...."

Hermione murmured sleepily in her contented slumber, nestling her head further into the warm human pillow she was currently spooned against.

Human pillow...Huh?

"...mione..."

Groggily, Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position, blinking her cinnamon orbs, attempting to rid them of the sleep instigating particles brought by the mythical Sand Man. Stretching ever so slightly, her arm smacked into the face of none other than her captor, Draco Malfoy. The former Slytherin shoved Hermione's offending limb roughly away from his abused face, effectively knocking the poor witch slightly off balance. Hermione managed to grip the muscled arm held securely around her waist, avoiding a rather nasty meeting with the ground 100 kilometers below.

"Geez Granger! You already scarred my ears with your incessant snoring; now you try to ruin my perfect face! I should drop you on your annoying arse right now," Malfoy growled, roughly tugging at her grip in attempt to dislodge it from his forearm.

"I most certainly do not snore!" Hermione huffed indignantly, crossing her arms in exasperation.

"Like hell you don't," Malfoy grumbled, gingerly rubbing his offended nose.

Hermione spun around (which ended up amounting to a half twist at the waist, considering the position she was stuck in), glaring right into steel-gray eyes. For what felt like hours, Hermione gazed into the enchanting pools, suddenly caught up in their mysterious depths. Malfoy held her gaze as well, blonde eyebrows arching ever-so-slightly. Feeling her cheeks twinge pink, Hermione lowered her gaze as she silently scolded herself for staring so blatantly at Malfoy.

For Merlin's sake! He's holding you captive! He's the enemy; or has your silly little infatuation clouded your mind?

Infatuation? That's a new thought...I admit he's attractive... but me? Have an infatuation with my childhood enemy? That's just pure lunacy!

"I know you find me irresistible Granger, but honestly, no need to stare," Malfoy's smooth voice slid into her thoughts, interrupting her silent musings.

"Irresistible? Ha! More like repulsive. Really Malfoy, I should buy you a dictionary; you seem to be confusing definitions of the simplest terms," Hermione shot back, hoping the slight tremble in her voice was only a product of her overactive imagination.

Malfoy's simple reply was that infuriating smirk. Hermione felt her blood boil, but not in anger. It was a strange sense of...attraction?

Attraction? Hermione inwardly shrieked. Merlin, I must have contracted some illness that affects logic!

"Are we any closer to our destination?" Hermione huffed, shaking her head slightly to erase her ridiculous thoughts.

Malfoy's smirk only widened.

"Wouldn't you like to know. Dejectedly counting down the moments until you're no longer in my strong, masculine arms Granger?"

"More like enthusiastically," Hermione bit out, attempting to suppress an oncoming blush. What was wrong with her?

"Besides," said Hermione suddenly, a small smile spreading across her pink lips, "I'm not the one who has his arm so securely wrapped around my waist."

Hermione could have sworn she felt him stiffen and turned her head slightly trying to catch a glimpse of what she had hoped would be...uncomfortableness? Embarrassment?

Nothing.

I swear, nothing affects him. He's as emotionless as a Greek statue, and as perfectly chiseled as one as well...Hold on a moment, where did that last little addition pop up from?

"We're practically there," floated Malfoy's even tone.

Hermione sighed. She felt the broomstick begin its descent, and clutched Malfoy's arm in surprise. She intoned to herself that her grip was just a safety precaution and nothing more. Slamming her eyes shut, she steeled herself for what she perceived would be an aperous landing. To her surprise, the tips of her toes gently touched the ground, the broom calmly hovering.

"You can release my arm now," Malfoy whispered into Hermione's ear, causing her eyes to fling open at the tingling brought by his warm breath.

Inhaling sharply, she hopped off and proceeded to turn around and give Malfoy an earful for whatever godforsaken place he had taken them to.

"Malfoy, I--" She began in a huff, but her words died at her lips as she absorbed her surroundings.

The sight before her was like a scene directly from a fairytale. A seemingly endless white-pebble covered pathway roamed directly to the glittering gold doors of a colossal castle. Alongside the stone road was row after row of flawless rosebushes of every color, trimmed, hedged and nurtured to perfection. The castle itself was constructed of sparkling white stone, lavishly adorned by immaculate glass windows. The trim of the roof peaked at carefully planned intervals, creating a respectable fortitude for the palace. All in all, the sight before her was straight out of the medieval times; a fantasy brought to life.

"And Granger is rendered speechless. Damn, why didn't I bring my handy dandy video camera with me? Such precious moments should be recorded you know," Malfoy drawled, prodding Hermione in the back.

Stumbling, Hermione followed Malfoy as they crunched through the pebbles--temporarily ignoring Malfoy's Muggle reference. Hermione could not help but think for a moment she was somehow dirtying the beautiful roadway with her scuffed Mary-Janes. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to bear no guilty thoughts as he trudged on in his dragon hide boots. Of course, she silently mused, those boots are probably as clean and polished as this palace. Not that Malfoy cleaned them; no, he probably forced some poor, overworked house elf to buff them until they sparkled.

As they neared the castle, Hermione released a small gasp at the intricate detail of the windows and doorframes: all were exquisite tracings and carvings of roses. They ascended the circular platform of marble steps and stopped short at the gold doors. Malfoy lifted the knocker (engraved with roses) and proceeded to alert the castle-dwellers of their presence.

Hermione watched in awe as the gold doors creaked, then slowly swung out. A tall, snooty looking balding man stood in the center, dressed in a crisp butler's attire. His gray mustache twitched slightly as he surveyed Malfoy, then her. He nodded, and turned, disappearing back inside the fortress. Malfoy snatched Hermione about the waist and followed.

Muttering words of protest, Hermione traipsed along, entranced by the enchanting interior. Ancient marble statues were scattered about the great room, mixed with paintings ranging from the Muggle artists Michelangelo and Da Vinci to ethereal portraits created by some well-known wizard or witch. As Hermione passed a sculpture of a ravishing Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love winked. Shaking her head, Hermione turned her attention to the pastel décor: drapes made of expensive silk, tapestries woven from the finest threads, and lush carpets lining the floors.

"Bienvenu à la Maison de Roses. Est-ce que je vous aidex monsieur?" a swift French accent inquired.

("Welcome to the House of Roses. May I help you sir?" a Swift French accent inquired.)

Hermione whipped her gaze around to face yet another tall, snooty man. His raven hair was cleanly cut to his ears. Attached to the long nose over which he leered at Hermione was a long mustache that curled perfectly at the ends. His butler's entourage was neatly pressed, making Hermione feel embarrassed by her simple azure sweater and crinkled khaki pants.

"Oui, ma femme et moi voudrons la suite de lune de miel, s'il vous plaît," Malfoy replied fluently, surprising Hermione.

"Comment vous appellez vous?"

"Dantés," Malfoy answered smoothly.

The snooty man smiled, and turned to an enormous black book on the marble counter top. His slim fingers scanned the page, searching for...well that Hermione did not know.

"Malfoy," She whispered, "What did you just ask him to do?"

A smirk crept along Malfoy's mouth. Oh no, Hermione cried in mental anguish, that smirk never means a good thing. I'm doomed.

"Why darling, I'm requesting the honeymoon suite for us," he replied sweetly.

"WHAT?!" Hermione screeched. "How dare you--" but was effectively cut off when Malfoy clamped his hand over her mouth, steel eyes flashing.

The raven-haired man glanced up, peering at the two curiously.

"Ma femme," Malfoy laughed, "Elle s'exite un peu quelque fois. La pauvre fille, ne parle pas un mot de français."

("My wife," Malfoy laughed, "she gets a little excited sometimes. Poor girl, doesn't speak a word of French.")

The gentleman nodded sympathetically, and returned his attention to the black book.

"Ah!" the man proclaimed, scribbling in a few words on the page. "I 'ave found it! Monsieur and Madame Dantés, you will find zis room very much to your liking. Jacques!"

The same blding man appeared at once, bowing low.

"Please, follow Jacques. We 'ope you enjoy your stay 'ere at La Maison de Roses!" the dark haired gentleman bid cheerfully.

Hermione gulped as she allowed Malfoy to drag her after Jacques, her mind too numb to protest.

Honeymoon? Wife? What is that conniving prat up to?

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"Look what we've found mate," Ron proclaimed as he and Elizabeth re-entered the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, carrying two steaming cups of coffee each. Harry and Sirius looked up, graciously accepting the nectar of the gods and eagerly sipping the wonderful liquid.

"Any progress?" Elizabeth inquired, sky blue eyes aglow with a spark of hope.

Harry ran a hand through his already disheveled raven locks making them even more disorderly, shaking his head. The poor emerald-eyed man appeared quite distraught. His lips were pressed in a thin line and small purple bags had materialized beneath the black rims of his glasses. A small worry line creased his forehead. Sirius's appearance was no better. Traces of his incarceration began to show through his eyes, the lines and wrinkles of dread and worry re-emerging. His normally well-kept hair looked worse for wear.

"Absolutely no leads whatsoever," Sirius grumbled, taking another eager sip from his cup. "We can't seem to hypothesize any theories."

"I wish Hermione would have left some muddy footprints, then we could follow them like those detectives do in Muggle stories," Elizabeth grumbled.

Suddenly, Sirius's face abounded with shock, as if he had been thunderstruck.

"I don't know why I didn't think of it earlier!"

Pushing back his chair, the formidable ex-prisoner stood tall and rushed out of the office, motioning the other three to follow him.

"Was it something I said?" asked Elizabeth, raising an eyebrow, falling into step with Harry and Ron.

They trouped down the corridors, weaving through various Ministry employees. At last, Sirius stopped before the Department of Magical Ailment Researching entrance. Pushing open the wooden door, the three silently watched as he proceeded to Hermione's desk, riffling through papers, peering beneath the desk. When Sirius kneeled down on all fours, Ron made a noise of protest.

"What do you expect to--" but was silenced by Harry's hand closing over his mouth.

"Let him alone," Harry whispered urgently. "He's the expert."

Ron mumbled something about "expert my arse" but remained quiet. Three pairs of curious eyes roamed after the old Marauder, anticipating a shout of triumph at any moment. Sitting back on his haunches Sirius pulled his wand from his robe pocket, muttering an incantation under his breath. A soft yellow luminosity encased the wand tip then sprung to the floor, like a pixie bounding off to cause mischief and mayhem. The light skirted along the floor, footprints appearing in its wake. The luminosity skipped out the door, continuing its tirade down the hallway. Harry leaned over, peering precariously at the small glowing footprints. They were effeminate in shape and style. His green eyes flashed in realization, glancing up to meet Sirius's expectant gaze.

"Are these..?"

"Yes," Sirius smiled. "Hermione Granger's last steps."

Elizabeth leaned out the department door, waving her hand frantically.

"Look!"

Ron, Harry and Sirius gazed out the doorway and down the corridor. Exchanging glances, Ron raised his pointer finger in the air.

"Follow those footsteps!"

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After ascending flight after flight of stairs (Hermione lost count at 54 when she started to become short on breath), Jacques came to a stop before a set of elaborately carved wooden doors that were tall in stature and expensive in taste. A vine of roses and flaring leaves perforated the edges of the apertures, criss-crossing this way and that, converging at the center to form an enormous wooden rose appearing fresh in bloom.

"Votre salle," Jacques announced, mustache twitching as he bowed low.

"Je vous remercie," said Malfoy, waving his hand to dismiss the butler.

Hermione watched silently as Jacque disappeared down the hallway, then turned to Malfoy. The former Prince of Slytherin twisted the knobs, throwing open the doors, giving way to an enormous bedroom. A small chic sofa was set cattycornered, its plush cream cushions warm and inviting. The carpet was a matching cream, flowing throughout the room, stopping short at the expensively tiled entranceway to the bathroom. The exquisite glass windows were adorned with silk pale blue curtains, the trains of which fell in neat ruffles at the floor. A few paintings hung on the walls, beautiful landscapes of the French countryside. A white desk and chair were nestled snugly in another corner, a small lamp atop for reading light. In addition, two tall dressers sat on the opposite wall next to a small vanity.

And the bed! Hermione was impressed by the divan's magnitude and elegance. White coverings of lace were pulled together at the bedposts. An expensive pale blue comforter sat atop, a few cream and white pillows neatly piled by the headboard. Malfoy gracefully plopped down on the bed, and Hermione decided to go inspect the bathroom. Somehow, staring at Malfoy lounging on the lavish divan would not be a healthy idea.

Crossing the room, she stepped into a bather's paradise. An elaborate cream marble countertop and sink framed by a mirror trimmed in gold greeted her eyes. Hermione leaned in closer to inspect; sure enough, the gold was carved with roses. Turning around, she spotted a large Jacuzzi and shower stall, two sets of plush white towels hung neatly across a bar. The distinct smell of roses engulfed her senses. Her eyes lulled closed as she pictured herself relaxing in the warm bath water and soft bubbles. Ah, a bath; a luxury she had been without for the past few days. Opening another door, she found a hanging terrycloth bathrobe and several bottles of bubbles. Hermione busied herself with turning on the taps and pouring in a sufficient amount of bubblebath.

Shedding her cloths (after closing the bathroom door), Hermione slipped into the warm water, her muscles immediately relaxing upon submergence. Grabbing a washcloth from the tub's side, she began to scrub. The soothing atmosphere calmed her senses and washed away the dirt and stress from the past few days. She felt renewed, like her troubles were slowly rinsing away. As Hermione massaged the sweet-scented shampoo into her chocolate locks, she released a small sigh of contentment.

"Moving in already?" drawled a male voice from the doorway.

Hermione shrieked and sunk lower, attempting to disappear beneath the sea of foam.

"Malfoy! Have you ever heard of privacy?" Hermione snapped indignantly, folding her arms over her chest as a further precaution.

The blonde smirked, stepping further into the bathroom. His cloak had been removed and his black shirt unbuttoned a few notches to expose a small amount of his well-defined chest. His steel gaze set upon her, Malfoy took another tantalizing step forward, molten steel bubbling in their depths. Hermione's cheeks flushed from the intense stare.

"But then where would be the fun of infuriating you?" He smirked, running a hand through flawless blonde locks. "Besides, I'm enjoying the view."

"Out! Get out!" Hermione demanded, throwing a bottle of bath salts at the former Slytherin's head (careful to keep well below the bubbles, remaining covered from prying eyes). He ducked expertly, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"Tut, tut. Temper Miss Granger, temper."

"I'll give you a temper if you don't remove yourself right this instant!"

Another smirk.

Another bottle sailed through the air, effectively smacking the insufferable blonde in the face. Hermione secretly hoped she had squished his perfect nose.

"Ow!" he screamed, gingerly fingering his nose, staring wide-eyed at Hermione. "What is it with you and your fascination with trying to destroy my perfect good looks?"

Arm raised and armed with yet another bottle, Hermione grinned evilly.

"If you wish for your precious good looks to escape further damage, I suggest you leave. Now."

Malfoy looked defiant for a moment. Hermione moved her arm back a small fraction; it was enough to persuade him. Turning on his heel, Malfoy stalked out of the bathroom, muttering a string of curses as he slammed the door.

"Ahh," Hermione smiled victoriously, lying back. "Peace at last."

Half an hour and later, Hermione emerged from the bathroom wrapped securely in a terrycloth robe. She frowned at the fact that she had to resort to a hair dryer; drying spells were much easier and better in quality. She noticed a set of open French doors and stepped through them onto a grand balcony. The view of the countryside surrounding the castle was breathtaking. Miles and miles of lush green stretched over the landscape, periodically offset by rows of what Hermione assumed were roses.

"Finished are you?" huffed Malfoy from his wire chair at the table.

Hermione glared, folding her arms over her chest. "How's the nose, Malfoy?"

He glared at her in seething silence. Hermione's haughty grin widened, then started to fall. Is that hurt I see in his eyes? She hastily decided a change in subject was in order.

"You still haven't explained all this."

Malfoy's blonde eyebrow arched slightly as he stood, crossing the balcony to lean against the railing, gazing out over the countryside.

"What's there to explain?"

"This place. Telling the reception I'm your wife. Where'd you conjure up the name Dantés anyways?"

Malfoy sighed in agitation.

"Dantés was my ternal grandmother's maiden name."

He turned to face her, steel orbs examining her appearance. A small smirk played upon his lips.

"Would you honestly have expected this place to be high on my prisoner holding list?"

"No..."

Malfoy stared pointedly at her.

"Oh."

The two enemies stood in silence.

"So, are you protecting me? Or is this some twisted act of prolonged torture?" Hermione inquired tentatively.

Malfoy's smirk faded, and cocked his head to the side, his cool steel gaze studying her intently.

"What do you think?" he replied, voice void of sarcasm.

Hermione remained silent. What do I think? Honestly, I'm not all that sure. His motives have been foggy...but he doesn't appear to want to cause me any harm...or maybe it's all a false pretense, some façade he's using. This is all so confusing...It's just like all those past mysterious meetings: he seems genuine in his attraction with his kisses, yet there's that lingering uncertainty.

"You're not planning on prancing around in that all day, are you?" Malfoy's voice cut into her cogitation.

Looking up, Hermione caught his suggestive wink, a small attempt to lighten the mood and change the subject. She decided to give in, and pry into the former Slytherin Prince's thoughts at another time.

Swatting him on the shoulder, Hermione placed her hands on her hips.

"Well, have you any suggestions then? The only set of clothes I have are dirty."

Malfoy smirked. "Oh, I've a few ideas..."

The End of Chapter 6

I hope you enjoyed it! Please review and let me know your thoughts.

CheerPrincess