Enchanted

Enchanted Chapter 9 "Mending and Mangling"

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Opaque smoky mists filtered through his mind, numbing and encompassing the infinitesimal sprout of light faintly flickering far away in the background. Draco reached toward the beam desperately attempting to grasp, to hold, to capture the small source. A tiny, wispy inner voice whispered, pleaded for him to possess that small light; the urgency in the pleas striking a cord deep within, one that clung to the soft command like a lifeline. Darkness crept closer, squeezing his breath in his lungs and pressing in on his skin. Shakily, Draco lifted a hand forward, his fingertips inching closer and closer to their goal. His purpose intensified. The light represented a beacon of hope, a key out of this dreadful plane if wickedness and blackness, his salvation materialized. Closer he crept, until he stood before a small sphere of white--the size of a marble--suspended in the obscure atmosphere.

Draco gently cupped the tiny glowing ball and peered down into its whiteness. A small movie played inside the ball and Draco watched, enraptured. A series of images flickered rapidly in succession, everything yet nothing all at once, a microcosm of his past up until that moment; his life in flashes--his mother, Hogwarts, his father, Quidditch, Potter, Voldemort, Dumbledore, Death Eaters, Hermione.

Hermione? Why am I seeing her?

In an instant streaks of light burst forth from the sphere in a series of earthquake-like cracks, splitting the sphere and exploding the tiny ball into a thousand pieces. The escaped beams bounced around the dark ambiance illuminating and widening the darkness flash by flash, like an electrical storm amidst the backdrop of a black hole; except in this instance, the light grew in size and intensity, swallowing the darkness instead of the darkness devouring the light.

Draco awoke with a start, steel orbs pried wide as he surveyed his surroundings. Immediately, pain poured on to his chest and soaked through to the core, rapidly inflaming his sternum in agony. A string of curses tumbled from his mouth as he clutched the bed sheets. His hair had been smoothed back with his perspiration, his skin warm and damp. Draco's mind raced to find the culprit responsible for his throbbing chest.

Father.

Sliding his eyes sideways, Draco realized this bedroom was not a room characteristic of the Malfoy Manor. Relief calmed his racing pulse. He remembered now. He had taken his broom and drug himself out of his father's office, away from the self-serving slave of a bastard and his cruelty.

But how'd I end up in this ruddy bed?

His eyes fell over a tangle of chocolate curls sprawled over bed sheets and the small face framed by them. Draco raised his hand, hovering over the pale cheeks. Her face looked worn and tired even in sleep. Gently, he dipped his hand, lightly tracing over her cheekbones and stopping short of her pink lips.

She stirred.

"Malfoy?" Hermione yawned, stretching slightly as she stood from the bedside chair. "You're awake."

"So it seems."

Hermione carefully examined the blonde wizard's chest, and it was only then Draco noted his bandaged torso. He arched an eyebrow.

"All this for me Granger? Aw, I didn't know you cared."

"I couldn't very well let you bleed to death, now could I?" Hermione sharply replied, pressing the back of her hand to Draco's forehead. Malfoy immediately snapped back from her touch as if he had been bitten by a hippogriff all over again.

"Your fever seems to have gone down," Hermione quietly observed. "And that nasty cut on your cheek's begun to heal. You looked absolutely horrid when I found you."

"Found me?"

"You crashed through the French doors on your broomstick a bloody mess, fatigued and shivering. I thought you might die."

"How caring of you," Malfoy drawled sarcastically.

Hermione ignored his jabs and turned to the dresser. She sat a few fresh rolls of gauze alongside a tube of Muggle antiseptic. Malfoy eyed the items haughtily.

"Cut the Muggle medicine crap Granger."

"Whatever do you mean?" Hermione inquired quietly, eyes trained on the dresser top.

"Do you honestly think I would fall for it? You used magic. I know there's not a chance in bleeding hell you could have healed these wounds so rapidly without magical aid. And the notion's laughable that your weak little frame could have moved me ever so delicately to the bed without causing further damage. You nicked my wand Granger. How very un-Gryffindor of you."

Hermione's lips pursed together. "I wouldn't have had to take yours if you hadn't confiscated mine. Besides, that's not what's bothering you. Not at all. You can't stand the fact that I saved your sorry arse from death, and now we're even."

"Even?"

"I believe the term is wizard's debt."

Malfoy's eyes darkened. He had forgotten the cabin episode.

"Well we're even now, so sod off and go play nurse to some other bloody git."

A small smile crept on Hermione's face as Malfoy tried to sit up unsuccessfully, subtle hints of agony flashing across his features.

"Yes, because you're completely able to take care of yourself. Look at you; you can't even sit up properly."

"I can sit just fine," Malfoy sneered, struggling to push himself up. Pain ripped through his muscles and Malfoy swore.

Hermione gently pressed her palm to his shoulder, pushing Malfoy back to relax on the tuft of pillows. Deftly, her hands worked to undo the bandages saturated in crimson. A grunt of protest sounded in the back of Malfoy's throat, but he sat silently and compliantly, surreptitiously observing the former Gryffindor at work, veiled beneath his long dark lashes. With her luscious chocolate long tresses, bright cinnamon eyes, silky skin, a kissable, pink mouth and soft feminine curves, there was no denying the fact that she was a beautiful young woman. Maybe, if she wasn't Granger or mates with The Boy Who Lived To Annoy Me and the Wanker Weasel she wouldn't be half bad...

"Here, lean up a little so I can undo the bandage," she ordered. "Good...the gash looks better. I'd dare say my healing spell worked well."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. Scratch that previous thought. When she opens her big know-it-all mouth the mood'd be ruined. Unless I kept it busy...Draco released a low chuckle.

"And what are you snickering about?" Hermione demanded, pausing as she rubbed a sliver of antiseptic cream over the wound. Draco stiffened, noting how soft her skin felt against his as well as the wonderful sensation her gentle ministrations stirred in his gut. Bloody hell, he inwardly groaned.

"None of your sodding business," he snapped, barely managing to control his voice.

Hermione shook her head, leaning back to reach for the fresh bandage. She expertly wrapped the gauze strip around his torso and tied it. "There."

Draco nodded, as if approving.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Boar's Head reeked of smoke and booze, the nauseating smell inundating the atmosphere. Harry glanced sideways at Ginny. The red-head appeared perfectly at ease and strode confidently up to the bar. She spoke in low tones to the bartender, who nodded and pointed to a booth in a shady corner. The bartender then whipped two drinks up. Ginny dropped a few Sickles on the counter and walked back to Harry, handing him one of the glasses.

"There's our wizard," she whispered, nodding towards the booth.

Harry took a sip of his drink. "Ogden's Old Firewhisky?"

Ginny's mouth twitched. "Takes the edge of any stressful day."

Harry's eyes danced in amusement as he followed Ginny to the corner. Lazily, he allowed his gaze to slip down to Miss Weasley's round bottom, thoroughly enjoying the view. Merlin, Miss Virginia's going to serve as quite the distraction.

Quickly banishing his thoughts, Harry slid into the booth next to Ginny and across from the man he was to interrogate. The wizard slouched over his mug, a meaty hand clasping the handle. His wiry-brown hair hung limply to his shoulders, his face long and gaunt. The man glanced up, piercing black eyes sending a challenge.

"What'er ya want?" the wizard growled, leering at Ginny over his large nose.

"A few words Dungley," Ginny replied coolly, leaning back against the booth.

"I ain't got any fer ya," Dungley grunted, taking a huge swig of his beer.

"But the lady asked nicely," Harry smiled menacingly, looming over the tabletop.

Dungley eyed Harry wearily, gulping down the mug. He kept his silence.

"We can do this the hard way Dungley. I know how much you enjoy my hexes," said Ginny flippantly, brandishing her wand casually. Dungley's eyes widened slightly and sweat appeared on the top of his brow.

"That's a good lad," Ginny smiled sweetly. "Now, what do you know about Hermione Granger's disappearance?"

Dungley gulped, gripping the beer mug tightly.

"I've 'erd mutterings, but I can't give ya much. All's I knows is Miss Granger got herself in a right place with Him, if ya catch me meaning."

"Well I don't," Harry growled. "So care to elaborate?"

"It's her work. Don't know what kind, not into all that ruddy research and spell gadgetry. But she found somethin' 'e was not too 'appy with."

"You know more than you're letting on," Harry said in a deadly whisper, seizing Dungley's collar and shoving him into the back of the booth. "Spill the details or I'll spill your spleen."

Dungley shook his head furiously. "I don't know nuthin'! Not a speck more. I'm just a lowly follower, not up high enough to know all 'em details!"

"He's telling the truth Harry," Ginny spoke calmly placing her hand on Harry's arm. "It's in his eyes. We've all we're to get out of him."

"Fine." Harry roughly released Dungley, slouching back as he gulped down a mouthful of Firewhisky.

Ginny dropped a few Galleons on the tabletop--payment for Dungley's "troubles"--and pushed Harry out of the booth. Harry protested, but with one determined look from Miss Virginia Weasley he shut his mouth and followed obediently. However, just before he left the area, Harry bended over in Dungley's face.

"You hear anything at all about her and you better get that information to me. Because if I discover you knew something and she gets hurt due to your lack of cooperation, I'll show you the demented, unstable Harry Potter they wrote about in the Daily Prophet five years ago."

"Did you have to do that?" Ginny inquired once outside the bar, hands on hips and eyebrow arched. "If you scare him too much he'll die of fear and then we'll never find anything."

Harry grinned mischievously. "Don't worry luv, he'll talk."

Ginny rolled her eyes, flipping fiery locks over her shoulder. She tapped her lip with a finger, pondering the newly spilled information.

"Hermione's work, huh? What did she do?"

"Hermione headed the Department of Magical Ailment Researching. She never talked much about the job though. Just fed Ron and me this business about a flu remedy."

"But you don't believe it."

"Not for a moment."

"Well, that's where we've got to start then. Dig up some papers, find out what exactly there were really researching."

Harry's eyes light up, the emerald pools sparkling.

"I know just the person."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I don't want to call my friends

They might wake me from this dream"*

"Can you stop that infernal racket?" Draco admonished, glaring at the bathroom door. "I can hear your bloody screeching all the way out here!"

"Oh, do shut up Malfoy. It's only singing," Hermione shouted in retort.

The things I put up with she mentally sighed, towel-drying her hair before the mirror. Caring for Malfoy had made for a long, exhausting night and the sticky feel of perspiration had begun to bug the internal perfectionist to the point of squirming in her own filth. Hermione would not stand for that; after ascertaining Malfoy slept comfortably in the bed, she snuck off to a shower. Who knew the bugger was such a light sleeper. Besides, how in the world did he hear me? I only sung a few soft bars. Merlin, he's going to hold this one over my head now.

Hermione emerged relaxed and refreshed, crossing to the French doors and pushing them open. A light breeze swept in, teasing her damp curls. The sunlight fell over her face, bringing the cinnamon orbs to a delightful sparkle. Draco lay watching her, unable to avert his gaze. She just seemed so graceful, so beautiful, so natural, as if she belonged in this room playing nursemaid; but she was the kidnapped heroine, the best mate of Boy Wonder and his Pal the Pauper, number one contender for top spot at Hogwarts since first year. I blame the blood loss for these mad ravings he inwardly groaned, slipping a hand over his face in frustration.

"Don't you have anything else to do than prance around while a bloke's trying to sleep?"

"Well, pardon me, my dear sweet husband," Hermione shot back, turning to pin him with a glare. "I'm so sorry my mere presence disturbs you. Shall I make myself invisible then? And carry out all your Death Eater duties while you lie in bed recuperating from the fatal wound your loving father bestowed?"

"You don't know anything," he growled, shooting up on the divan. A grimace flashed in his countenance, but he proceeded to ignore the discomfort. "Keep your bloody nose out of my affairs Granger."

"Well, that's all fine and dandy Malfoy; I'd love to keep 'My bloody nose' as you call it far away from your personal business. But I can't. You've gone and kidnapped me into it. You've dragged me to a foreign country, in a magnificent mansion with its beauty and peace and all the romantic airs and...and...and now all this!" she cried waving her hands at Malfoy.

Malfoy raised a speculative eyebrow.

"Don't look at me in that tone! This is all your fault! Everything! From those blasted confusing meetings for the past few months to this right now! You're insufferable Malfoy, and I can't stand this anymore!"

With that exclamation, Hermione stormed out onto the balcony and curled up in one of the chairs. Tears trailed silently down her cheeks. She would not give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing her in such a vulnerable state. Angrily, she swiped at her eyes, staring defiantly out over the grounds in an attempt to will the frustration and confusion away. What possessed me to say all of that to the git? Why did I have to open my mouth? Why?

Swirls of concern, sympathy, fear, relief, confusion and pain all formed an enigmatic conundrum pounding away inside her skull, bringing about a headache the size of England. What had Malfoy done to her? How could she let one stupid prat make her feel so uncomfortable with her own thoughts? Something in her had unraveled last night. Finding Malfoy near death, on the floor struck some chord deep within, opened some locked door, and unleashed a tsunami of feelings, all with the purpose to leave her confounded. Was it possible Malfoy had begun to appear...human? A fellow being with pain, loneliness, a certain degree of vulnerability?

"Granger, I..." a low voice drifted to her.

Hermione refused to turn her head and face him.

"You shouldn't be up and about. You'll cause further damage."

"Ouch, that was a jab right in the heart," he chuckled lightly.

"That's not what I was referring to," Hermione sighed. "I meant your--"

"I know what you meant. Say it with me Granger: sarcasm."

Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"I feel fine, so quit being pissy. I'll do as I please," Malfoy huffed, walking over and gingerly sitting in another lounge chair. He reached out, fingers tracing her cheek, gently thumbing the wet droplets.

"Don't cry," he commanded softly.

"I'm not," Hermione huffed, her voice strangely affected by his touch.

"You're not very good at lying, you know."

Hermione admitted defeat and faced the former Slytherin. A smidgen of concern sat in his usually mercurial steel depths. A small smile tugged at her lips. What in the name of Merlin is Malfoy doing to me?

"So, are you hungry for a bit of breakfast?" Hermione inquired, trying her best to evade further questioning. A change in topic was in direly needed. Malfoy nodded in compliance.

"Good, I'll go down to the kitchens and see about getting a tray," Hermione announced in a rush, standing up and making her way through the bedroom.

"That won't be necessary, I feel well enough to join our fellow guests at the table," Malfoy called, effectively halting Hermione on the spot. She spun around.

"But--"

"Don't argue with me, luv," he commanded striding past her, albeit in a fashion a fraction less domineering than his characteristic swagger.

All Hermione could do was follow.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Please?" begged Elizabeth, lower lip slightly protruded in a pout. Ron sighed in defeat.

"Fine. Just a quick one."

"Yay!" Elizabeth sat up on the couch, closing her eyes in anticipation.

She released a low moan as Ron worked out the knots in her shoulders. Her head slumped forward, blonde locks falling over her face.

"Dear God, I think I'm in love," she whispered lazily.

"Really?" asked Ron, slightly bemused.

"Yes, with your hands."

"Joy," Ron grumbled.

"Don't be such a silly boy; I love more than just your hands."

Ron stopped momentarily. Elizabeth leaned back, tilting her chin up to look the youngest male Weasley in the eye.

"I love your freckles, your nose, your humor, you in your entirety, your nice ass..."

Ron chuckled, kissing her forehead.

"I never thought I'd say this, but Elizabeth, I think I'm in love with you too."

Elizabeth's eyes watered and she turned around and enveloped Ron in a hug. The two kissed, Ron slowly pushing Elizabeth back down on the sofa.

The door to the house flew open and a particularly temperamental Harry stormed in, the lovely Ginny calmly in tow.

"That's going to have to wait."

"Harry, what's going on? And Gin? Cor, what're you doing here?"

"Never mind that Ron, we've more pressing issues to deal with."

"Like what?" Elizabeth interjected, standing from the couch.

"Like a little information about that 'Flu Remedy'. I believe you have a few things to share, Miss Ashton."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hermione bit her lip as she took her seat at the dining table, eyes trained on Malfoy. Having thrown a black button up over himself as they left the suite, the guests were none the wiser to the enormous gaping hole in Malfoy's chest. But Hermione knew better; the slightly pallid tint to his cheeks broadcasted his discomfort. Malfoy was quite the actor, sitting down easily and picking up conversation with the elderly French lady seated to his right.

" 'Ow are zee expectant parents, hmm?" she inquired.

"Quite well," Draco replied politely, beaming appropriately. "And how are you this wonderful morning, madame...?"

"Madame Pierrot* and I am fine, merci," she smiled.

"Mrs. Dantés," a deep voice called. Hermione, remembering that was her, looked up expectantly.

"Ah, Mr. Johnson! Pleasure to see you!"

"Glad to see you're looking well," the old gentleman replied, pulling out the chair for his wife.

"How do you feel dear? You look a little peaky. Any dreadful morning sickness yet?" Mrs. Johnson asked concernedly.

Hermione nodded, acting her fabricated part.

"Oh you poor thing!" Mrs. Johnson exclaimed, leaning over her husband, whispering in Hermione's ear, "I know a sweet little potion that'll do away with it for the day."

Hermione smiled her thanks, and began a discussion of her own with the couple.

"Ooo, don't you think this breakfast looks yummy, Tony?" the blonde woman cried to her husband as she plopped down across from Draco.

"Yeah hon," the sandy-brown haired man mumbled, picking up a mug of coffee.

"Oh, how are you feeling?" the blonde interrupted Hermione.

"Fine, thank you," Hermione replied calmly.

"That's good. Oh! I just remembered! Silly me, I forgot to introduce myself the other night. I'm Aileen Michaels and this is my husband Tony," the blonde said happily.

"Hermione and Draco Dantés," Hermione smiled.

The maids marched out of the kitchen carrying hoards of silver trays topped with every breakfaster's delights: toasts piled high with a multitude of jam jars nestled beside the stack, bowls of steaming oatmeal and plates of fresh eggs and sausage. Once everyone was served, the entire table tucked into their delicious meal continuing their friendly chatter.

"Monsieur Luigi, did the gardens meet your approval?" Mr. Johnson inquired of the Uncle Vernon look-a-like.

"Sí, signor," the burly man replied in a thick Italian accent. "Such a beautiful array, no?"

"Gardens?" Hermione inquired. "If you are referring to the grounds leading up to the entrance..."

"Oh, no, no. The gardens in rear de La Masion. Quite a sight for eyes!" Signor Luigi replied. "You would enjoy them greatly, signora."

"Yes, Mr. Dantés should take you there today!" exclaimed Mrs. Johnson.

Hermione smiled sweetly at Draco. "Please darling? Can we go? They sound so fantastically romantic," she pleaded, pouting like any new wife would.

"Of course luv, whatever your fancy," Draco replied, taking her hand and placing a kiss on the knuckle.

The ladies of the table "awwwed" as the gentlemen nodded their heads in approval. And the Oscar goes to...Hermione mused mentally.

Once breakfast had been satisfactorily consumed, the guests of La Maison de Roses spilt into their respective groups; Hermione and Draco followed the Johnsons and the Michaels to the entrance of the mansion as Madame Pierrot and Signor Luigi took to the parlor for further morning gossip.

The fresh French country air filled Hermione's lungs as she stepped outside on Draco's arm, the sun's rays providing gentle warmth from blue skies that morning. The group traipsed over the cobblestone path that led around back. Aileen giggled as she dragged her husband along, pointing energetically to various statues and rosebushes lining the pathway. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson spoke quietly ahead, the light shining off the lady's pearls when she laughed. Draco and Hermione walked in silence, Hermione taking in her surroundings and Malfoy's gaze straight forward.

"How's your chest?" Hermione asked quietly, breaking their silence.

"I told you before, I'm fine," he retorted in a clipped turn.

"Just asking, pardon me."

Neither spoke the remainder of the walk.

"Ah, here we are," announced Mr. Johnson.

Aileen let out a gasp. "I love it!"

Hermione gazed in awe at the entrance. A green archway stood atop Grecian pillars, bushes of roses sitting on Ionian columns lined the pathways inside. The group spilt into couples, each taking a different trail. Aileen skipped to the left, dragging Tony by the arm. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson continued straightaway, through a wall of bushes. Draco and Hermione turned down the right.

As she and Draco made their way down the footpath, Hermione could scarcely believe the various rose bushes trimmed into elegant shapes. A manifold of tulips, lilies, daisies and button poms lie in colorful beds of purples, reds, yellows and whites. The greenery was freshly cut and the buds pruned to perfection. It was truly a lover's paradise. The two came to a pond, constructed of marble in a circular fashion. Crystal clear water filled its depths, creating the illusion of a mirror. Vases of white and red roses stood in periodic points around the pool, stray petals lying neatly on the cool marble deck.

Hermione released Draco's arm and stepped closer, admiring the beauty and splendor. She turned to look at Draco, but was instead greeted with a pair of warm lips covering her own.

End of Chapter 9!

Notes: * 1. Lyrics are from Dido's "Here with Me"

* 2. Madame Pierrot is Jane Eyre's French teacher at Lowood in Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre, my latest reading choice. I could not resist adding a piece of the story; I love the book thus far into it!