Rating:
15
House:
Schnoogle
Ships:
Draco Malfoy/Hermione Granger
Characters:
Draco Malfoy Harry Potter Hermione Granger
Genres:
Drama Angst
Era:
Harry and Classmates During Book Seven
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire Order of the Phoenix Half-Blood Prince
Stats:
Published: 11/28/2006
Updated: 03/15/2007
Words: 148,035
Chapters: 51
Hits: 126,771

Draco: Phoenix Rising

Cheryl Dyson

Story Summary:
Dumbledore is dead, Snape is a traitor and Draco is a Death Eater, but is he really cut out for a position on Voldemort's team?

Chapter 19 - Trains and Dust

Chapter Summary:
Draco and Hermione take a little trip.
Posted:
12/19/2006
Hits:
2,443


Chapter Nineteen - Trains and Dust

Hermione awoke feeling deliciously warm and content. She dreamed that someone was curled next to her, cradling her in sensual heat. One muscular arm was thrown across her waist and her hand rested gently atop his. She sighed, believing she could almost feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back and the soft whisper of his breath upon her hair.

Her eyes snapped open. It was no dream!

She instantly recognized the wallpaper that she'd viewed thousands of times and was somewhat relieved to find herself in her own bed, but it was difficult to accept that she wasn't alone. A horrifying suspicion crept over her and she ever so carefully tried to move herself away from the man holding her so intimately. His arm slid across her waist centimeter by centimeter and she began to hope she could free herself without awakening him. Then she was halted by her hair. Bloody hell, he was laying on it!

Her movement must have stirred him, for he thankfully rolled over and she was free. She sat up and scooted away before turning to view her bed partner. Draco Malfoy. She was both relieved and mortified. What the hell was he doing in her bed? And where were her jeans? Was she under an Imperius Curse the night before? Her last memory was of trying to stand under Neville's dead weight, and then Death Eaters Apparating...

She looked at Draco's platinum hair tousled across her pillow and nearly rubbed her eyes at the incongruity of the image. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined him in her bed!

She quietly scrambled to the foot and climbed off the bed, praying he didn't awaken. Hermione glanced at him as she grabbed her dressing gown from the hook on the back of the door. She shrugged it on and wondered again what had happened the previous night. Almost, she woke Malfoy to ask him, but she was utterly unwilling to face his penetrating silver eyes and knowing smirk at the moment.

She needed to contact Tonks. Where was her wand? She checked around the bed and thankfully spotted the tip poking out from under her vacated pillow. Damn. She carefully reached across Draco to grasp the wand. She straightened and stepped back. Unwillingly, she looked at him. The blankets were bunched around his waist, leaving his upper torso bare. She noticed the hair on his chest was so pale it was nearly invisible. His skin really was flawless and she remembered the satisfying feel of his body pressed against hers...

She quickly yanked some clothing out of her drawers and fled. She ran downstairs, feeling as though she'd entered an alternate dimension. Everything seemed strange and disorienting. She had only spent one day in Draco's constant presence and her emotions had gone from one extreme to the other where he was concerned. She had gotten used to him as a source of steady and unchanging irritation. Now, she couldn't predict what he would do from one moment to the next. What had possessed him to go after Neville, after his determined speech vowing to do the opposite?

A flutter across the lounge caught her eye and she saw Hedwig land in the open window. Goodness, she had never replied to Harry! She felt instantly guilty.

"Wait awhile longer, Hedwig," she said. She cast the first part of the Patronus spell and crafted a message to Tonks. She hoped they had made it out of Malfoy Manor in one piece.

How is Neville? Where are you? Is there any news? I'm fine, by the way, and safe for the moment.

She finished the spell and retreated to the kitchen to put on a kettle of water. She prepared a strong cup of tea and waited for a reply. Thankfully, it didn't take long.

We're at St. Mungos. Neville is still unconscious, as is Augusta. I'm fine, except that Remus is not speaking to me. I didn't mention your friend in my report.

St. Mungos. Thank God. Tonks and Neville had gotten out. And Malfoy had pulled her out. She jotted a quick message to Harry and sent Hedwig away. She took a hot shower, dressed, and returned to the kitchen to start breakfast, welcoming the chore to take her mind off the person sleeping in her bed. It worked nicely until that person walked into the kitchen wearing only his black trousers and looking like a disheveled Greek god. She felt her pulse skyrocket and knew it was going to be a long day.

* * * * *

Draco woke the instant Hermione stirred. He was astonished to find himself snugly wrapped around her and wasn't certain how to gracefully untangle himself. He heard her sigh softly and was thankful she was still asleep. Her legs were pressed against the length of his and her silk-clad buttocks rested firmly in his lap, a fact he became cognizant of with a jolt. His face was nestled in her hair and he recognized the scent, suddenly. She smelled like apples. He was surprised at how perfectly she fit into the curve of his body; as if she'd been made for that purpose. Unable to move without waking her, he relaxed and enjoyed the feel of her snuggled against him, figuring he might as well bask in the calm before the storm.

He knew the exact instant her eyes opened. In less than a heartbeat, she was taut as a bow string. He was amused at her distress as he imagined the thoughts spinning through her mind. The amusement lasted only until she started to move. The minute caress of her satiny skin set his nerve endings on fire. He realized his body didn't care that she was Muggle-born. It only knew she was female, soft, warm, and in precisely the right position. It was too much to bear. Before she noticed the increased pace of his heart rate and the stirring of another part of his anatomy, he stretched and rolled away from her, feigning sleep.

She scampered off the bed like a frightened kitten. He watched through his lashes as she snatched on her dressing gown and then leaned across him to retrieve her wand. He almost smiled at the effort he put into not touching him. He closed his eyes while she snatched up clothing and departed.

When she was gone, he rolled onto his back and propped his hands behind his head. "I slept with Hermione Granger," he mused. Two days ago, the thought would have horrified him. Now it was troubling, but definitely not horrifying. Potter and Weasley would blow their tops--not that Granger would ever divulge that tidbit of knowledge to them. But, Draco would. In fact, he marveled that he hadn't thought of it before. It would be excellent revenge on Potter. She would be putty in Draco's hands, if he put his mind to it. He wondered if Potter or the Weasel had ever seen her in the state of undress Draco had... Probably not. The idiots didn't seem to notice what was right under their noses.

He heard her moving about downstairs, and then water running. He dozed until he smelled food cooking and figured it was time to rise. He slid out of bed and tugged his trousers on, wishing he'd thought to grab some clothing from his room the night before.

He wandered into the kitchen to see the table laden with an enormous amount of food. Hermione stared at him for a long moment, looking wary and nervous. He smiled carefully, allowing no hint of a smirk to cross his features, for once.

"Are we entertaining the Ministry of Magic this morning? Or a Muggle army?" he asked. She seemed to shake herself.

"I... thought you might be hungry," she said lamely.

"I am," he admitted. He sat down at the table and helped himself to bacon, sausages, scones with jam, eggs and potatoes, fruit with clotted cream, and plenty of hot tea. She nibbled and watched him carefully while he ate with gusto. He knew there were questions she wanted to ask him, but she made no comment. Likely because the answers were all obvious. Yes, he had Apparated them here. Yes, he had undressed her. Yes, he had climbed into bed with her. Yes, he had wrapped himself around her as they slept. Yes, he would do it again, and yes, he was thinking about carrying her upstairs right now and finishing what he could have started this morning... He coughed and took a large gulp of tea.

"You made all of this without magic?" he asked, dragging his mind to a safer subject. She nodded and he was impressed in spite of himself. If he had to live without magic for a week, he'd likely starve to death. When he was finished, he sat back with a satisfied sigh.

"Well, Granger, what's the plan for today? Any more of your minions need rescuing?"

She scowled. "They're not minions. We call them friends. As would you, if you had any."

"From what I've seen, friends are rather a headache. They seem to get into quite a lot of trouble."

She actually laughed. "So they do. But they tend to be worth it, in the long run. If you're done eating, I'll introduce you to a fabulous Muggle invention."

"Red silk knickers?" he asked hopefully.

She blushed scarlet and seemed unable to find words for a moment.

"No," she choked finally. "It's called a shower."

He chuckled and followed her upstairs. On the way, he caught another whiff of apple and reflected dryly that it would have been better if she smelled like coconut or strawberry, or some other scent he hated. It would have to be apple; his favorite.

In the bathroom, she turned on the water for him, showed him the controls, and pulled the curtain around the tub. She pointed out the towels and turned to leave. She halted in the doorway and looked at him seriously.

"Thank you for saving Neville," she whispered. "And me. You were brilliant."

She hurried out, leaving him bemused and strangely pleased. He tried to recall if anyone had ever before called him brilliant.

He had to admit, she was right about the shower. He'd have to mention it to his father if they managed to stop the Dark Lord from destroying everything on the planet. When he exited the bath, he spent some time in front of the mirror transfiguring his clothes--a chore he hated because it was difficult to get the fit exactly right. Although, he reflected, Hermione hadn't had any trouble when she'd been changing his outfits in Dover...

He turned his black shirt grey, but left it silk, since it was easier to leave the base material as it was. The trousers he left alone. He pulled his boots on and went back downstairs to find her pouring over a book. He nodded approvingly. That was the Granger he was used to seeing.

"I thought we could go to the Riddle house, as we had planned yesterday," she said. "I made some calls while you were in the shower and the simplest way to get to Little Hangleton is by train. We could Apparate blind, but I hate doing that in daylight. Too much chance of being spotted by Muggles, and we definitely don't need Ministry involvement when we're looking for Horcruxes. If we Apparate to King's Cross Station in London, we'll be able to catch the northbound Muggle train that leaves in twenty minutes."

She was all business again, which was something of a relief. It would be easier to concentrate on their objective if she behaved like a human reference book.

The trip to Great Hangleton went as planned. The Muggle train ride was similar to every other train ride Draco had ever had, except the food and drink on the trolley was quite different. Hermione bought him a beverage called Coca Cola that could easily have become Draco's favorite drink. It was sweet and bubbly and excellent. It disturbed him slightly to have discovered two worthy Muggle inventions in one day.

Hermione had transfigured his trousers into black jeans and his Death Eater robes/trench coat into a cream-colored jacket with a handy wand pocket. She wore darker blue jeans than the previous day and a button-up blouse of emerald green. It was an excellent color on her, although he tried not to notice that. She had partially covered the blouse with a white cardigan--also for wand storage, most likely, as it was shaping up to be a pleasantly warm day.

They walked from Great Hangleton to Little Hangleton, pretending to be tourists. Hermione had slung a camera around her neck to add to the disguise, in case locals happened to ask questions. The Riddle house was in a sorry state of disrepair. The plants were overgrown all around it and the roof looked to be collapsing on one corner. Several windows were broken and it had likely become a refuge for local hoodlums.

"Should we try the back door?" she asked, eyeing the place apprehensively.

"You tell me," Draco said flippantly. "You Gryffindors are the experts at sneaking around and poking their noses where they don't belong."

"We are not!"

He looked at her pointedly. She ignored him and followed the overgrown path around the side of the house, pushing brambles and weeds aside as she went. The back door appeared locked, but a quick Alohomora fixed that. The door gaped opened with a rusty creak. Hermione looked at him somewhat nervously.

"Shall we?" she asked.

"After you," he said brightly. Frankly, after raiding Voldemort's headquarters to rescue a captured Gryffindor, he thought Horcrux hunting was a positive lark.

They walked from room to room in the dark, dust-covered, rickety house. The roof had leaked in several places, rotting floorboards and making their footing treacherous.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Draco asked, nudging aside the broken remains of a table. The house had apparently been stripped of everything valuable, but several broken or worthless items remained.

"I don't know. If Voldemort hid a Horcrux here, we need to think like him in order to determine where he might have put it."

"No problem. Think like a raving, psychotic, megalomaniac freak that recently returned from the dead."

"Aside from the 'recently returned from the dead' portion, you should have no difficulty," she said.

He aimed a light stinging hex at her buttocks. She yelped and then laughed.

"All right, I suppose you're not quite raving."

He raised his wand threateningly and she snatched the end of it to wrench it out of his hand. He didn't let go and they had a playful tug-of-war that ended when he yanked the wand sharply, throwing her against him. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and squeezed.

"Stop tormenting me," he warned, looking down into her upturned face. She had a smudge of dirt across one cheek and her hair was hopelessly tangled. She laughed and pressed the tip of her wand under his chin.

"I have six years of torment to make up for," she said and tapped gently.

"I thought it was against the Gryffindor credo to hold a grudge," he admonished.

"It's my grudge and I shall hold it as long as I like."

He grinned and squeezed her again. She gasped.

"You look like a ragamuffin," he commented. It was true. A damnably attractive ragamuffin with her head thrown back and her eyes sparkling like that. He thought about kissing her.

"I won't even tell you what you look like," she said dryly. "Now, let me go. We're here for a reason, remember?"

"You started it," he breathed and began to lower his mouth to hers. They both froze at a crashing sound on the floor below. He released her with reluctance. She turned quickly and headed down to investigate the sound. He cursed softly and followed.

"Damned Gryffindor luck," he muttered.