Safety in the Storm

Safety in the Storm Chapter Four

She walks in Beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

--Lord Byron "She Walks in Beauty"

Welcome to Deluded

The walk from the porch to the bedroom was a shadow-shrouded blur. Only when the door was shut between them did her actions--her thoughts--come into painfully sharp focus.

Hermione collapsed against the door under the weight of her shock, completely stunned and amazed at herself. Surprised at the rate her heart was racing, she brought her fingertips hesitantly to her lips, touching them as if to make sure she had really done that.

She had kissed Draco Malfoy.

Of course, she hadn't intended to. It had been his eyes that were her undoing. One minute they were cold, hard steel and the next, a violent storm of emotions. She had gotten a rare peek at him, the real him, and her breath had caught in her throat.

Saying thank you, she realized, wasn't enough. The turmoil in his eyes, the self-loathing, proved that saving her had changed his life somehow. How could a mere two words convey the immense gratitude she felt? So instead, she stepped forward, inches away from him, fully intending to simply peck him on the cheek, but something had happened.

Maybe it was the way he smelled of tangy sweat and allspice, an alluring scent so unfamiliar to her. Harry seemed to constantly smell like fresh rain while Ron had a musky odor to him. Both were calming due to the familiarity of them. Draco, on the other hand, was new, exotic and enticing. It had made her dizzy and she had gasped for breath.

Or it could have been the way his tongue had chosen that exact moment to dart out to moisten his lips.

Either way, all thought had been driven from her mind and she forgot who was standing before her, content with the smell of him... the way his breath tickled her nose, and those intense and surprisingly warm eyes looking down at her. She bypassed his cheek and landed ethereally on his newly moistened lips.

He hadn't moved, hadn't pushed her away and for one fleeting moment, she thought he might even have responded, but then she remembered that this wasn't some random, knee-weakening hero.

This was Draco Malfoy.

The boy good girls were never supposed to kiss.

Groaning, she slid to the floor. It was official. She was certifiably insane. Either that or a glutton for punishment. Neither one was very appealing.

But she couldn't help replaying the moment over in her mind, unwillingly analyzing her actions, her emotions. She had to admit, she had felt a surge of heat that flowed into her the moment their lips had touched. Damn hormones.

Sighing loudly, Hermione banged her head back against the door desperate to get her mind on more practical things. Like how Harry was probably worried sick about her or how she was going to have to redo all that work she lost when she had incinerated her journal. Anything but on the man in the other room.

Her mind obviously did not care one bit what she wanted though because she was again plagued by images of his tongue running over his lips and then over hers as he pulled her body tightly to his, melding them together, saturating them in a heat so--

Cor blimey, now she was fantasizing about him. She now was suffering from a sexual awareness of the man who tortured her adolescent years for the sheer, twisted pleasure of it.

Bloody hell.

But she had no one to blame but herself. This was what happened when life became hectic and sex became little more than a distant memory. All of a sudden, little things which would have driven her mad before, became irresistibly edible. She groaned as she pictured his sexy blue-gray eyes, his totally kissable lips, and his hands that could cause orgasms just by looking the way they did.

Oh, for the love of Quidditch. Someone please put her out of her misery before it got any worse. Time for bed. Time to forget about--well, everything.

As she practically crawled to the mattress, Hermione was stunned to feel the dryness of her mouth. Shivering, she attempted to ignore the tiny tremors running through her body and tried to convince herself that it was nothing.

The mattress wasn't as comfortable as it had been before and she found herself restlessly changing positions every few seconds. She was disgusted with the images that continued to barrage her mind and was even more disgusted with herself for liking them. She couldn't believe that her overactive imagination was already producing such vivid fantasies--

In frustration, she kicked her feet violently and shoved the pillow tightly over her face, barely suppressing the urge to scream. She needed to forget. Needed to now, before she faced him again tomorrow morning.

But it was no use and she knew it. She felt the cold shiver of need flow through her body and she clutched tightly to the blankets.

The seed had already been planted.

*****

She kissed me.

SHE kissed ME.

The words echoed in his mind as he stood there frozen. But soon the shock wore off and was replaced by an intense anger.

Who the hell was she to make him lose his breath? She was a nobody. Sure, she was pure and good and noble and all those things he had admired her for, but who was she, to come into his life and make him feel?

The questions burned in his mind as he stalked from one side of the small porch to the other. He knew he must have looked ridiculous taking two strides to one side simply to turn to go to the other, but he was too busy fuming to care. Draco was not new to the game; he had recognized the emotions in her eyes, the expression on her face. He had seen it many times before.

She wanted him.

And that terrified him.

Instead of taking advantage of the situation as he normally have would, he froze up as an unfamiliar shiver coursed through him, giving him a feeling that he was at her mercy.

Draco was not used to being at anyone's mercy.

He was rightfully accustomed to getting what he wanted which was perhaps why she intimidated him so. Because he had the vague notion that anything she wanted, he would give to her.

The sound of flapping wings could be heard above him and Draco peered into the darkness, grateful for a distraction. The regal looking condor landed on the rail in front of him, puffing his chest out as his narrow eyes looked Draco over.

Personally, the ugly condor had always given him the heebie-jeebies but that was the Yanks for you. Always have to be different.

As he removed the scroll, the condor flapped his wings impatiently, hitting Draco's head a few times in the process.

He glared menacingly at him, not caring that he was a bird, not a person. "You do that again Toploftical and I will be eating you for a midnight snack. I'm sure you taste just like chicken."

He barely had hold of the letter before Toplo sprung into the air. He hoped Jonathan wouldn't be requiring a response tonight.

Unrolling the note, he was surprised to find the familiar handwriting forming a letter that was fairly short and concise. Well, short and concise in the world of Jonathan Pierce. He was well known for his infamously long letters.

To the-man-who's-intelligence-is-in-question,

Boss man wrote me about your predicament to see if I could stop you from killing the poor girl but by the time I got to Damien's and saw the confusion and havoc you caused, I realized you had chosen one hell of a time to develop a conscience. To steal one of your favorite phrases, YOU BLOODY GIT! I think I may have salvaged your cover, though God knows you deserve to be found out for making such a rash decision without finding me first. May he curse your first-born son with impotency... or at least stupidity. See that? I'm too soft to even wish a proper hex on you.

Draco snorted in disbelief but continued reading.

I told Damien that the girl could have easily stolen your wand (despite all your delusions of grandeur, you aren't as kick ass as you would like to believe), put an obliviate charm on Tierney (which is surprisingly strong, by the way. Of course, I broke it in twenty minutes but no one needs to know that) and took off with you in hot pursuit.

Who knows if he actually believes me. If you're as predictable as I think you are, then I'll be seeing you in a day or so. Damien is sending me on a brief trip to the US but afterwards I'll help you sort all this out. Knowing you, you haven't a clue what to do.

Just don't do anything stupider.

--Jonathan

As much as he hadn't wanted to bring his quote unquote friend into this fiasco, he was glad that help was on the way. If he had to be alone with Granger much longer, he would do something he immensely regretted.

With a wave of his wand and a whispered spell, the note burst into flames and the ash was carried off into the breeze.

*****

Harry walked into the research corridor of the ministry with what he hoped was an intimidating demeanor. For the past hour and a half since he had been contacted about Hermione's disappearance, he had been given nothing but the run-around. The aurors would tell him nothing except that Hermione had been nabbed from her office early that morning.

Knowing full well that no one in the room up ahead would be pleased to see him, he took a preparatory breath and stalked up to the person on guard. The kid was young, no doubt fresh from the academy and was obviously trying to put up an unaffected air about him. Harry felt guilty and a bit nervous for what he was about to do, but he had no choice.

"Excuse me sir, but this area is sealed off to the public," the boy said as Harry tried to pass him. Turning, he glared at the kid.

"I am not the public," Harry said as menacingly as he could muster. "I am Harry Potter and my best friend is the woman who is missing. You will let me through." He was proud of himself. His voice didn't rise once but became dark, edged in ice. The kid darted his eyes around nervously and took a step back.

"S-sorry, sir. Um, go ahead."

Harry stormed past him with a nod, trying not to let his sigh of relief be heard. Without hesitation, he turned the corner and stepped into the chaos that was a crime scene.

Her office was a mess.

Papers from her in-baskets were scattered across the desk. Her chair was tipped over and ink splatters and streaks covered the walls as if someone in an angry fit threw the bottles against the off-white walls. Her worktable, usually impeccably neat, was a messy jumble of scattered papers and potions.

Harry got the impression that if Hermione saw this place like this, she would hyperventilate.

Even the photos on the walls, which progressively showed Hermione, Ron and himself through the years of their friendship hadn't gone untouched. Those that were still attached to the wall were now hung crookedly as if the person who had done it could not stand to see anything neatly in its place.

He was numb. He could only stare in detached horror at the sight.

And then he began to feel. Pain, mind numbing, shocking pain assaulted him as he stared at a photo of the three of them smiling and hugging. It had been taken the year before at Harry's twenty-sixth birthday party. He had known something was up instantly. They both had been trying to avoid him all day which meant, of course, that they had a secret. Hermione was like an open book; he could always tell exactly what she was thinking. And Ron, well, Ron never COULD keep a secret, so he knew that they were doing something utterly ridiculous to celebrate.

The surprise party had been huge with everyone from Dumbledore to Harry's ex-girlfriend, Sarah, in attendance. The picture showed Ron giving him a brotherly hug and pat on the back and then Hermione was squeezing him so tightly that he remembered feeling as though he might pop beneath her loving embrace.

She hadn't even been missing more than a few hours and yet he ached for her. Needed her close to him.

"Potter, you're not supposed to be here," a gruff voice said from off to the right. The auror who voiced it was kneeling on the ground glaring at him through familiarly guarded eyes. He had hoped he wouldn't have to directly deal with Blaise Zabini today, but he supposed it was his luck. The man beside Blaise didn't even flinch, simply continuing to mutter unintelligible words and hand his wand pointing at a few dark splotches on the floor.

Oh, good God. It looked like blood. Harry felt the blood rush from his head.

"Did you really expect me to stay at home, waiting?" he asked, eyes not straying from the horrific scene below him.

Blaise rolled his eyes and stood up, dusting off his robes. "No, that was obviously asking too much. Look, I know you are hurting but you being here is doing nothing to help." He was standing too close to Harry, his peppermint breath puffing right in his face. It added to the intimidating feeling the man's domineering size invoked in Harry and he wondered if it was calculated to do just that.

"No!" The vehemence with which the word was launched was part passion and part fear. Much to his credit, Blaise revealed no visible reaction. The man on the floor, though, dropped his wand with a clatter while others turned to look at him.

Blaise sighed and rubbed his eyes with a grimace. "I'm not going to delude myself into thinking that, if I have you escorted out of here, you won't try to butt your way in some other way and will no doubt get yourself or Ms. Granger killed."

Speechless, Harry blinked at him. If nothing else, Blaise was correct. He sucked in a hopeful breath. "Does this mean you're going to tell me what's going on?"

Blaise snorted and ushered Harry back out the door and into the next office. "I will tell you as much as I am permitted to. Don't get me wrong, Potter. I do not like you. I'm doing this because you had the potential to be a great auror and I would rather have you helping me than going behind my back." He held a parchment pad in one hand which he looked down at, obviously consulting it for the details of the case. Blaise looked up at him and scanned him intently for a moment as if judging Harry's emotional stability.

Harry waved a hand in annoyance. "I'm fine. Just tell me what happened to her."

Nodding, Blaise gestured for him to sit. He complied and looked up expectantly.

"The nearest we can discern is that Ms. Granger has been experimenting on perfecting a long lasting energy charm. Do you know anything about this?"

He shook his head. "No, she doesn't really talk about work with me."

The other man nodded and Harry wondered why he had bothered asking. He had already answered all their questions earlier and he would bet his broom that Blaise had the entire interview recorded in that parchment pad of his.

"As far as we know, yesterday she tested a charm on a man named Marcus Hess and sent him to the infirmary. It is believed that she was taken for details regarding that charm."

"How do you know that? If you know that, then you must have a pretty good idea who's behind this."

"We know because Hess entered this building with an unidentified man this morning exactly twenty minutes before Ms. Granger entered with her password through the north 4e door. Hess stupefied all the guards in this building and went upstairs to the research sector. We searched the entire building and Granger's is the only office that is ransacked. We can't find any sort of reference to her work, either in the office or in the papers scattered by her bag. And then we found this."

Blaise pulled a small satchel out of his pocket and loosened the drawstring so Harry could look inside. At first, he had no idea what he was looking at but then the odor of soot and ash wafted up to him. It was a smell he had grown much accustomed to, having spent the majority of his adolescence next to a roaring fire, yet now it was nauseating. In the pit of his stomach, he could feel the wrongness, like a sickness.

"There is no physical or magical way of finding out what was once on these pages and I think that Marcus Hess knew that and took Ms. Granger instead."

Harry sat in a contemplative silence. Before him was a puzzle, a problem to be solved; yet... it didn't fit properly. He couldn't tell whether he was missing pieces of the puzzle, or if he was using the wrong pieces altogether. All he knew was that it didn't fit. And then it dawned on him.

"There's someone else, isn't there. Someone who Hess is working for." The moment he saw the flicker of nervousness in Blaise's eyes, he knew it was true, no matter how much the other man would try to deny it.

Blaise must've known this because he sighed and sat down on the edge of the desk. "This has nothing to do with silly school rivalries or personal disagreements, but I can't answer that. This goes way above both of our heads."

Harry felt his eyes widen and his breathing become shallow.

"Cor, this war's not over yet, is it. There's another big bad in town and he has you guys running scared. Is it another rise of Death Eaters?" He looked up at the ceiling, thoughts and images swirling in his mind making a jumbled mess. "If I had known--" He shook his head sharply. "I want to help."

Blaise seemed taken aback. "Help? As in becoming an auror, becoming one of us? Or are you still looking for all the glory... the aurors are still not your own personal army to order around. I don't care who you are or what you've done--"

Harry cut him off. What happened in the past, happened. And in the past, Harry wished it would stay. Besides, Blaise knew what was going on. If he wanted to get Hermione back, he needed more information. "I want to be an auror. I want to work with you."

"Okay," Blaise said cautiously, offering a hand. As Harry shook it firmly, before he lost his nerve and backed down, Blaise grinned wryly. "But I'm still not telling you anything."

*****

The morning came without any painful repercussions, without the need to squint and, most importantly, without aches. It was just a normal morning. Hermione was more awake then she had been in a long time. A sunny yellow light cut through the crack in the tattered curtains and slashed its mark across the bleached pine floor. She watched particles of dust floating lazily in the beam... then let out a sigh as her stomach twinged.

How long had it been since she'd last eaten? How come she hadn't noticed it before?

But, as much as her stomach was protesting, she felt disgustingly filthy. Sure, Draco had magiked her and her clothes clean of dirt or blood (she tried to ignore the chills she got when she thought of how the blood had gotten there) but she still felt grimy and defiled and she desperately ached to be clean again.

Straightening her clothes and smoothing out her hair, she mentally made a checklist of priorities for the morning. First, she needed a shower. After that, food and a nice, soothing, life-preserving cup of coffee. Her eyes widened as she realized that more likely than not, Draco would never have even heard of coffee much less have a coffee maker. If worst came to worst, she could always try summoning some which could end up being potentially dangerous. The last thing she needed was to have hot coffee come flying at her again. A few months before, Harry had gone on a anti-caffeine kick and thrown out all the coffee grounds in the house to help Hermione be rid of her addiction. Out of desperation, she had summoned some and had gotten second-degree burns for her trouble.

Or she could try transfiguring water but even then she was hesitant. It always looked like coffee, even smelled like coffee, but no matter what she did it always tasted of cardboard and sawdust.

Much more depressed now, Hermione gathered herself together and headed for the shower. When she saw Draco Malfoy, she would simply pretend as if nothing had happened the night before. It would be easy as long as she stayed focused on her priorities: answers as to what the bloody hell was going on and, of course, coffee.

And not necessarily in that order.

*****

Draco leaned against the cool glass of the patio doors and gazed out into the gray morning. He heard the shower turn off and he shuffled tiredly to the couch. He had made a firm resolution the night before not to let her get to him again and he was determined to stick by it. No matter how she looked... wet.

The door behind him creaked open and his body stiffened as the smell of soap and steam wafted over to him. He would not let her get to him. Resolutely, he turned to face her, openly smirking at the way she instantly adopted the look of a deer caught in headlights. The world was frozen for a moment; her wide, doe eyes meeting his, and he cleared his throat, preparing to say something nasty. Anything to diminish the heat he felt from her gaze.

Instead, he found himself smiling wryly. "Are you okay? You're not blinking."

Okay. Not quite a stab at the jugular but he was willing to work on it. If anything, he was persistent.

"Food," was her blunt and articulate reply. He felt his smirk grow. So he had power over her as well. Shaking her head, she started to the kitchen. "I need food," she said again.

He heard her rummaging about and laid back on the couch waiting. He didn't have to for very long.

"Where is the food?" she called, her voice clearly irritated. The wind outside picked up and he couldn't make out her next words over the rustling and whistling of the blast.

Draco closed his eyes for a minute, listening. It was calming. When he opened them again, Hermione was standing over him, hands on hips, looking very cross. He couldn't help thinking that the fire in her eyes and the little crinkle in her forehead were insanely sexy.

Innocently, he looked up at her, if only to irk her more. "Can I help you with something?"

The blaze in her eyes burned brighter and he grinned.

"Are you working for the Ministry?" she demanded suddenly.

His grin faltered. Shit. He hadn't been expecting that.

"God, no," he growled, sitting up and scratching the back of his head. "The Ministry is impractical. Naively idealistic. No one in their right mind would want to work for them." He pushed up off the couch and leaned against the cold stones of the fireplace. He needed to put some distance between them.

Hermione huffed and Draco remembered belatedly that she worked for the Ministry. But she didn't comment on it. In fact, her face revealed confusion rather than annoyance. She obviously wasn't in the habit of having to hide her emotions. He could plainly read her.

"But then why did you--why am I here? Who ARE you working for?"

She was asking all the questions he would've asked if in the same situation, yet he couldn't help but feel a bit indignant. After all, he had saved her life. Couldn't she just be grateful?

He gritted his teeth. "I work for myself and you are here because otherwise you would be dead," he ground out, wondering why he felt the need to explain himself to her.

"But--"

He cut her off by kicking a piece of wood by the fireplace, making it splinter as it hit the wall.

"Drop it."

Hermione nodded meekly and pressed on her sinus. "I need coffee. Is there some place we can go?"

Slipping his wand from his fore-arm holster, he nodded. Without another glance at her, he apparated.

*****

He just left, just like that. Simply disappeared.

Bloody git.

Hermione curled up on the couch, mentally throwing around possible insults she could fling at him when he came back.

If he came back.

But of course he would. Why would he go through all the trouble of saving her if he were simply going to leave her to starve? The thought was only slightly comforting.

She had finally narrowed down her stinging remarks to two below the belt jabs, when she heard the distinctive *pop* of displaced air behind her. Much to her disappointment, all thought left her as an enormous styrofoam cup of coffee was thrust in her face. She wrenched off the lid, forgoing the sipper for direct access to her sweet ambrosia. As she gulped, she watched as Draco pulled an enormous amount of food out of the bag at his side, setting it down on the coffee table. But her attention was soon drawn to his face--more accurately, his lips--and at the carefree sort of grin on them as he watched her slurp noisily.

"You look different when you smile," she said softly, putting the empty cup down as she settled back into the couch.

"Different?" he questioned, leaning back on his heels as he crouched at the opposite end of the table. She was pleased to see that his eyes were still twinkling even though the smile had gone.

"Yes, different... younger..."

"Undeniably good looking? Sexiest man on the planet?" he chimed in, taking a noisy bite out of an apple and crossing to the other end of the couch.

Snorting, Hermione smiled. "Your over-developed sense of self worth hasn't been damaged at all, I see. Some things never change."

He met her eyes and she found that her breath was eluding her.

"And some things do," he said softly. She gasped as a finger gently traced the scar on the side of her neck. Did he know what happened? How could he know? The look in his eyes was impossible to read and she still hadn't found her breath. Touch, she realized, could be intoxicating and she felt her senses reel at the brief connection.

She thought she glimpsed something--guilt, maybe--in his eyes but just as she thought she might actually be able to see the real Draco, the masked expression was back, the guard was up, the door was shut.

He moved back to the edge of the couch and picked up a sandwich. Hermione was surprised at the comfortable silence that enveloped them as they ate. She quickly found herself trying to surreptitiously steal glances at him every once in a while and hoped he had not noticed.

"Can I go home today?" she asked softly, not out of curiosity but for something to say.

He sighed. "That's not a good idea. No doubt, your house is already being watched. You probably wouldn't even make it to the front door."

"What am I supposed to do then, huh? Stay here forever?" She knew her anger was unjustified but she couldn't help feeling irritable. "I bloody live with Harry Potter! How can I NOT be safer there than here?!"

"Welcome to Deluded, population Hermione Granger. On the left is Denial Avenue and to your right, we will be passing Illusion Way."

Hermione bit back a gasp at Draco's surprisingly playful sarcasm.

"This may come as news to you," he continued. "But Potter is not all-powerful. He is simply lucky."

That made her smile. "So you're saying that I'm safer with you than him?"

"Yes." The seriousness of his voice and countenance made her breath hitch.

"Your ego is getting too big for this room," she said, trying to ignore the pitter-patter of her heart. "Didn't you know I'm claustrophobic?"

They had finished eating by now and sat side by side on the worn cushions, Hermione painfully aware of their proximity to each other. She felt flushed from the heat radiating off him.

"And how would I know that? We were never friends in school."

"And whose fault was that?" The room was cold again, and she fought the chills that ran up her arms.

He put up his hands in mock defeat. "Hey, I was simply living up to the Malfoy name."

"And here I thought you were trying to live up to your FIRST name."

His eyebrows scrunched together in confusion and she felt an incredible urge to lean over and muss his hair as she did to Ron's twins.

"I was trying to be a dragon?" he asked quizzically.

She laughed. "No, you dolt. Draconian means cruel or severe."

"Oh."

"You mean, you didn't know?"

He stood and stretched. "What's that old adage? You learn something new every day? And anyway, I WAS trying to be a dragon." By the pouting tone of voice in which he said that sentence, Hermione expected him to be sticking his tongue out at her. He didn't.

Instead, he pulled his wand out of seemingly nowhere and bent down to fiddle with the unlit wood in the fireplace. They both let the silence sit there awhile.

"You know, you're right about Harry," she said quietly.

He paused but didn't look at her.

"Harry's not all-powerful. No one is. We all have flaws that make us vulnerable."

"And what do you see as Potter's greatest flaw?" It was said almost bitterly.

She thought for a moment, watching Draco's back rise and fall with each breath.

"Harry's never been one for thinking with his head when his heart is screaming so much louder. He would sacrifice everything for a friend."

The silence resumed and Draco returned to piling the wood.

*****

He was back on the couch. That damn uncomfortable couch. Draco was not a patient man and sitting here and waiting for Jonathan was killing him.

There were quiet footsteps behind him and he felt Hermione climb onto the couch beside him, curling her legs underneath her.

"I found this," she said softly. He found it funny that they were speaking so quietly to each other. He looked at her extended hand. Without thinking, he took the silver object from her and as he recognized it, he cried out. It was his mother's pendant. It had been torn off her that night when his father had found them hiding--

No. He wouldn't think about it.

Instead his memories of his mother drew him into another night, one that he had forgotten...

Her room was always illuminated by flickering candle light in the evenings. She only lit the fire when his father came up to bed. It was cold in the room but she never seemed to notice.

Draco sat in the corner of the room, hidden in the moving shadows, playing with his small, plastic Quidditch team replicas and watching. He was probably around seven or eight. Sitting down in front of the enormous vanity, his mother began to slide her brush slowly, carefully through her long golden tresses, humming softly to herself. He recognized the song. It was the one the adults always danced to at their parties. He watched her intently, seeing the dark shadows and deep creases on her face. They made her look so old.

Gracefully, she stood and glided over to the bathroom door to prepare her nightly bath.

He held his breath.

For some reason, Draco had the urge to fill the bathtub for her that day. He'd seen her do it so many times before, seen the way she painstakingly poured scented liquids into the churning, bubbling water, and wanted to do it for her.

He knew instantly that he had poured in too much; the bubbles had spilled unceremoniously over the sides and the smell of night jasmine was so strong it had made his eyes water. He hoped she didn't get mad at him and prayed that she didn't tell his father.

As she stared into the steamy room, he wondered if he could feign knowledge or blame it on the house elves but then she turned to him, a tear streaking down one cheek and for a fleeting moment she seemed young again.

Another tear fell as she slipped over to his little refuge in her room and he prepared himself for the worst. He'd upset her, after all. She bent down, wrinkling the pristine silk robe, and scooped him up into her arms, kissing him on the temple like she used to do when he was littler.

"Thank you, sweetheart," she whispered and he felt her hesitantly let him go.

Humming softly, she went into the bathroom and shut the door.

As Draco became aware of the present--the lumpy couch, the roaring fire, and the cracking walls--he was left dizzy and breathless. Focusing on remaining steady, he looked down at the familiar pendant still resting in his hand. He dropped it on the floor and looked away.

"Draco?" Her sweet voice broke through the silence and he noticed that she had her hand on his arm. He must've been pale; he felt pale and she was looking at him worriedly.

He gestured down to the object on the floor without looking at it. Did she know about his mother's death? It had been in the Daily Prophet for weeks after his father had been taken into custody. She must've seen or heard the stories. His father was in Azkaban, for Christ's sakes.

"My mother's," he offered in way of explanation. He turned back to the fire, not wanting Hermione to see him vulnerable like this. Desperately, he wished she would go away, leave him alone. But when she stood up and shuffled around the couch, he had never felt so alone.

But then a warm, soft hand touched his shoulder and he jerked away before he'd realized he'd done it. Feeling guilty, he glanced over his shoulder at her, watching as her eyes became sad for a moment, and a dark cloud seemed to pass suddenly over her, darkening her face. And then, just as quickly, the shadow passed.

With a concerned look in her eyes, she positioned herself directly behind him and put her thin hands on his shoulders, massaging them. He felt his resolve melt away as her nimble fingers worked down his back. Soon, his breath became ragged and he relaxed his head as a tear fell, letting her knead some of the tension away. It was as if for the past five years, his muscles had been cramping tighter and tighter into little knots, warping him, and suddenly those knots began to unravel, began to work themselves out.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed but eventually Hermione came back around and sat next to him. Sucking in a shaky breath, he looked at her through guarded eyes. Her attention was on the fire; she was obviously lost in thought. Her deep brown hair was swept around her face, framing her flower-petal pale skin and an intent expression. Although she was leaning forward, her slender shoulders were still set unassumingly straight.

She was beautiful, and for maybe the first time since he was thirteen, Draco felt afraid.

Growing up with Lucius as a father taught him not to feel fear. Every once in a while, Draco would witness a torture or a murder in his house. It wasn't uncommon to him, but he was still terrified. But once, in the summer he turned thirteen, Draco had been eavesdropping when he shouldn't have been. Of course, he hadn't really understood anything being discussed; Draco was only listening for ammunition to use against Potter. His father had been so angry when he found him, he'd shot a cruciatus curse at him before he could scurry away. The pain had been immense but it had cured him of being afraid.

He couldn't be afraid if he was going to live.

He learned how to walk, stand, glare, retort, and where to relax and where not to in order to survive. The safest was not to relax at all.

But none of that applied here, with Hermione and her soulful eyes, on this godforsaken couch. She was a terrifying enigma.

He needed to start a fight. Distract himself. Arguing could be a beautiful thing if mastered.

Her face was glowing in the flickering shadowy gold of the fire and her eyes were scintillating like bottomless pools of hope. Her attention was on him now, eyes searching his as a tiny smile spread on her face. Her feelings were blatantly clear; she was confused but held a warmth for him that he was not used to seeing. He could read her like an open book and it puzzled him to no end. Didn't she ever need to hide her feelings? How could she be so open?

"What the hell did you discover, Granger? Why did they want you so badly?" His voice was soft and by the end, he had trailed off so quietly that he could barely hear himself.

A ghost of a smile caressed her face and she turned her body to face him fully. And then she did something unexpected. She giggled.

"It's funny that you asked me that because I was hoping that maybe you could tell me." She giggled again, and he noticed that it had a nervous, manic quality to it.

"You don't know?" he asked, perplexed. How could she not know?

She shook her head, her face beginning to crumble. "No. I--I work in charms--but he was hurt... for so long, on the floor in pain. I did something wrong but I don't know what. Was it a flick of the wrist? A mispronounced word? I don't know."

He felt his insides weaken at her small voice. He suddenly felt an uncontrollable urge to console her somehow, but he didn't know how without touching her. Instead, he opted for changing the subject.

"So you and Potter are married?" he asked, suddenly realizing that she hadn't corrected him when he called her Granger.

She looked confounded, but whether it was due to the topic jump or the question, he did not know.

"No, why would you think that? Oh. No, we just live together." She gave him a secretive smile, her brown eyes dancing.

He remained silent, watching her watch him. She was trying to read him, trying to get a feel for what he was thinking. If his father had taught him one thing (besides being a homicidal bastard), it was never to let anybody read him. He could see her puzzlement as she got no grasp on his emotions. He could tell she was used to doing this, something that could probably be easily done with her overly trusting friends.

Well, let her try.

*****

The fire had long since died and Hermione was growing cold despite being wrapped in quilts. Draco had gone to the porch again and Hermione didn't feel like disturbing him. He had said something earlier about waiting for someone to come. She just hoped it happened soon before she froze to death. If only she had her wand.

Then again... his was still sitting on the table. Guiltily, her eyes darted to his form through the glass. He wouldn't mind if she just borrowed it for one spell...

She picked it up and felt it crackle in her hands. It was heavy and unfamiliar. She had never used another person's wand before. It was rather exciting.

Determined, she stood up and pointed the wand at the cooling logs.

"Incendio."

The next thing she knew, she was flying backwards across the room and seeing stars.

"Ouch," she moaned, brushing her hair back off her face. And what was that smacking sound? Looking up, she realized it was Draco in the doorway, who was smirking and clapping.

"Well, THAT was impressive. And when I say 'impressive,' I'm referring to the light show. That landing wasn't anything to write Potter about," he drawled loudly, taking her back in time to their frequent stand-offs in school. That tone of voice had been nonexistent until now. It brought a surge of annoyance and anger up through her.

But Hermione kept a grip on her temper but only just.

"Allow me to respond to that with a glare," she grumbled. "Now help me up." The quilts that had been around her were now twisted painfully, cutting off circulation in a number of extremities.

"Whatever happened to being polite? I DID save your life, after all."

She narrowed her eyes at him. The shadows landed on his face, defining his high cheekbones and chiseled jaw, and his annoyingly alluring lips twisted in that aggravatingly perpetual smirk.

She helped herself up and threw his wand at his face none too gently. A sudden and amusing vision of it poking him in the eyes made her grin but he caught it easily.

His cocky smirk grew and Hermione balled her right hand into a fist. She felt like punching him. It was a good thing he wasn't in reach.

When she didn't answer, he continued, making a show of inspecting the wand for any damage. "What were you trying to do anyway? Kill yourself?"

"No, I was trying to relight the fire." She rubbed her shoulder which had taken the brunt of the landing.

"Well, I don't think my wand's compatible with you. What can I say? It has high standards."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione grunted. "You mean it only works for machiavellian bastards? Wow, that's one picky wand." She sat back down on the couch and wrapped the blankets around her again.

"Try sex gods with perfect hair." His cockiness never ceased to amaze her. Draco sent a spell into the fireplace, which produced immediate and warming flames, and then sat next to her.

"You know, Muggles have a name for this disorder you have."

"Is it anything like the disorder that is your hair?"

Her hand unconsciously flew to the waves that lay loosely against her head and she glared at him.

"You're a megalomaniac." She knew she was using what her friends referred to as her "miss-know-it-all" voice and she hoped it bothered Draco as much as it did Harry and Ron.

He snarled. "And you're a head case but you don't hear me complaining." His icy cold eyes shot daggers and she could feel each and every one pierce her skin, drawing metaphorical blood.

"Why do we always end up trading insults? Why does it always come down to blows?" she asked.

Draco pushed up off the couch and walked to the windows on the far side of the room. Running a hand along the back of his head, he stared out, silent and unresponsive.

"Draco, I'm not saying that this is necessarily a bad thing. I'm just honestly curious." She found herself slowly approaching him, as she would a skittish animal. But when she saw his face, she stopped. He was smirking. Not a mean smirk, just a tiny acknowledging smirk.

And then he looked at her. Not just looked AT her but looked into her. God, he could melt bloody icecaps with those eyes. Hell, he'd already succeeded with her. She tried to steel herself against him, to reign in her wayward emotions. Her breath was leaving her again. He was so close; she could smell that tangy scent again.

"I'm tired... funny that, since I've done basically nothing all day."

Draco looked at her with a patronizing sort of grin.

"Well, anyway, after sitting on that couch for hours on end, I know it's not the most comfortable thing, and you..." She knew she was treading close to quicksand yet she couldn't help it. Once she stepped in, she wouldn't be able to resist getting pulled under. Maybe that was what attracted her. "You can sleep on the mattress tonight... with me... well, not WITH me--you know what I mean... if you want, that is." She grinned up at him, flustered. "You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine?" she added weakly.

The offer was a volatile one and they both knew it. They were on dangerous ground now.

He didn't say anything.

"Well, I'm going to go... off to bed. Goodnight."

Hermione hurried to the bedroom and shut the door.

*****

When she awoke, it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours later, the moon was high in the sky and the clouds seemed to have dissipated completely. Holding her breath, she rolled over slowly and saw that Draco had not taken her up on her offer. She was both relieved and disappointed. One thing was for sure, though. The Draco she had known in school would've followed her the moment she turned away.

But it was no doubt for the best.

Her throat was parched, so much so that it hurt when she tried to clear it. Dragging herself out of the warm bed and into the frigid air, she crept out the door and through the living room to the kitchen, peeking at sleeping Draco on the way. Just as she found a bottle of water that Draco had brought earlier, there was a rush of air and movement and she pitched forward until a pair of arms grabbed her. Hermione caught her balance and followed the strong arms holding her up to a pair of intensely soulful blue eyes. The man flashed a beguiling smile.

Bloody hell.

He was one of those incredibly gorgeous, make-your-knees-weak guys with perfect teeth that would make her parents proud. Those were the worst kind.

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Draco asked. He was in the doorway, shirtless with his hair awry and in her haste to extricate herself from the handsome stranger's arms, she almost fell again.

"I see you've met Jonathan."

*****

TBC...

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