Safety in the Storm

Safety in the Storm Chapter Six

AUTHOR NOTE: I know it took me an eternity to come out with this chapter, but I was (and still slightly am) suffering from writer's block.

Anyway, the quote I'm using today is from one of my favorite bands. QUIZ TIME! Can anyone tell me what band and song it's from?

NOBODY LEADS AT ALL

"A side-stepping has come to be

A brilliant dance

Where nobody leads at all."

Jonathan grew up in the suburbs of Los Angeles, a place of quarter of a million dollar track homes, pristine parks on every corner, and impeccably tailored residents bound tightly by their conservative views. The valley he lived in was self-sufficient; there was no need to drive the thirty minutes on traffic-congested freeways to get downtown, unless you were in search of a nightlife. None existed in his valley and that was how the pretentious residents wanted it. It kept the 'bad element' out.

His parents were not rich by the town's standards but in any other state, they would have been affluent members of society. But the distinguished schools, clean streets, and health conscious attitude of Southern California brought them in and they lived comfortably in a two-story home with a view of a dry hill. His childhood was unremarkable in every way; he never broke any bones, received decent grades in school, wanted to be a fireman or astronaut when he grew up, and played with his younger sisters in the front yard on the weekends. That is, until he turned thirteen. He was to start junior high in the fall and that Christmas, his parents had promised a trip up north to go skiing. Life was normal, routine, until the day the two men in deep blue suits came to visit.

They said they were from an exclusive private school for special and gifted students located in the heart of the Rocky Mountains and were offering Jonathan a scholarship to attend. His parents were wary, as to be expected in such a situation, but also anxious for their son to gain an edge over the other children and maybe one day he could go to Stanford or an Ivy League college. So private school it was.

So instead of continuing on in his valley's continuously routine and endless cycle of life, he packed his things, said goodbye to his friends, sisters, and parents, and embarked on a journey that would forever change his life. He soon learned that Clandestine Academy was quite literal in its meaning and was one of two schools in the continental United States that taught the art of thaumaturgy or what was known as the art of magik.

It was there, in that school of secrecy, where Jonathan Pierce fell in love for the first time with the one girl he shouldn't have. She was the delicate belle of the school with her bright blue eyes, silky blonde hair, and perfect posture but she was untouchable. She was an ice princess who always got what she wanted, when she wanted it. She ruled the school and reveled in every moment of it.

Rayanne Bradford.

The name still brought on shudders of an intense aversion yet an even stronger desire for her.

The students were not divided into bigoted houses according to random personality traits as they were at Hogwarts. Instead, the students spent their first two years together, separated only by sex. Then, in their third year (which, for them, was at age fifteen) they were organized into dorms by interest or talent. Being efficient in the art of dueling, Jonathan was organized into the far west dorm known as Breaker Hall, which housed those studying the defensive and offensive measures to use against the dark arts.

His roommate, as fate deemed it to be, was Rayanne's older brother, Damien, and Jonathan saw this as his opportunity to fall upon her good graces. If he could befriend Damien, he could work his way into her life, and maybe into her heart. How naïve he was.

Damien was in his last year at Clandestine and was somewhat of a loner. His observantness was often misconstrued as shyness and as a result, people tended to leave him alone and many times, simply forgot he was in the room at all.

So, Jonathan went to work trying to befriend his roommate but much to his disappointment, they formed only an uneasy alliance. It wasn't until Thanksgiving weekend did he get his first glimpse of Damien's true nature, although he wouldn't have any idea just how demented he was until much later. Essentially, Thanksgiving weekend was a free weekend and being so, most of the student population had dropped their books and headed outside to play in the snow mazes, ski, or play Quidditch, but Jonathan had stayed indoors to catch up on his reading in the commons. As he sat by the fire, he thought he heard a constant, monotone muttering coming from down the hall and went to investigate.

What he found would change the course of his life.

Damien was perched cross-legged on his bed mumbling in a language that, at the time, Jonathan did not recognize while a strange black mist crept along the carpet, curling around Jonathan's ankles.

"What are you doing?" he asked and the moment Damien opened his eyes, the mist vanished.

He was regarded with a cold stare for a moment before Damien smiled broadly, a glint in his eye.

"Can you keep a secret?"

That was how it started. From then on, they secretly practiced summoning and other dark spells whenever they could. Jonathan convinced himself it was only harmless fun. Besides, it wasn't like they were hurting anyone. Then one day at dinner in the cafeteria, Damien pointed at two fourth years that were blatantly making out.

"They disgust me," Damien said. "Those mudbloods are always shoving their tongues in each other 's mouths in public places and making me lose my appetite." Jonathan wanted to point out that he was a mudblood as well, but he kept quiet because of the evil smile Damien flashed at him. "Let's make them stop."

So they did. A simple distrust potion later and the couple were bickering one day and broken up the next. He did feel guilty but Damien pointed out that the two had moved on rather quickly so they had just sped up the process a bit with their potion. To a fifteen-year-old boy, this made sense. Jonathan didn't realize that they were attempting to play God with their classmates. No, the only thing that mattered was that he and Damien were having fun.

Christmas break came and Jonathan had begged off coming home saying he had too much work to do. His parents were disappointed ("You're going to miss the lighting ceremony downtown, honey!") but agreed, and his sisters sent pictures of dance recitals and soccer tryouts and a tin of cookies that they baked.

Of course, he felt guilty but he had to do it. It was the plan.

Most students had gone home for the holidays. In fact, he and Damien found themselves completely alone in Breaker Hall. Without the need to be discreet, they began to use the commons to plan their next caper against a fifth year named Michael Addison who had insulted Rayanne earlier that week.

When they had at last finalized the details of their revenge (an enchanted bludger in the next Quidditch match), Damien sent him upstairs to retrieve something off his bed. That something ended up being Rayanne dressed only in a thin white sheet from his bed.

She gave him his first crush when he was thirteen and at fifteen, she gave him another first he would never forget. And when it was over and he lay spent on the small bed, she pulled away. Despite the fact that she was dressing herself and preparing to leave as if what they had just done held no importance to her at all, her eyes told him another story.

Of course, now he knew better. He now knew she was incapable of emotions such as love and affection towards anyone, with the exception of maybe her brother. Even then, it sometimes seemed iffy. But back then, he convinced himself that in her eyes he saw everything she wanted to hide, everything she really was underneath that icy demeanor, and it made him love her all the much more.

That's when Damien burst into the room.

"Jonathan, the headmaster is waiting in the commons. He says it's urgent."

From that moment on, his memory became spotty. He only remembered snippets here and there but Headmaster Walsh's words still rang clearly in his mind.

"Something's happened son. Something bad. Last night, some men broke into your home. Your father must've caught them in the act of robbing your--they shot him, Johnny, he didn't make it."

He couldn't remember what he had said in response. Most likely, he said nothing at all but Jonathan liked to think he remained brave and said something coherent.

"There's more... your sisters, your mother... they're gone as well, Johnny."

He hated that name. Johnny.

Weeks passed in a blur of pain and tears and Jonathan found himself withdrawing form everyone, including Damien. He was surprised he actually passed all his courses although that was probably accredited to the teachers pitying him.

Summer came and he stayed with his mother's old college roommate in New York City. Another culture shock, but nothing shocked him much at that point. The ting that saddened him the most was that there was no yard in front of the apartment building. He spent all his time at the ghetto park down the street, sitting on the scarred bench, reading graffiti tags and remembering his sisters.

They wouldn't have liked it there.

School started, and since Damien had graduated, Jonathan got a new roommate. This one was loud and didn't like dark magik and Jonathan actually found himself missing Damien. But before he knew it, graduation was upon him and he joined the Protectors League (American Aurors) for nothing better to do. After rising quickly to the top of his class, he was not surprised when the Agency approached him about an assignment.

He was to infiltrate Damien's group under the guise that he wanted revenge on the muggles who killed his parents. Jonathan knew that he was smiling. He joined for two reasons that day. He was going to get his retribution.

It didn't take long either. But it didn't make him feel any better when their blood was puddle on the floor. It made him feel worse. Guilt was something he had not been prepared for and it took a hard toll on him. How could Damien, Rayanne and everyone else in the group not feel the guilt, the blame, the burden he did? It was then that he realized exactly what he had gotten himself into. He found a goal in life. A reason to live for.

He was going to find a way to make them feel the guilt he did. He was going to bring the Bradfords down.

Long years had passed but Jonathan still played his part. He was the devoted follower in Damien's fascist movement who hated muggles for what they did to his parents, his sisters. He was trusted. He was family. And he would betray them.

For that reason and that reason alone, Jonathan took an enormous amount of pleasure in sending those fighting him in Hermione's yard flying into the street or neighboring bushes. When Jonathan fought, whether in the physical or magical sense, he was trained to separate himself from the situation, to pull away just enough to become an observer as well as a participant. Though most inexperienced agent provocateurs never achieved this, in theory, it allowed the agent to anticipate his opponents' moves quicker as well as to remove himself from any pain he might be feeling. That was the motto that was drilled into all the agents' heads during the two-year training course back at the academy.

Pain is an occupation hazard.

Once you realized that pain was inevitable, it was easier to push it aside. And that, more than anything else, was what Jonathan excelled in.

Spinning on his heel, he ducked to the side as a Conjunctivitis curse was flung at his chest. Why it was aimed there and not at his face, he didn't know. He had been hit twice now but anyone watching wouldn't have been able to tell. The pain was there--his chest and lungs felt like they were on fire and his left arm hung limply at his side--but was ignored as he threw a simple yet effective 'stupefy' to the sixth and what he hoped was the final attacker leaving the man immobile on the grass.

A shrill but distinct whistle pierced Jonathan's well-constructed bubble of concentration and he turned in time to see Draco apparate out with Hermione. Good. Phase one complete. Quickly surveying the yard for any stragglers, he didn't sense the presence behind him until it was too late. Before he even had a chance to react, he was thrown to the ground by a surprisingly strong and thoroughly pissed off Harry Potter.

It was funny, but he actually found himself star-struck.

"Hello there," he said, gasping as Harry pressed his knee against Jonathan's chest. "I'm glad you decided to help and all, but I think you may be a bit confused. See, I'm on your side."

His knee ground down harder and Jonathan was quite sure that his ribs were about to break.

"Are you?" Harry hissed. "Prove it and take me to Hermione, then."

Jonathan grimaced and stretched his fingers out along the ground at his side, searching for his fallen wand and thanked his lucky stars when his fingertips brushed the base.

"I can't, I'm sorry. Once it's safe, she'll come back, I promise. We're only trying to protect her."

"Who ARE you?" he demanded and Jonathan was surprised to see Harry's eyes become glassy and he found himself looking away. It was painful seeing such a famously heroic man show such weakness.

Inwardly sighing, Jonathan finally got his wand between two of his fingers and looked back up into Harry's eyes.

"A friend," he replied and closed his eyes, concentrating.

When he reopened them, the pressure on his chest was off and he was lying on the cold floor of the manor, the large foyer looming up around him, a massive tower of cream stone and gilt, dignified and snobby. Rolling over with a groan, he spotted Draco still holding Hermione passionately to him, hands tangled in her hair, obviously not worried about him one bit.

Figured.

"I'm back," he said gruffly, sitting up. "Oh no, it was no trouble at all. I'm fine, thanks for worrying about me."

It took a glare from Draco before he realized that they weren't kissing as he'd previously thought but rather Hermione was sobbing uncontrollably.

He was lower than pond scum.

"Oh, don't be upset, kiddo," he began. "You'll be back before you know it. I promise." He was beginning to think he should've spared her the pain and simply brought Harry here. "Now buck up and let's find you a room."

She extracted herself from Draco's arms and swiped at her eyes, nodding. Composing herself remarkably fast, Hermione began to look around, obviously taking in her surroundings for the first time.

Before he could begin his tour though, Draco pulled him aside. "Put her in a room with a balcony. I want a broom or two on it for a quick escape. Also, I want the room right next to hers, joined if possible. I'll be outside, walking the perimeter. Have you had a chance to become acquainted with everything?"

Jonathan shook his head and Draco took a deep breath. "It's going to be a long day."

"So I take it, you're planning on staying?"

"Yes." It was said in such a definitive tone that he knew he wasn't supposed to ask questions.

Sprinting up the stairs, he joined Hermione and nodded to the left. "There are four bedrooms, each with it's own bath, down there. That's where I've been sleeping."

"I want to be near you."

"Sure, you can have this one." He opened the door directly across from his and shivered when he felt a draft.

Looking around without much interest, she wrapped her arms around herself and wandered over to the open doors that led to the balcony. But she didn't close them as he thought she would. Instead, she stepped outside letting the wind toss her hair around.

"It was harder seeing him than you thought it would be." It wasn't a question it was a statement. He knew exactly how she felt. Okay, not exactly, but seeing Rayanne was always harder than he pretended it was. She still got to him after all these years.

"Yeah."

Joining her, he saw that she was watching Draco down below, poking in shrubs and muttering spells. As far as he could tell, Draco had found nothing of interest yet.

A few moments later, the blonde haired man looked up, saw them watching him, nodded curtly, and gestured to the downstairs.

"Come on. Looks like Draco wants to order us around."

She sighed. "This is me excited."

He chuckled at her sarcasm and draped his arm around her shoulders. "Then I'd hate to see you at a party."

*****

He was notified about the attack on the Granger/Potter household ten minutes after it began. Even though it was extremely early in the morning, the light show produced but the missed hexes drew quite a bit of early risers to their windows. Blaise had quite a bit of work ahead of them and he put a slight bit of pressure to the bridge of his nose trying to force back both the coming headache and the feeling of déjà vu. It seemed, though, that where Harry Potter went, trouble seemed not far behind. He doubted that would ever change.

"Don't tell me you have to go back to work now," Lavender mumbled from the bed he was dying to go back to.

"Go back to sleep, luv. I should be back early." He kissed her on the cheek and turned away from her pleading eyes. Sometimes it became too hard.

Arriving on the scene, Blaise quickly deployed his men to their tasks: four men to retrain (though they were all unconscious and didn't seem to require the normal methods of restraint) and apparate the attackers to a secure location to be interrogated, two men to scour the grounds for any evidence, and the rest of his team which numbers ten to obliviate any witnesses. He, himself, headed straight up the wooden porch steps to the front door trying not to notice just how much Potter's house resembled his own.

Without bothering to knock, he threw the door open and paused, taking in his surroundings.

"Potter!"

He stepped in further, observing the dirty dishes piled up by the sink and the stack of unread newspapers on the table. Further in, he saw the forms of two men, wands drawn, flanking the doorway into the living room.

"Fuck, Zabini," Potter's voice growled and he stepped into the dim kitchen light. "What the hell were you thinking walking in here like that after being attacked?"

Blaise chuckled. "You don't scare me. Besides, what kind of attacker yells out your name the moment they enter your house? Now tell me what in bloody hell brought me out here at this ungodly hour."

Adopting a confrontational stance once again, Potter shoved his wand back into his pocket. "I saw Hermione."

THAT was unexpected. "What? She was here?"

Potter's eyes darkened and his jaw worked. He could literally see the defenses rise in front of him.

"Harry," a low voice warned from the corner. Up until that point, Blaise had assumed it was Ron Weasley but now he knew he was wrong. "Tell him what happened," the man added, coming up behind Potter.

It took him a moment but he finally placed his face and nodded at him. "Black," he acknowledged the older man even though they had never met. Blaise was not one for formalities. Sirius Black dipped his head in return before again focusing on Potter, nudging him.

"She arrived with two men and said that they were helping her. One man, he stayed down on the grass and was the one who held off the attackers. He was tall, maybe a meter and an eighth, red hair, blue eyes, medium build--" Again, he was nudged and he sighed, obviously annoyed. "But it flickered."

"Flickered?"

"Yeah, I was holding the guy down and... it flickered. I think it was a glamour."

"And they were helping Miss Granger?"

"That's what they said. The other man resembled Snape, oh don't give me that look, he really did, and I have to assume that that was a glamour as well which makes me think it was someone who went to Hogwarts. Someone that I knew and they didn't want me knowing it was them helping Hermione."

"Oh, don't be so full of yourself. It probably has nothing to do with you. Ever consider the possibility that they used glamours to disguise themselves from the attackers?" He could tell by the shocked look on Potter's face that he hadn't thought of that.

A small misty orb the size of a bludger appeared in between them just then and Blaise excused himself even though the conloquium only allowed the intended recipient the ability to see the caller.

"Yes?" he asked waiting for the caller to reveal himself in the azure haze. He was immensely surprised when his superior appeared. "Sir?"

"We have had confirmation on Granger's whereabouts. She is under the protection of one of our agents and the attack earlier was a ruse to save the cover of an unofficial undercover operative. Wrap it up and get back here for the debriefing."

The orb disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

He turned and saw Harry in the doorway. "What was that all about?" the man asked.

"Nothing." He moved past him and out the door. "I need to go. If you remember anything important, send me a conloquium."

God damn, he hoped he was doing the right think in not telling Potter. Hopefully, he could get him into training soon and distract him that way.

*****

Exhausted, Hermione stifled a yawn and peeked her head around the doorway leading into the immense ballroom where Draco and Jonathan were bringing furniture from all over the house. Even though the room was already half full, Draco's footsteps still loudly echoing the emptiness she felt inside her heart. She ached for Harry, for the strength she never realized he gave her. It wasn't even as though she'd never spent time apart from him either. There had been four years, about the same time she had finished training for her job, where Harry had worked as Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and she was only able to see him during the summer months. But it seemed now as if a lifetime had gone by since that morning so long ago when he had been so worried about her. Her stomach clenched as she thought again about the look on Harry's face that morning.

Noticing her grip on the doorjamb had become so tight that her knuckles were quickly losing their coloring, Hermione determinedly thrust all thought of her best friend away. Dwelling on him would only push her into a depression that she did not want to muddle through.

And what better to distract her than the man in front of her. He had stripped down out of his robes to only a t-shirt and muggle jeans and she couldn't exactly help the fact that her eyes were practically glued to him. She was mesmerized by the play of muscles under the thin shirt he was wearing as he lifted pieces of furniture with his wand while pushing others into place below. Hell, he might as well not have been wearing a shirt at all for all the drooling she was doing.

"Excuse me, sweetheart," Jonathan called from down the hall. Darting out of the way, Hermione leaned against the wall as he passed, floating a table in front of him. Draco had become practically obsessed with tearing the house apart in order to find any secret passages or hiding spaces. Personally, Hermione thought he was taking it a bit far but she wasn't about to admit that to his face.

When Jonathan reemerged, he stood before her looking down on her. "I take it you're done collecting the paintings?"

"No," she groaned. "I still have the third floor to do. I just got tired of arguing with each painting. Did you know that they've been hung in those same positions for almost a century?" she asked bitterly.

Jonathan chuckled. "I had no idea but I'm sure you got an earful about it."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, jumping up. "I almost forgot. I found a safe."

He let her drag him upstairs to the larger library and she pointed to the wall where a small box the size of a book was recessed into the light plaster. There were a few spots in the wall that were chipped away as though someone had attempted to pry it loose, but besides that, it was perfectly intact.

"Did the painting that was over it say anything?" Her eyes were strangely drawn to the stained outline showing where the painting had hung forgotten for so long.

Shaking her head, she sat down in one of the oversized, albeit dusty, chairs by the dead fireplace. "Nope, no one was there. It was a landscape." She wondered how long it had been since a fire had roared in the room.

"Odd." Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the box. "Alohamora." Nothing happened. "Accio safe." Nothing again. He tried a few more spells ("Apertus!" "Patefacio!" "Patens!") but it didn't seem to budge and he shrugged. "Oh well. How about you take a break then, eh? Draco and I are almost done with the first two floors as well."

"Okay," she nodded and pulled her legs up underneath her. "I'll just stay up here and spend time with my friends," she said melodramatically and gestured around to the books that lined the walls.

Snorting, Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "You do that."

His hand was on the ancient brass doorknob when she stopped him.

"Jonathan?" she called, wincing at the meekness of her voice. When he turned, a gentle and patient smile played on his lips. "Do you think you can light the fire?"

"Sure."

For some reason, the room felt so lonely and bleak without the crackle of flames.

*****

Two hours of work had come and gone with nothing to show for it yet Draco still had that nagging feeling, that slight tingle in his senses, that told him something was off. He considered it an unrelenting form of torture, knowing something was wrong but not being able to pin point the culprit. Not that it happened very often. Despite what some people thought, he was not daft. Usually he was on top of things, in control. And now he had lost that control. Maybe that was what was irking him.

Either way, the lack of secret passages, hidden cubbies, even a ghost or two in an antiquated wizarding estate such as this, unnerved him. At least now, it would be easy to spot an intruder since virtually all the rooms on the first two floors were blaringly vacant.

As he ascended the wide wooden staircase, his boot-clad feet resounded loudly, sending thundering echoes through the empty passageways. He paused, his eyes falling closed for a moment and his hand gripping the neglected handrail, reminding himself that his parents weren't there to scold him. How many times had he climbed up to his room just to be berated for not 'stepping quietly?' Too many times to count, that was for sure. Sometimes, at Hogwarts, Pansy would tease him for his 'dainty steps,' as she liked to call it. Idly, he wondered what she would think of him now, were she alive. But it didn't matter now, none of it did. He could stomp up and down these stairs all day if he wanted to.

Silently sighing, he continued climbing the stairs, his treads unconsciously much more subdued than before. He turned right at the landing and wound through the narrow hallway towards the direction of the library. Though the door was only cracked open, he could still feel the heat from the fireplace inside. That was the one thing he hated about large houses. They were always drafty. He had always meant to sell the Malfoy 'cottage,' as he so bitterly had come to refer to it as, but it always seemed as though there was something he needed to do first. And Draco was not one to procrastinate. Perhaps he was subconsciously putting it off.

Dragging himself from his thoughts, he nudged the doors open and snickered. This was the Hermione he remembered. She sat, her back to him, cross-legged, on the hardwood floor (mainly due to the fact that he and Jonathan had confiscated all the furniture earlier much to Hermione's chagrin) with an assortment of timeworn books stacked around her. He could see no apparent order to the piles but he felt he knew Hermione well enough to know that there had to be a method to her madness.

"You planning on standing there and staring at me all day?" she inquired without a trace of sarcasm and not bothering to look up from the musty pages before her.

He cleared his throat. "I was just reveling in the fact that some things will never change."

She turned a page with a flourish producing a noisy swish before rotating her head slightly to the side giving him a brief peek of her cheek. What that accomplished, he did not know. It wasn't as if she could see him from that angle... it was almost as if she were listening to his movements rather than watch them.

"Was that supposed to be an insult?" She said it slowly as if she were painstakingly choosing each word to perfectly fit her meaning, although the notion was silly. It was too simple a sentence, too straightforward in denotation.

Swish. Her attention moved back down to the book in her lap.

"No," he replied in all seriousness. He wanted to join her, to sit by the comforting warmth of the fire, reading obscure tomes and engaging in easy repartee. But he wasn't sure how she would react.

Swish. "Come, pull up a chair," she uttered mock acrimoniously. "Or leave or do something. You're making me nervous just standing there. This place already kind of gives me the heebie-jeebies." Swish.

So it wasn't just him.

"What are you reading?" he asked, sitting in a vacant spot next to her and examining the titles spread around them.

Swish. His eyes narrowed as they focused on her hand. That was becoming quite annoying.

"I'm assuming it's a local history. Not much more than births, marriages and deaths but for some odd reason, I'm enthralled. People's lives are in here."

Swish.

Biting his lip to keep from snapping at her, he chose a volume at random. "Your mind works in ways I have yet to discover."

Pause. Swish.

He wanted to ask her if she was all right and not trying to put up a brave façade for him. Subconsciously, he wanted an excuse to comfort her again, to wrap his arms around her small body and never let go, although he was not about to admit it to himself.

With a sudden clap, she smacked the book closed, sending a plume of dust bunnies whirling in the air. "How long do you think I have to be here for? I mean, I know I'm here until they give up on finding me, but to be perfectly honest, I don't see that happening any time soon."

A knot on the floor suddenly became extremely interesting. "I don't know," he murmured, wishing he could give her a definite time frame. It wasn't her fault she had been dragged into this mess.

Examining the piles around them, she exhaled loudly. "I don't blame you, you know. It's not your fault."

She was more observant that he thought.

She leaned over him then, reaching for a book beside him and her hair slipped exposing the curve of her neck. That simple act blew away all thought from his mind and he found himself tempted...

He really wanted to kiss her again, wanted to touch his lips to the smooth skin at the base of her neck, wanted to know what she tasted like. She must've finally grasped the book because she began to pull away, albeit much slower than before. And as her ear passed mere centimeters away from his face, he had the irrational urge to whisper something to hear her laugh. He wanted to make her feel what she sometimes made him feel... giddy, blithesome, complete. He wanted to touch her and show her what it meant to be touched. He wanted to kiss her and show what kissing could be.

He wanted her. Period.

"Do you remember that last Quidditch match during seventh year? The one between Gryfindor and Slytherin?" she asked softly.

Draco dropped his head. Of course he remembered that game. How could he forget? How could he ever forget?

"Yes," he simply answered, careful to keep as much emotion out of his voice as possible. He had no idea where she was going with this.

Pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them to her, she looked so childlike, she again brought images of the wood nymph to mind.

"The wind was blowing hard that day; I remember everyone was bundled up so tightly. Looking up at Harry and Ron circling high on their broom, I worried for them. I hoped they were warm enough." She looked over at him grinning and he found his own mouth responding in kind. "Silly, I know, but I remember it like it was yesterday... anyway, the game was long, intense... all of your and Harry's rivalries came down to that one moment and you both knew it."

He wished she would stop talking about it. More than anything, he wanted to forget that moment but every time he came close, something brought it back into sharp focus.

She continued on, oblivious to his discomfort. Her gaze defocused, her eyes flattening with the memory. "You were so close, neck and neck with each other and when Harry slipped his fingers around that snitch, I found I couldn't take my eyes away..." Hermione looked up at him through her lashes. "From you, that is."

That was unexpected. "What? Why?"

"It's funny, I had known you for seven years but it wasn't until I saw your face that day did I see the REAL you. It was the first time I felt anything but hatred towards you. And... I honestly wished you had caught the snitch instead of Harry. You seemed to need the victory more than he did."

He digested this, surprised at her candor. She had put herself on the line and he had no idea what to say in return.

Instead, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "You were wearing blue that day," he whispered.

Letting out a nervous giggle, Hermione opened the book in front of her but she didn't look at it, instead she sought out his eyes. "Was I?"

"Yeah. I remember thinking it was odd because practically everyone else, excluding the Slytherins of course, were wearing red and gold... but you came in blue."

The smile on her face grew broader and her eyes stared out beyond the room they were sitting in. "I only went to those stupid games out of fear that Ron or Harry would get hurt."

Her sense of dedication to her friends never ceased to amaze him. It also confused him. How could she love so wholly without thought to the consequences?

Giggling again, Hermione buried her head in her hands, inadvertently brushing her shoulder against his. Instantly, the spot tingled and his eyes fell closed at the sensation. It always seemed to be like that with her. Nothing was simple; everything was heightened, everything was complicated.

"Anyway," she said softly, coming out from hiding. "It's funny how things change."

"Yeah, funny."

Hermione stood then and stretched, turning in place to look around the room. "Do you see that?" she question. Draco followed her gaze to a bookshelf that looked identical to all the others lining the walls.

"See what?"

Clucking her tongue impatiently, she walked to the base of the wooden bookcase and, much to Draco's horror, she began to climb it, carefully balancing on each shelf as she made her way up.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, jumping up. "Get down from there, you're only going to hurt yourself."

No sooner had the words left his mouth did the case begin to wobble and Hermione let out a pathetic squeak. Before he could get to her, the whole shelf came toppling down and Draco was blinded by the asthma inducing cloud of dust that billowed from the wreckage.

Charging into it, he squinted down at the tangle of books, scrutinizing the mess for an arm or a leg or anything to signify where she was in the jumble. When he did find her, she was not buried and bruised as he had thought. Instead, she was sitting dazedly to the side appearing quite filthy and sour faced. He couldn't help but laugh. And laugh he did. He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard.

She seemed slightly exasperated with herself and he smiled sympathetically through the tears rolling down his cheeks, crossed over to her and took her into his arms, despite the fact that she was covered in a layer of dust.

"Well, you were wrong. I'm not hurt," she attempted, giving the situation a bit of levity and she smiled feebly.

"You're a mess, though," he pointed out. Gently, he traced his finger down the side of her cheek revealing a strip of pinkish skin. He held out his fingertip and showed it to her.

"So I am." With that said, she yanked herself out of his arms and let out a huge sneeze, which only caused him to start laughing again.

"What were you trying to do?" he asked between gasps for breath. Finally, he was able to control himself. Hermione didn't look too pleased by the fact that he found the situation so humorous.

"There was a book on the top. It didn't have anything written on the spine... and I was curious."

"Or it was just so covered in dust, you couldn't read it. Either way, I don't think you're going to be able to find it now." Draco gestured down at the mess at their feet.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." A giggle escaped her lips. "If Ron and Harry could hear me now. Telling Draco Malfoy he's right."

"Is that your greatest fear?" he asked suddenly, surprised at himself for blurting the question out like that. She paused in dusting herself off and peered up at him, obviously confused. He elaborated, " Disappointing Potter and Weasley?"

She grinned. "Hardly. If that were true, I would no doubt be dead from fright by now."

He was astonished by this. Did she really think that she failed to meet their expectations? It didn't seem possible to him. He wondered if she was faced with a boggart, what she would see.

"What IS your greatest fear, then?"

He took a few steps back from her and leaned against a bookshelf that was still standing. She was attempting to dust herself off but wasn't doing much more than sending it airborne just to land on her once again and Draco did not want to be caught in the middle of her battle.

"You have to swear upon all that is good and made of coffee that you will tell absolutely no one this..."

Draco snorted. "Who am I going to tell? And what is it with you and that disgusting beverage?"

Her hands planted firmly on her hips, she glared at him venomously. "Do you want to know or not because insulting my taste is not the way to go about making me trust you."

"Fine, I promise, I won't say a word." He made a crossing gesture with his fingers over his heart.

"Flying."

"What?"

"I said flying."

"Yes, I heard that. How can you be afraid of flying?"

"Very easily. Now, what about you? What's your greatest fear?"

He considered this for a moment. "Probably the same as when I was at Hogwarts. My father."

"Oh." She gave up on cleaning herself and sat down amiss the rubble. "I don't think I want to know how you dispelled THAT boggart."

"You know, he's really not that terrifying hogtied in his underwear."

She shuddered. "I think I'm going to be scarred for life by that image, thank you very much."

"And here I thought the day that Potter, the floppy haired wonder, cut his locks would be the most scarring experience of your life."

She smiled at him. "A close second, I assure you."

*****

Jonathan stood outside the library, balancing a large platter of food and listening. He could have sworn he had heard--

Yes. There it was again. The startling sound of uproarious laughter could be heard from behind the closed doors and he really didn't want to know what was going on in there. Then again, he was always abnormally curious... Resolutely, he knocked firmly on the door.

When there was no response, Jonathan knocked again, but a bit harder this time. The laughter quieted immediately and after a brief pause, the door was thrown open by a very filthy Draco.

"I, um," Jonathan said softly. "I don't want to interrupt whatever in God's name is going on in here, but I had the house elf make some food." He scrunched his face together. "I can't believe I'm asking this, but why are you covered in dust?"

"Our graceful princess over there decided to play spiderman."

Well, that conjured up some graphic images.

"I was going to suggest that we eat in here but I think it may be a better idea if you go shower first and meet us downstairs."

Draco grinned. "If you think I'm bad, you should see Hermione."

"I really don't want to know. Really."

"Hey, I heard that!"

The door opened wider and suddenly Draco was being assaulted by a huge dust bunny with arms. Each time she connected with his body, a miniature explosion of dust filled the air.

Draco's eyes darkened and he caught her wrists without an effort. "I have no trepidation in placing you under a suspended sleep for the duration of your stay with us. Do not tempt me woman," he snarled. "I'll be in the shower." And with that, he left.

When Jonathan turned back to Hermione, he was taken aback. There was a fierceness in her stance, a burning fire in her eyes that made him glad that he was not on the receiving end of her fury.

"Are you okay?" he asked timidly, afraid that she would jump on him for lack of target. What she did say, he was not expecting.

"He's mean." Her voice resembled that of a little kid whose milk money was taken. Now that Draco was gone, her anger had obviously dissipated leaving her pouting.

"Nah, he's just flirting."

She huffed. "Were you not just in this room? He's horrible."

He didn't want to bring up the fact that she was the one attacking him. She might take it the wrong way and take out her anger on him. "It's the Malfoy mating ritual. What can I say, he's emotionally handicapped and it's his way of letting you know he likes you. You know, five-year-old mentality and all."

"Bleeding brooms, if that's true, he must be dying to shag Harry and Ron."

"Somehow, I doubt it applies to them as well." He gestured down the hallway with his head, wincing as a muscle in his neck tweaked painfully. "Go take a shower so we can eat. I'm starved."

*****

Forty-five minutes!

For forty-five minutes, they had been waiting in the kitchen for Draco to show up. Of course, Hermione wanted to start eating without him but Jonathan insisted that they wait.

What kind of guy takes a forty-five minute shower anyway? Insufferable git. What could he possibly be doing in there? Okay, the perverted half of her mind knew exactly what he would be doing in there, but she preferred not to think about it.

She sat on a tall, swiveling stool at the main island of the kitchen impatiently spinning all the way to the right, letting go and twirling back, just to repeat it to the left this time.

Needless to say, when she finally had had enough of waiting and jumped up, she was so dizzy she teetered slightly before regaining her balance. Jonathan pretended not to notice.

"That's it!" she exclaimed, once the world had stopped swaying. "I can't take it any longer." And she ran up the stairs as fast as her little legs would take her.

Pounding on the door, she realized that he probably was taking his sweet time on purpose, just to annoy her. Of course, this only served to make her pound harder.

The door was flung open but all she was able to get out was the word, "You--" before she found all speech and thought was blown from her mind. She was frozen. Draco was standing in front of her in nothing but a towel. A towel that was sitting dangerously low on his hips. She looked him up and down from head to toe before realizing what she was doing.

"I, what?" he asked, giving her his patented smirk that used to drive her mad but now... now she felt undeniably aroused.

This was not good.

*****

TBC...