This was my submission for this year's Dramione Remix over on lifejournal. My remixed couple was Tintin and Captain Haddock. Connaisseurs will know, which adventures I remixed and which characters I used. Let me know what you think or if you need more Information regarding the remixed characters. Enjoy

Prisoners of Ancient Spells

Chapter 1

The Yoth-K'nyan-Ryleh steamrolled and pounded through the waves, the spray coming up to where Hermione stood at the bow, watching the angry sea.

It was no use, she thought. It was better to go back inside. Turning her back to the grey mass rolling, spreading to the dark horizon, she pulled herself slowly, hand over hand on the inside railing, to the next door. Even with her firm grip on the metal bars, the storm managed to make her slip and roll over the deck. On all fours, waves washing over her and pulling her to the portholes, which would mean her instant death when she hit the open ocean, she somehow crept back to the wall and held on for dear life. Two more metres, which took a felt half an hour and she'd reached the door, wrenched it open with superhuman strength, due to her desperation, and slipped inside. With a relieved sigh, she sunk against the solid metal, which separated her from the elements trying to do her in. If she weren't as rational as she was, she would have actually believed there was a purpose for the raging sea.

Picking herself up off the floor, she shook the water out of her hair and stumbled against the rocking ship to her cabin to change out of her drenched clothes.

Crookshanks lay spread out on her bedspread. He may have changed his outer appearance to a white fox-terrier, to prevent his mistress from leaving him behind on her journey, but the lazy, clever half-kneazle/cat was still in there. He raised his head briefly, as if to acknowledge her entry, and lay back down again, sighing.

"Please, don't get up or give me a helping hand. I insist. I can quite manage by myself. I have only been almost blown overboard," Hermione remarked drily. The dog on her bed whipped his head over to her once more, alarmed by her sarcastic voice, but when he saw her making her way to the bathroom stall her little cabin afforded, swaying back and forth due to the ship's lurching, he blinked, once, and reclined once more with a huff. Lurching ships were not his thing and he'd rather reclined without distraction, thank you very much.

With her usual efficiency, Hermione showered, dried and dressed quickly, then left her cabin with a last glance at her familiar. "What kind of dog are you, Crooks? Man's best friend? You will have to improve your habits if you want to make a believable dog," she chided him. He wagged his tail in a lazy greeting once more but didn't bother with any other reaction. "Right", said Hermione and snorted. Then she chuckled. Cat will be cat – and this one was a little seasick.

Making her way to the galley, she thought a hot tea would do her good. Being on a freighter, not a cruise ship, the galley was the only comfortable room with a lounge and the cook was everyone's best friend. In addition, the galley was always warm not only because of the cooking but also because the cook had a terrarium in the lounge – he jokingly called her his sea snake – and, since the cook was quite good at his metier, the kitchen was usually filled with some delicious food smell. It wasn't uncommon to find a seaman or two taking a break with a hot soup or coffee and enjoying the cook's company. Hermione was not surprised, therefore, to find another seafarer sitting already on the bench next to the buffet, mulling over a drink with a sour face.

"Malfoy," she greeted with a nod in his vague direction. Her relationship with him had been non-existent after the war ended, and only necessity brought them together in the same vicinity now.

"Blood-sucking bugbears, it's Granger," he growled back without looking her way. It wasn't obvious whether he was drunk or bad-tempered, but either way, she didn't take it personally. She only needed Malfoy for a single reason because – believe it or not - he qualified. She didn't need to befriend him. And she was quite glad about that fact because friendliness had become a foreign word to Malfoy ever since the war ended. He'd been hit with the Cursing Curse by Dolohov in a last strike revenge for revealing the last Death Eater hideout in exchange for some prosecution leniency. Thus, Malfoy had gotten off lightly, due to being a minor during the war and his family history and his assistance, but life had still not been easy for him. In the end, it didn't really matter whether he'd gotten into the habit of cursing because life sucked or because he was still under the curse. In any case, she didn't blame him for being drunk most of the time, either. She just hoped he would be sober enough to fulfil his purpose when the time came.

After a friendly exchange with the collegial cook, Hermione settled with her tea on the other side of the table Malfoy sat on. Two resting seamen kindly had gotten up to make room for her. She'd given them a friendly smile, which had been returned by an appreciative nod, and slid into the space on the bench thus vacated. She was used to people's kind treatment. Being in the news every now and then kept her face in the know like a celebrity. They never remembered why her name and face had been published, a clever magical trick she invented, only that it had been her. And thus, everybody knew her and nobody knew exactly why, except for her ancient war heroism. And Hermione was quite okay with that. Having been the brain behind Harry's success in beating Voldemort had given her more status than she asked for, those years ago. Being able to hide her face in between publications nowadays, to be able to focus and investigate what really interested her , was a blessing.

Taking a sip of her tea, she thought of Harry, who was kept in St. Mungo's under strictest observations, he and the other members of his expedition. With a shudder, Hermione recalled her last visit while across from her Malfoy grunted and stared into his cup.

"Every day at the same time, Hermione. Just watch, it's almost eleven …" Padma Patil, one of the healers in charge, took Hermione to the locked ward where Harry and his fellows had their beds. The spells Padma used to open the door were partially unknown to Hermione, which was quite a feat, and there was a watchman in addition, but she was aware that such security was necessary. One by one, after their return from South America, the expedition members had been picked off and cast into a death-like sleep. First Ron, then Bill the curse-breaking specialist, then the twins despite their cleverness, Boxley, the photographer, Susan Bones, the anthropologist, Neville Longbottom, the herbologist, and Marcus Flint the muscle and jungle explorer. Hermione remembered how peeved Ron had been about the fact that a Slytherin had to come along, but according to Harry's reports, Flint had been a real help. They had returned, apparently safe and sound, grace to Flint's skills. Until the curse had started to eliminate them one by one.

Harry had been the last and, being the last remaining un-cursed expedition member, and being Harry Potter himself, he had the house chock full of Ministry-ordered bodyguards, plus Hermione herself, but to no avail. When they'd heard the usual "zirr" and "cling" in the middle of the night from Harry's highly-watched and magically protected sleeping room, Hermione had known he'd followed his friends into oblivion. Just a few shards of crystal remained in the middle of the floor and the magical artefacts he had brought back had vanished, as usual. All other casualties had had the same circumstances. They'd gone to bed and didn't wake up again, except for eleven o'clock. And all Peruvian treasures were gone.

A clock started ringing. "There, wait, on the last ring when the hour is full …," Padma said.

So it was. As soon as the eleventh stroke had rung, all nine patients started to gurgle, hiss and writhe in their beds. Since this wasn't the first time the patients seized, protections had been put in place to assure no further harm came to them, but it was a miserable sight: their eyes wide open in fright, their mouths stretched in silent screams, their bodies fighting whatever horrors their minds played them, and no sound but the gurgling of a drowning person and the hissing of a kettle. Hermione bit hard on the back of her fist, taking in every detail of her cursed friends. She still wasn't sure if she should be happy or aggrieved that she didn't go along with them on their expedition, just because her work had held her up. She had been still in the throes of an important project, and Harry, impatient as he was, hadn't wanted to wait for her. Could she have prevented it if she had gone?

"And there's nothing you can do, Padma?" she asked. It was a sign of her distress that she asked such an obvious question.

Padma shook her head. "Nothing, Hermione. We have absolutely no idea what ails them, and we checked every curse, ailment, jinx, hex, potion, Muggle illness or any combination of it under the sun. There's just no getting through to them and it works like clockwork."

"Darn," Hermione pressed out. "If only I'd gone with them …"

"No, no, you would lay there, just like them, Hermione. It's better you didn't go."

Healer and world-renown researcher whirled around to the new voice entering the room. The watchman must have let her in. She could be very convincing if she wanted to be.

"What makes you say that, Luna?" Hermione greeted the younger witch wearily. She had learned long ago that Luna's comments contained a grain of truth but were very hard to understand for normal people.

"They found what they were looking for, but it shouldn't have been found. They broke something that should not have been broken."

"Yes, that's a very helpful observation," Hermione snapped. She could feel her hair coming to life. Why, oh why did it always have to stand up when she got annoyed? "Could you be more specific? Did they find the spring of magic? Harry said no. He said they only found an abandoned cave with some Peruvian gold treasures. These treasures have been examined and found to be harmless."

"No, they found more. And now it's too late to go back. Once it's broken …. When the sun completes its seasonal turn, the contract will be done. All magic will vanish. It will make sure of it."

"WHAT?" Hermione and Padma cried at once. "Vanish? Why vanish?Voldemort only triggered some Dark Magic that needed to be undone. What are you talking about?"

"No, no, the magic will vanish. We will all be Muggles again. Just like aeons ago. Before they came."

Hermione was close to shaking her friend. Her hair standing on end because of her aggravation, she was sure she looked like a troll, and being upset with Luna totally didn't help things. Luna had her uses and she was brilliant when it came to contact of a certain kind, that is, the less scientific and more supernatural kind, therefore, since they lived in the magical world, she was better listened to. Sometimes, however, she simply didn't make any sense to any normal person or witch like Hermione herself.

"Luna, please, tell me more. Why will magic vanish? Who are they ? What is IT? Are you talking about the expedition? Before they came back from Peru, is that what you mean? What did they find there? What did they DO? Padma, help me out here!"

Luna shrugged. She was used to people yelling at her. "You don't have to believe me, but don't tell me afterwards I didn't warn you.I can make tea without a hot water spell. But the Freshwater Plimpies and all other magical beings will be no more, including us. And that would be a shame."

With an exasperated "Gaaah", Hermione had turned away, her hair up in a quiff, leaving the further interrogation to the more patient Padma, who, however, also didn't manage to get any more clues from the cryptic Luna.

And while the gurgling and hissingsound stopped habitually after twelve minutes, only to give way to the death-like state her friends were in, Hermione had found herself on a new mission. Whatever had befallen her friends, she had to figure out what it was and stop it. With or without Luna's cryptic message. She just had to wait until her hair calmed down.

And then she had vanished. From the appearance of her home, there had been a struggle: containers were thrown over and skin of boomslang, black beetle eyes and gillyweed thrown all over the floor. It seemed Luna had put up a good fight. By the looks of it, she had lost and had been taken. There was no sign of her. But she had left a clue behind; a single word had been magically scratched on her wall: Yoth .

This was the very reason Hermione was on this ship, heading for Peru, and why she had Malfoy in tow. Blowing on her already cooling tea, she was pulled back into reality when Malfoy's rough voice barked, "Where's your constant tail, that dog looking like a crup in disguise? Changed familiar, Granger? What happened to your ugly cat?"

Hermione clucked her tongue in annoyance. How typical of Malfoy to start with an insult. "This is my ugly cat. Your eyes deceiving you?"

"Huh," Malfoy grunted but decided not to follow that line of conversation. "Tell me again why you had to drag me along, Granger, will you? Gibbering goblins."

Hermione contemplated his washed-out appearance and his hostile gaze. Not only had the after-the-war time not been good to him, his substance abuse, magical or Muggle, had taken its toll as well. He had always been of the slim kind, but now he looked malnourished and worn-out, in the same way as Muggle drug-addicts. She had no pity for his lot in life, his attitude had made clear early on where he chose to be, but she needed him. The main purpose of Harry's expedition had been to find and return one of Voldemort's artefacts, which he'd used to maintain his immortality. Apparently, the Dark Lord hadn't only dabbled in Horcruxes. He had also experimented with ancient Peruvian rituals, time-release spells, which would renew his life force periodically when cast. One such spell, bound to an ancient Peruvian gold mask, had gone off a few months ago, rippling the magic worldwide, since the recipient of the spell was good and well dead, or so they thought. It had taken them some time to locate the vessel for the spell, and when they had, Harry, being Harry and the designated saviour, had put together the expedition to find and destroy the mask and check whether there were other vessels of its kind. The expedition had gone and come back successfully and all seemed well.

In the process of finding Voldemort's little toys of life prolongation, they had found in his legal estate some notes, in which the words "spring of magic" were most prominent – prominent as in written in capitals and underlined three times in colour, much to Hermione's liking. However, Harry had denied finding anything alike. Besides the vessel, i.e. the gold mask, only other gold artefacts had been in the cave, all of which had been examined for Voldemort's magical marker and found to be non-magical, only ancient – and made of purest gold. Ron had made sure every expedition member received his or her fair share. Finder's keepers. War heroes were rarely denied, especially when they saved the day again.

Hermione hadn't begrudged him his new-found wealth. As long as she could continue working for the Ministry's obscure research branch, doing what she did best and loved above all, she was more than fine with her income plus publication deals. She wouldn't have had time to spend more money than she already had. Something Ron couldn't understand at all.

She sighed. Ron lived his life, she lived hers. They were friends, but never aspired to more after a first trial.

Research. Research was her shtick. And research had brought her here, trying to re-trace the tracks of the expedition - with Malfoy, who still glared at her, waiting for her reply. She sighed again, took another sip and put up a Muffliato and a Confundo to be undisturbed and set about explaining her plan.

"All right, Malfoy, you know about Harry's expedition, right?"

Malfoy snorted. "It was all over the Daily Prophet for weeks, galloping gargoyles. If not every nitwitted reader doesn't know every blasting detail about it, they are stupider than iconoclasts, the aardvarks."

"Err, right." Trying to figure out quickly whether the words in his curses actually meant anything, Hermione decided not to bother and moved on.

She cleared her throat. "You know about Voldemort relying on means for immortality, namely his horcruxes. Your father actually guarded one of them. And Harry's expedition went out to take care of other spells he used to assure the continuation of his life force. The one that screwed up the entire magic all over the world."

Malfoy took a sip of his drink instead of a confirmation. His burning if slightly shaky gaze told her to tell him something new, for crying out loud. Her irritation barely held in check over his being obstinate, she continued with a huff.

"Right. After Voldemort passed …," Malfoy's gaze became like a hot skewer with bad aim, "… err, after Harry defeated him…" scorching gaze all over the place, "oh, for Merlin's sake, after he was dead, we found some notes about a spring of magic." The gaze turned to jiggery scrutiny and Malfoy took another sip. This time, Hermione caught a whiff of the alcohol from his direction, and that tipped the scale for her. She didn't care whether Malfoy saw her hair problem: this was too much.

Fully enraged, her hair standing up in the middle in a quiff, she snatched his bottle to have his full attention. "Malfoy, I wouldn't care if you spent the entire trip to our destination deep in your drinks if you were just some old school mate who happened to be on the same ship. However, as it is, you seem to be too much involved with the spirits to even listen properly, not to mention focus. And when we get to our destination, when we actually find this "spring", whatever it is, I need your pureblood presence to be sober, do you understand me? So, I need you to stop drinking now before it gets completely out of hand. A glass here or there won't hurt, but the whole bottle or more vanishing in one day will have to stop. I need you to be able to stay sober and able to use your brain. I need your help in the end and your brain had better be working fine when that time comes."

If loathing could kill, Hermione would have keeled over (in several places) and taken her last breath (or not at all since his aim was so bad.) Instead, she got another whiff of alcohol when Malfoy took another ostensive sip and blew even more spirits in her direction by clearing his throat with a cough. "I-i-i d-d-don't need to do a-a-anything f-f-for you," he stuttered, the last drink having gotten to his brain. Ever recalcitrant, he didn't seem to want to work with her. Well, she had to appeal to his good conscience.

Putting a soothing hand on his, she said smoothly, "Think of your reputation, Malfoy. And your mother. What would your mother think, knowing you're making the Malfoys look bad by drowning your sorrows in spirits?"

That got a reaction other than petulance. "Mmmy mother?" Malfoy blubbered. "W-w-what's my m-m-mother got-t … m-m-my poor mother." His own thoughts caught up with him in mid-sentence and changed direction. His gaze became unfocused, and it actually seemed to Hermione that some tears appeared. They didn't fall, however. Malfoy would never be caught crying.

"There, there, Malfoy," she said soothingly. "There's an easy solution. You're going to help me and come home victorious. She'll be so proud."

After a minute of sniffing silently, he pushed his cup away from him and tried to focus his swimming eyes on her. Hermione felt she had enough of his attention to put the bottle aside, next to the cup at the far end of the table, and continue with her tale.

"Okay, now, Voldemort assumed, according to his notes, that the spring of magic was something where magic could be replenished, and life force, too. Harry and his expedition were looking for some kind of spring, as in liquid coming in any kind of shape, being caught in any vessel. They searched the location of the cave and surroundings thoroughly, but didn't find anything."

Malfoy was busy making an intense visual reconnection with his bottle, but Hermione assumed he was listening.

"Now, whatever they did while searching, according to Luna …" - here Malfoy snorted, "Loony Lovegood, the anacoluthon" - to which Hermione replied with exasperation. He might be under a curse, but could he let her finish one sentence uncommented? "As I was saying, Luna," she emphasized her friend's Christian name when continuing in a sharp voice, "remarked, in one of her surprise appearances, that Harry and the expedition broke something. She was subsequently kidnapped and taken away, but not before leaving me a message, scratched on her kitchen wall: Yoth."

If this was anyhow familiar to Malfoy and his pureblood upbringing, he didn't let her know. Having snatched up his empty cup with shaky hands, he took a deep swig, found a last drop and sighed relieved.

"Does this ring a bell, Malfoy?"

He startled. "What was that?"

"Yoth," Hermione persisted. "Is it familiar?"

Malfoy put on the appearance of deep thinking, but the effect was that of a confused alcoholic: he had started to shake his head as soon as he'd heard the word. Whatever the alcohol did to him, his lying skills had not improved. There had to be an advantage in that. So much for his pureblood connection. Hermione clucked her tongue in slight annoyance over the effects of his drunkenness and his lack of recognition, but she had done her homework. She wasn't dependent on his pureblood arse for knowledge.

"Well, then, listen up, and listen well. I don't know what dangers we are going to face, and I don't want to have to repeat the details because you've been sitting on your ears and didn't get it into your alcohol addled brain."

"Spit it out, Granger, you hagging nag, err, nagging hag. Don't talk to me like I'm a bath-tub admiral. I'm not as stupid nor as drunk as you seem to think, Miss War-Heroine-who-likes-to-stay-out-of-the-limelight."

That hit. How did he know? She was absolutely certain that she had done the spell properly every time. Nobody should know. But if she asked him directly, he would deny anything specific. Better to find out inconspicuously at a later time.

So Hermione waved her hand dismissively and snarled at him, feeling her hair twitch, "Whatever you say, Malfoy. Will you listen now or do I have to throw all your bottles overboard?"

If he could have breathed fire, he would have had the same expression. "You wouldn't dare, you Ostrogoth."

"Watch me, you miserable alcoholic." Her hair bristled dangerously again.

Malfoy banged his cup on the table and got up. "All right, that's it. Did you need my help, Granger, was that it? Because right now, I'm not really inclined to do anything for you."

Hermione took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down her tresses. He was right. She did need his help. And she didn't need a troll head. "All right, Malfoy. My apologies. Please, sit down again, and I'll tell you what I know and what we can expect."

For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to walk out. On second thought, he seemed to remember what awaited him at home if he didn't help her. He sat down again with a grunt and took his empty cup to roll it between his hands. His sideways glance at the bottle didn't escape her.

"Later," she besieged him. "Please, listen first, okay?"

Angry grey eyes stared at her. They couldn't quite stand still and reminded Hermione of the raging sea on the other side of the hull, implacable and incessantly moving, an incalculable power. It surprised her a bit when he simply nodded.

Hermione straightened her shoulders to face Malfoy on an even level. It always helped her to be more confident in her explanations if she was able to meet her correspondent eye to eye. "All right, our task will be three-fold. We have to find what's affecting the expedition members to be able to undo it. We have to find Luna and bring her back. And we have to find out what she said Harry and the others broke and see if it poses any threat to us. I assume is has something to do with the curse that's affecting them, so it is quite likely dangerous. Do you understand?"

Malfoy had the appearance of not having heard half of what she said, but he proved her wrong when he asked, "And why exactly do you need me to trudge along?"

A small smile played around Hermione's mouth. "You, Malfoy, are going to be my pureblooded bait. If the sea doesn't sink us, our ship will land at Callao in three days' time. And they will find us because of you. If they haven't already."

Malfoy took the bottle back without another word.