Chapter 12: The Gypsy Marchizã's Inn
The Clairvoyance Chamber was lined with floor-length mirrors, all in the shape of half moons encased in gold and silver frames. In between the mirrors stood tall candelabras on black stems, which held fat red candles with purple flames. In the middle of the chamber was a table covered in multi-layered, beige and burgundy drapes. Curled amidst their folds, a wild leopard cat stretched lazily and was soon sound asleep. An arched passageway led away from the Chamber to the mansion of Melodia, the owner of the Gypsy Marchizã's Inn. At the head of the passageway was a Griffith gargoyle, from whose open beak a delicate rose incense filled the room.
Draco leaned nonchalantly against the door frame of the smaller inner room, watching Hermione, unseen, from behind a peach-coloured sheer curtain. Its edge was rimmed with large gold sequins. The curtain was bewitched to appear opaque, and made of heavy amethyst velvet, to the people in the next room of the pub, which housed about a hundred, yet unoccupied, seats.
A little while ago, two kittens had left their mother's side, eagerly clambering down to the floor and scratching at Draco's trousers. Draco had smoothly scooped them up, and the tiny creatures now slept peacefully in his folded arms, lullabied by the soft drumming of his heart.
Draco had already had word sent to Melodia through the Seeker of his team, Sovann. Whilst Melodia had made sure that the pub was opened early for their arrival, she had not agreed to what he had requested yet. She had even asked Bella, her lady-in-waiting, to stand in front of the passageway and stop him from getting to the manor. He had tried to charm the sixty-year old Bella into letting him pass and she'd even shown signs of giving in, but, at the last minute, apologized about not wanting to find herself out of employment and huffily closed the steel gate before scampering away. Draco could have easily unlocked the gate, but he preferred to respect Melodia's wish. She could be such a jealous wench when she wanted.
The object of Draco's keen study sat on her own at a round marble table. Both of her hands supported her chin as she gazed dreamily at the small crystal ships unhurriedly navigating across the opulent room. They were decked with white, blue, and green candles. A thick old book lay closed next to the large glass of mead she had not yet touched.
Sheer madness – that's what it had been, Draco thought. He could have found the Lovers' Heart by himself; heck, everything about this quest had been planned days ago. Why had he then impulsively agreed to take Granger with him? He could still not believe he was actually looking at her and not at a drawing instead. The last time he had seen her in person was six years ago; she and Ron Weasley had disappeared together under Potter's cloak, after the war. That had been a very hard period of time for him. It landed him in the forbidden Land of Dementors, bent on self-destruction as he had been...
He did not have the heart to see her disappear again. The Wizard World Conference to which he had been invited was going to take place in four days; those would be the four days he'd make the utmost of her company.
Draco had been informed about Granger looking for him as soon as she had set foot on Cambodian soil. In fact, she had started her search onboard the International Land Express itself, relentlessly interrogating her fellow passengers who had had the misfortune of sitting in the same compartment as her.
Draco had actually wanted her to find him, and he'd dropped a word to that effect with the locals. Nevertheless, seeing her in front of him had made his body ripple with shock. He had stopped breathing when he'd realised she had been sitting underneath a man-eating tree, the Drosera Septopas. Oh, he had been grateful she had been covered in mud from Earl of Angkor's swamp. The mud in which those great beasts spend their time acquire magical properties over time: it masks the scent of the wearer to everyone else, save the Komodo Eiferatu itself. The tree, even if it had been sleeping, would have been able to detect the scent of a human, had she not been draped in mud.
Granger had grown from an attractive girl into a beautiful young woman. He'd had difficulty releasing himself from the enchanting prison of her warm, chocolate brown eyes when they'd first met. His heart had been like a haunted train, without a driver, which raced and fell off a precipice. The train had not crashed yet; its fall seemed to be eternally suspended in time. He had never been able to forget her; that forbidden escapade in the abandoned tower, when they had been in their third year, had sealed his fate and locked her inside his heart.
At the time when she had been arguing about going in search of the Lovers' Heart on her own, he had tried to deter her, but only half-heartedly so. He was not ready to let go of her yet. He had heard it when she had collapsed to the ground as he had left to talk to Sovann. He had very nearly turned to help her up and keep her safe by his side, but he had known Granger would have felt mortified, had he obeyed his reflex. She was a proud woman who, no doubt, would prefer to get up all on her own.
...
These lovely ships have been charmed with a flying spell, Hermione reflected. The candles they carried reflected beautifully off their pale green crystal surfaces. What has been Draco Malfoy been up to all these years, her meandering mind wondered for the nth time. There were a million questions she had wanted to ask him, but it was not as if they had formerly been great buddies and could take the liberty of asking about each other's lives.
An hour ago, she had been using the women-only shower of the Cambodian team. With all of her clothes still on, Hermione had tried every cleaning spell she knew of to get rid of the mud, but it would not be dislodged. Chantrea, the Beater, and the other girl of the team, Kanya, who had until then not been very welcoming, had even come to lend a helping hand. The three girls had not been able to do away with the mud despite their concerted efforts, but they had instead managed to become friends in that short amount of time. Hermione could not have helped but observe how matters of beauty and fashion (or patent lack thereof – as in her case) had the potential of turning mere strangers into friends in minutes, provided they were all women. It was the same both in the wizarding world and the Muggle world.
An exquisite, playful whistle, like that of a bird call, outside the magically enlarged tent had interrupted their conjectures about mud-ridding spells. Chantrea had identified it as that of Draco's with a blush and had hurried outside. Hermione, on the other hand, could not, for the life of her, fathom where she had first heard that peculiar, teasing whistle!
"Is anything the matter, Hermione?" Kanya had asked, seeing Hermione's brows furrowing in concentration.
"This—this whistle—it seems somewhat familiar to me, and yet I cannot place it," Hermione had answered.
"Does it?" Kanya had questioned doubtfully. "It's not likely you'd have heard it, though. Our coach invented it only two years ago, at our local Wizard Whistling competition," Kanya had laughingly explained.
"Wizard Whistling competition! What's that?" Hermione had asked, joining in the laughter. "I can't recall having read about such a competition anywhere!"
"I doubt you would have," Kanya had remarked. "Something quite silly really. We were all having a celebratory drink at the Gypsy Marchizã's inn after we had won the Quidditch World Cup. Sovann was whistling a love tune, and an old drunken wizard took offence. He started threatening to transfigure everybody into fleas. This could have resulted in a messy brawl if our ingenious coach did not quickly come up with the idea of having a whistling competition. It stumped everybody into baffled silence!" Kanya had exclaimed proudly. "He proposed that a whistling competition be held; the one who could come up with the most intricate whistle could have one of his wishes made true by those present."
"But why a whistling competition?" Hermione had enquired.
"It turns out our wonderful coach knew why the old wizard was in such a foul mood," Kanya had said good-humouredly.
"And why was he? How come your coach knew the reason?" Hermione had asked, genuinely intrigued.
"I'm not sure how, but the coach had been in a strange mood that evening. At times he'd join our loud carousing, and the next moment he would lapse into a silent, melancholic spell. I've never seen him drink as much as he did then," Kanya had shared pensively. "It could be he'd heard the old wizard's conversation with someone else. The old wizard himself later recounted how, fifty years ago, he'd wooed his own wife with a unique whistle he'd invented, but he'd had a fight with her shortly before leaving the house that day."
"So your coach, on purpose, came up with the whistling competition to appease the man, and make him remember the good old times," Hermione correctly surmised.
"You're right. There is not one moment in which you'd be bored when you're in his company! In fact, you'd find yourself cursing Time for so hastily passing by when he's with you! Not paying consideration to the fact that he is drop-dead gorgeous, and you could spend eternity looking at him, he truly is someone ...how do I say...mesmeric," Kanya had said with a telling sigh.
Hermione had been keen to know more. Hearing of Draco Malfoy being spoken of in such terms was positively new to her. Back in England, the Malfoys no longer had the same influence they had previously enjoyed. Lucius Malfoy no longer went about life as he once confidently did, nor did Narcissa Malfoy make many appearances in public. It was quite apparent that they missed their cherished son sorely.
"Who won the whistling contest, then?" Hermione had urged on. It must have been the superb whistle she had herself just heard, she had found herself acknowledging.
"You would have thought the one who'd proposed to have the competition would willingly take part in it. But it had taken all of the hundred or so wizards and witches at the inn to convince Draco before he finally relented. He won, of course," Kanya said, smiling affably.
"Your coach seems to be quite popular. What was his wish?" Hermione had questioned.
"Yes, he is. He's done so much for us," Kanya had said wistfully. "Well, he said he had nothing to wish for, and would rather we make the wish of the one who came second to him come true. That was none other than the old wizard who had wooed his wife with a whistle! The man's wish was nothing complicated. He just wanted the great Ladon Hydras, also distinguished for his amazing talent as a violinist, to play a serenade for the upset wife whilst he himself proffered apologies to her."
"Wow, was Ladon also at the inn, then?" a wonderstruck Hermione had asked.
"Of course! You don't know-" Kanya had started saying, frowning at her, but was interrupted by Chantrea.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Hermione and Kanya had heard Chantrea say. She had entered the tent, her wand stretched in front of her, preceded by a large silver cauldron that had floated in mid-air. "Make way, make way, girls. Hot water coming!" Chantrea had instructed.
"What's this?" Kanya had enquired. Chantrea had then made a swishing movement with her wand, and the cauldron had at once touched the floor in front of Hermione.
"The solution to making this mud wash away in no time, or so our coach deems!" Chantrea had pronounced.
Hermione had knelt down to examine the simmering yellow water from which swirls of fragrant, dark red smoke arose. The other two girls had followed her example.
"These are mango leaves, and this smell and colour—that's turmeric," Hermione exclaimed in amazement. "Why didn't I think of this first? An infusion of mango leaves, turmeric, and lukewarm water gives you a potion with germicidal properties!"
Chantrea and Kanya kept looking at her, baffled.
"This brew can wipe away germs, and it can also wash away this peculiar mud!" Hermione had cheerfully explained, glad to finally be able to clean herself. She had then proceeded to test some of the water on her sleeves, and it had proved very effective.
"But it doesn't only contain the ingredients you identified," Chantrea had stated. "The coach also added sandalwood paste and some Marigolds in that mixture."
"I see," Hermione had contemplated. "The sandalwood paste explains the aromatic, dark red smoke. Both sandalwood and Marigolds are well-known for their therapeutic properties." They had not been essential for the potion, though. It had been a very thoughtful gesture on Draco's part.
After that, Chantrea and Kanya had left so that she could take her bath.
Hermione, immaculately dressed and refreshed, had met Draco outside half an hour later. There had been just the two of them. The members of the Cambodian team had all left. The wind had been blowing quite ferociously by then, but the dark clouds had given way to a glorious sunset.
Draco had been standing just outside the tent, hands crossed against his broad chest. He had already showered and carelessly hand combed his damp hair back. There was a tiny, silver dragon stud in his left ear, which she had not noticed earlier. With or without it, he would still look the rakish wolf he was, Hermione had thought.
His own mud-stained clothes were gone and, instead, he wore a white, long-sleeved shirt and black trousers. The sleeves of his shirt had been slightly rolled up, revealing a silver Figaro bracelet around a strong, masculine wrist. The rays of the sun, having succumbed to the rakish wolf's charms, had been filtering through the sinful thinness of his shirt, reverently kissing his well-toned abdomen.
Hermione had not been able to stop herself from smiling at him. Words had seemed superfluous and unnecessary at that moment. She had felt her heart resuming its strange, frantic tango again.
Draco had answered with a half-smile of his own. He said not a word, but extended his hand towards her. Hermione had known they were going to Disapparate together, but she had not even asked where to. She had taken his hand, for the first time, implicitly trusting this mesmeric Draco.
...
They had Apparated outside the Gypsy Marchizã's Inn.
"This is where our quest begins," Draco had said, as he had let go of her hand.
"But I need to meet Mr. Ladon Hydras first. Why are we here?"Hermione had demanded. She had had to resist the crazy urge to nab his hand back.
"You'll soon figure out," Draco had proffered, not enlightening her as much as she would have wished him to. He had then pushed open the inn's wide wooden door. Hermione had been fascinated by the interior.
The large pub had white-washed stone walls and dark wood panelling. The wall on the left was in effect a waterfall façade with pink and dark blue flower bushes, amongst which frolicked tiny pixies and fairies. In the middle of the room was a wooden stage, partly adorned by a sandy coloured sculpture of a massive ten-headed snake affectionately curled around a lioness. The jaws of the snake gaped open at irregular intervals and from there flowed liquor of various colours.
Draco had motioned Hermione to take a seat, while he himself vanished behind a heavy velvet curtain.
...
There were only a few tables which were not taken at present. An endless assortment of witches and wizards steadily filed into the pub, instantly engaging themselves in animated conversations, of which Hermione could sadly make neither head nor tail, for they spoke Khmer. The flying schooners were at present navigating at a frenzied pace, carrying and delivering drinks and snacks to whoever asked for them.
A silly debate raged on inside Hermione. She doubted anyone has had to ponder over something as ridiculous, yet so confounding! She could not settle on how to call that one time Muggleborn-hater, Slytherin brat! Well, he had changed of course, and there rested this inane indecisiveness! Should she continue to call him 'Malfoy'? Or, should she start calling him 'Draco'? When she had come across him in the forest, she had called him 'Malfoy', having been startled out of her wits. There had been no time to think. And then, when they had started conversing, she had unwittingly omitted from saying his name. Calling him 'Malfoy' seemed too impersonal, as if she wanted to distance him. Well, impersonal was not a bad thing, but it made her uncomfortable! 'Malfoy' had been perfect when they had been at Hogwarts, but, for some reason, it didn't seem quite as fitting now.
If she addressed him as 'Draco', wouldn't it seem too sudden? They were neither close, nor friendly enough for her to call him by his first name.
Arrrggg, what an absurd dilemma! Hermione thought.
"Talking to yourself, young lady?" an elderly woman asked. "Do you mind if I join you?" She had an amused, benevolent smile on her face, and she wore a maroon shawl over a green gown.
"Not at all; please do." Hermione stood up and drew back a chair for the woman to sit. "I didn't realise I said that aloud," Hermione added, flushing.
"Thank you, child. I am Hildy. And no, you didn't say anything aloud," the woman supplied. "You had such a troubled look on your face. I couldn't help wonder which quandary you found yourself in."
"Nice to meet you, Hildy. I am Hermione Granger. Oh, it's nothing really. I was just having a daft conversation with myself," Hermione answered, embarrassed. There was no way in the world she would have shared what she had been debating about!
"I see." The woman smiled kindly. "I haven't seen you around here before," she observed. "Are you English, dear?"
"Yes, I am. This is my first time in Cambodia."
"Forgive me for being nosy, child; are you perhaps here to meet Ladon Hydras?"
"How did you know?" Hermione asked, befuddled.
"It's not a huge guess, my dear. Every new face we see around here, and there have been scores of them, inevitably comes in search of our dear Ladon. But the thing is, Ladon lets only a privileged few find him."
"I suppose so. I've been wading through the jungle for about two days! Thankfully, I came across Drac—I mean-Malf—Mr Draco Malfoy, who is the assistant of-"
"Draco? Assistant? Pardon me for having interrupted you, child. It just felt exceedingly incongruous to hear of that exquisite man being talked of as 'assistant'. Is that what he told you?"
"Well—er—I—I assumed he was-" Hermione forgot about completing her sentence. Now that she was thinking it over, Draco never said he was the assistant of Ladon Hydras; she had assumed this was the case. He had not even denied it! Had he been having a secret laugh over her misunderstanding? How come he knew Ladon so well, then? It couldn't be...
"I see that devilish person has not really bothered to enlighten you, my dear," Hildy remarked. "Draco is Ladon Hydras. And I am telling you this only because, since he's brought you here, it is clear he doesn't mind you finding about Ladon Hydras's real identity."
The female leopard cat on the table hissed threateningly, foiling Melodia's attempt to surprise Draco. He had been lost in contemplation, like the alluring statue of a seraph halloed by the soft light which filtered through the sheer curtain. Only huge wings made of polished black scales, in lieu of the traditional white feathers, were missing to complete the picture.
"It's okay, pretty," Draco said to the mother cat, which immediately calmed down as he caressed the side of her face. He gently placed the two kittens back at their mother's side.
Her own cat, a male she had brought up for the last two years, purred in a consolatory way at her feet. Leopard cats were known to pair up for life, and her wretched cat had had to go out and mate with that wild one!
"I wonder how you manage to charm wild creatures as well," Melodia said in an accusing tone.
"Pleased to see you too, fiery lass. Why 'as well'?" Draco asked, amused.
"You very well know! Few are those who can resist you, it seems; not even animals! I asked old Bella to stand guard here till I arrive, and what did she do? She ran away from you! You're a dangerous beast, Draco, and that's why I will never fall for you!" Melodia answered as she gave a last check to her appearance in one of the crescent-shaped mirrors. She wore all kinds of trinkets and jewellery: amulets with runic inscriptions, a dozen sapphire and gold bracelets in each hand, a thin gold headband, hooped jade earrings, and a necklace embedded with a variety of gemstones. At its centre was a pink sapphire pendant Draco had gifted her.
"I know. It would make you a dull woman, otherwise," Draco replied, smirking.
Melodia adjusted the fringe belt of her flowing dark red skirt, which had tiny golden beads that clanged musically as she moved. "Something has made me curious for quite some time now. How come you can pacify angry animals?"
"It's not something I do deliberately. I have always been able to communicate with Sirin, my deaf eagle owl. There was this incident with a Hippogriff, in my third year at Hogwarts..." Draco let his sentence drift off, not bothering to finish it. He busied himself counting the tiny satin flowers in Melodia's curly, long black hair.
"Oh, I forgot! You don't like talking about your school years. I know part of it is because of the war with Voldemort. Something tells me it isn't just that, though. Can it be you were bullied for being so clever and good-looking?" Melodia asked, hands on hips.
Draco chuckled. "You cannot imagine how much. Life was hell!"
"Poor you! If I could turn time back, I would have hexed all those little imps who dared hurt you," Melodia declared fiercely.
Draco came closer to Melodia, holding onto her waist as they gazed at each other in the mirror. "I was kidding. I was the bully, rather. A hated bully," he delivered gravely, something in his irresistibly beautiful eyes reached out to Melodia. Instead of chiding him, she found herself thinking what it would be like to get lost in those eyes. Snap out of it, Melodia; this man is a lady killer!
"If you are trying to seduce me, then, forget it," Melodia snapped, walking to the next mirror.
"I can't fool you, but I can unsettle you, it appears," Draco said. A teasing half-smile danced at the corners of his lips.
"No, you can't! What is it you want to know, Draco?" Melodia asked.
"The location of the Gypsy Caravan, as I told you in the message," Draco replied.
"The laces in my bodice need to be tightened, can you help, please?" Melodia droned.
Draco, who had been leaning against the edge of the table, at once came to Melodia's side.
"For the laces to be tightened, they need to be undone first," Draco said seductively, but his hands were already undoing and tightening the laces of the golden bodice, which were fitted with gold coins, in keeping the gypsy custom.
"You must have—ugh—" Melodia gasped as a roguish Draco, on purpose, tied the lace a tad too roughly.
"What were you saying, Melodia?" he prompted innocently. The light in his eyes was all but innocent, Melodia thought as she looked at his reflection in the mirror.
"You must have done this quite –ugghh—a number of times before." Draco allowed her to complete her sentence, as he himself finished securing the last strap of lace.
"That's not important. Are you going to tell me where the Gypsy Caravan is? It can save me about a day or two of searching," Draco renewed his request.
"Who dares refuse the great Ladon anything? Of course, I'll tell you; but, first, you must agree to perform with me tonight! I've planned a very complicated fire act, which I'll be able to execute only with your help," Melodia chimed excitedly.
...
Silence reigned inside the Gypsy Marchizã's Inn. Not one soul dared to cough, or to stir.
A fog enveloped the stage, and a light rain started falling. The audience heard a very brief, but beautiful tune that seemed as if it floated on air, whispered in their ears, and then disappeared inside their hearts. Afterwards, there was silence again; one that throbbed with hidden significance and foreboding. Something seemed to be moving inside the fog; the spectators spied a flash of red and gold scurrying away, but it could have been a trick of the light.
All of a sudden, there was a frightening roar. It appeared to be that of a dragon. A dragon? Here? It couldn't be! But... there was the unmistakable sound of huge wings being deployed! How had a dragon penetrated inside the inn? Frozen in both fear and rapture, nobody risked to make a move. Yes, it was a dragon. Its glowing eyes pierced through the thickness of the fog and stared at each one of them, as if it could see the bottom of their souls, their secrets, and sins. It let out another frightful roar, making the audience tremble. They could not even let their hands creep towards their wands.
The spectators watched in awe as the dragon spewed bright red fire on the stage. From its flare, they caught a glimpse of the polished black scales of the magnificent beast, but the moment lasted mere seconds. The fog progressively thickened, and the dragon's piercing stare vanished. The dragon-fire started to grow weaker and weaker. A fierce wind swept through the room, in between the tables and chairs, howling chillingly.
Before long, the hammering stillness, once more, conquered the place.
A violin started playing, rekindling the dragon-fire, which began to dance in step with the rhythm set by the instrument. The fog gradually waned into a light mist, finally revealing the handsome musician to the audience. Draco's eyes were closed as he seduced a piercingly beautiful tune, which felt almost otherworldly, out of his Stradivarius. It reminded the audience of gentle waves crashing on sandy shores, of dew trickling down the satiny petals of a wild orchid, of the fading hours of dusk, of words spoken with the eyes only...
It made them want to listen and listen...and listen.
The dragon-fire, lured on by the entrancing violin tune, kept getting bigger and bigger until it grew as tall as a human being. To the wonder of all those present, the form of a woman started to materialise inside the fire, and soon Melodia, eyes tightly shut, stood before them. She started to dance, her movements lissom and graceful, as if she too were hypnotised like the fire she was caged in. The charismatic violinist had one of his teasing half-smile on his face again, making the women sigh collectively in admiration. The fire continued to swell until it engulfed Draco, as well. Melodia immediately stilled. Once inside the fire, he proceeded to put the violin down; each one of his movements made the people in the room look on with bated breath.
The languid cackle of the fire, the dawdling cascade of the indoor waterfall, and the dull thuds of hearts, were the only sounds in the inn. Draco stood next to Melodia's side and gently turned her so that she faced him. Her eyes slowly opened from the trance-like state she had been in, and she stared up at him. The violin on the floor slowly rose in the air and started playing a heady Caprice on its own accord. The two of them enacted the famous Khmer legend about a tyrannical wizard king, who terrorised his own kingdom, and, his people, having had enough of his cruelty, calling upon a powerful witch for help.
Draco and Melodia, portraying the wizard king and witch respectively, fired an astounding array of hexes and jinxes at each other in a most impressive, splendid duel.
According to the story, the witch won the duel which took place between the two, but she did not kill the king. She cursed him to wander aimlessly around the world with the face of a formidable monster that could neither see, nor talk. The witch had heard of the king's fondness for music, and, in an act of womanly generosity, stopped herself from cursing the king with deafness and gave him a violin. The monster, with the body of a man, wandered across the Earth playing his violin for many years. Having nothing else to live for, he found delight in his instrument.
However, as the years trickled by, his music kept getting sadder and sadder, and the witch found herself following him on his travels and clearing the obstacles that could make him trip and get hurt. One day, the witch slept much longer than she used to. The monster, blundering about without caring where he went, fell down a cliff, and his violin smashed to smithereens. When the witch found him covered in blood, and scarcely breathing, she immediately took back all of the curses, and nursed him back to health.
The magnificent show, which lasted for about an hour and a half, ended with a classic fairy-tale touch where the witch and the king fell in love with each other.
The rapturous audience resoundingly applauded the two main protagonists on the stage. Only one of its member obstinately refused to join her hands together; and, by doing so, attracted the interest and surprise of the Gypsy Marchiză, who was of the idea she had just accomplished one of her best performances ever – not to forget that the irresistible Ladon Hydras was standing just besides her! Nobody, just nobody, was left unaffected by that man!
The obstinate woman was busy looking at the empty bottom of a large glass of mead, shaking the glass in the air in the hope that more giddy liquor would flow out of it. The old witch sitting next to her looked quite beside herself, having in vain tried to stop the young lady from consuming way more alcohol than she could ever tolerate.
"Is that the woman you said you were going to bring with you?" Melodia nodded in Hermione's direction, frowning in disbelief.
Brown hair ineffectually swept up in an unravelling bun, white blouse underneath a dark brown cardigan, long white skirt with tiny spidery flower patterns around the edges, dark brown bootie shoes, reddened cheeks with a few light freckles - the woman was miles away from the type of females who were generally seen in the company of Draco Malfoy!
"You guessed right for once, Melodia," Draco said gravely. "That's Hermione Granger." A rather unrecognisable Hermione Granger.
"I thought you stayed far away from such women: the ones that screamed virtue and principles. This Granger woman, even in her drunken state, reeks of those."
"She doesn't look it right now, but that woman has got brains you could only aspire to get in a thousand light years," Draco teased, knowing what Melodia would reply to that.
They made their way down the stage with Draco gallantly holding her hand as they descended the stone steps.
At present, a handsome, but gloomy-looking, young man whose long black cape trailed on the floor, walked on the stage, and bowed in front of the audience, his long dark ringlets nearly touching the floor in the process. He glanced briefly at Melodia and Draco, and then sat himself at a piano, which had materialised as soon as he had appeared.
Strangely, only Draco had returned his bow and nodded back at him; nobody else had even deigned to acknowledge his presence. Melodia had resolutely turned her back to him. Those few wizards who had condescended to look up at him only did so with an odd antipathy and resentment shining at the back of their eyes.
Melodia urged the rest of the jubilant crowd to continue with their revelling, whilst Draco courteously turned down the profusion of offers to have drinks with them. It was quite challenging to fray a passage in order to get to Hermione's table, for a few fat witches were boisterously fighting with each other so as to have a grab at Draco.
"Very funny. However they are, I'm proud of my brains, and I don't aspire to have anyone else's," Melodia retorted briskly.
"That's why my Melodia is so much more beautiful than Bartok's Melodia," Draco breathed in Melodia's ear.
"Don't my Melodia me! You always use the possessive when you are in the mood of treating me as your sister," Melodia admonished, stopping to face Draco. "Don't use 'my' so carelessly with me, Mister Draco, and stop that habit of toying with women. They have hearts, you know?" Melodia turned to go, but was stopped by Draco as he caught her wrist, compelling her to face him. He then framed Melodia's face with his hands.
"My Melodia, my Melodia, my Melodia, my dear Melodia..." Draco iterated, until Melodia's eyes swam with tears.
"I will curse you, cruel king," Melodia complained feebly, a weak smile forming on her face. "Now let go of me; people are staring." Draco did not let go, but instead Apparated in the Clairvoyance Chamber, taking her with him.
Draco smiled sadly at her, his arresting eyes twinkling a bit too brightly, and hugged her fondly in his arms; his embrace was so strong and warm... "I'm sorry, Melodia. I won't say it again, but I wanted to see those tears; I wanted to see what you've so long repressed deep in your heart."
"Anything is forgiven for you, sexy Mister!" Melodia sighed. You can say 'my Melodia'; you have more right than that dim-witted fool, anyway. He picked it up from you!" Melodia said, her voice cracking.
"Ssshhh...Quiet now. It's okay, love. The two of you are an incomparable pair." Draco wiped a solitary tear from Melodia's cheek. "Look at the moon," Draco urged, turning her face to one of the mirrors. "Don't you think you'd give those watching you through a telescope a shock if they see flooded rivers on its surface?"
Melodia smiled.
"What do I do, Draco?"
"Let him listen to what your heart says, Melodia."
"But I-"
"I know. Your heart and your mind say the same thing, but you've only let your mind speak to him; you haven't given a chance for your heart to plead with him."
"I hate him for disappearing like that for months at length, and then reappearing, like today, when he realises I can never look at anybody else, other than him," Melodia confessed tearfully. "He should know I live for only those two precious weeks, Draco."
Draco looked at her for a long time before saying: "He's in agony, Melodia. Sheer, intense pain. He thinks he's holding you down to him. He believes there's nobody worse than him on Earth."
"But I told him countless times that I cannot live without him. He doesn't listen...he wouldn't...he wouldn't..." Melodia felt her insides clogged with those familiar emotions of longing and anguish.
"Don't just reproach him with words; let your heart tell its own tale of agony. He would understand if you let him feel your pain, Melodia."
"But I—if I let him feel that, he-wouldn't he feel even guiltier? I don't want to make him more miserable."
"By trying to lessen each other's pain, and not sharing how both of you truthfully feel, there will always be fears and misgivings, Melodia. Don't keep anything back. Confess everything to him, will you?"
Melodia gave a courageous smile, feeling much more self-assured. "Yes. I will, tonight. Thank you, my Draco. What would I have done without you?"
"I haven't done anything you need to thank me for, love," Draco said grimly.
"What you did was more than enough. It's because of you that we have those two priceless weeks, where we can..." Melodia flushed a dark red.
Draco gave a quiet laugh.
"Forget I said anything, and wipe out that mischievous light at the back of your eyes," a blushing Melodia urged. "Now let's go before that brat makes everyone weep because of that doleful music he takes so much pleasure in making."
A ringing crash in the inn made them stop in their tracks. It was soon followed by a deafening: "MALFOY, YOU STUPID, HATEFUL, PRETENTIOUS SNOB! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?" There was another booming crash, followed by loud expressions of consternation, alarm, and incredulity on the part of the other witches and wizards.
Melodia's mouth had fallen open in shock, but, to her astonishment, Draco merely looked highly amused - in no hurry at all to go and see who was using the Sonorus charm to get back at him.
"COME OUT; COME OUT, YOU – YOU ARROGANT, WOMANISING SERPENT." Hermione stood precariously on her table, struggling to hold a heavy book in one hand, and her wand in the other. She pretended she was unfazed by the sudden stillness that had crept over the room.
"WHERE ARE YOU GOING, HILDY?" Hermione asked the embarrassed old witch, who had been surreptitiously trying to flee from the fiery young witch's company. Everybody's eyes were currently glued to their table.
"Nowhere, child," old Hildy said, feeling faint.
"OH OKAY, I THOUGHT YOU WERE TRYING TO ESCAPE!" Hermione let out a hysterical laugh, the echoes of which boomeranged across the room. "WHERE WAS I? SERPENT? MALFOY? MALFOY! DO YOU THINK YOURSELF AT LIBERTY TO WASTE MY TIME WHICHEVER WAY YOU LIKE?" Hermione heartily resumed her angry outburst against the tall god, who had just Apparated back. "SO WHAT IF YOU ARE LADON HYDRAS? I AM NOT HERE TO LOOK AT YOU ENACTING A VARIANT OF THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, OR OUTRAGEOUSLY flirting and romancing with all the crazy women—huh? What happened?" Hermione said, noticing that the pitch of her voice had abruptly gone back to normal.
"Sonorus!" she exclaimed, pointing the tip of her wand to her mouth.
"Quietus," a sexy, ridiculously masculine voice said from across the room, ending the Sonorus charm; that sinful sound could make any woman shiver in delight! Hermione comically raised her hand to her forehead, as if to shield herself from an uncomfortable glare, in order to look at where the familiar voice had come from. She saw Draco steadily advancing towards her, and he looked displeased. Good! Excellent! He had left her there on her own for about two hours and half! True, the show had been fascinating. He had been fascinating, but that did not give him the right to do what he pleased, without at least telling her why they were there!
"Will you please get down?" Draco asked Hermione. Melodia urged the crowd not to mind this little interruption, but no one paid attention to her, riveted as they were to the unfolding drama. Nobody had ever addressed Draco Malfoy, who was none other than their much loved Ladon Hydras, so cheekily, and with such audaciousness!
"I am not your slave to be commanded, you understand, Malfoy?" Hermione snapped, as she dropped her heavy book on the table. The movement made her lose her already wobbly balance, and she fell...straight into Draco's arms. The floor was strewn with the sharp fragments of glasses Hermione had accidentally flipped over when she had scrambled onto the table. She could have been badly hurt if Draco had not been there! A loud "ooohhhh" of relief, on the part of the wizards, and envy, on the part of the witches, purled across the room.
"I know; that's why I said 'please', inamorata," Draco chuckled softly.
What's that susurration in my ear? Hermione wondered, feeling dazed. She must have lost consciousness for the barest second. Eyes tightly closed, Hermione tried to identify which part of her body had been injured. Curiously, other than the burning down her throat, she could feel no pain! She risked opening one of her eyes, and found herself squinting up at that incredibly handsome face. There were so many oceans in his eyes, she thought. He befuddled her mind!
"Malfoy? What are you doing in the corridors at this time of the night? Prefects should lead by example! Shouldn't you be in the Slytherin dormitory?" Hermione asked, marvelling at that highly attractive five o'clock shadow on his face. The people in the inn burst out laughing and a fat, male voice snorted: "That woman is a goner!" Another thinner, but equally drunk, voice hooted: "Master Draco, only you can handle her!"
"Who is shouting?" Hermione hollered. "Let me catch you; you bunch of mischievous prankst-"
"Quiet," Draco said, putting a finger across Hermione's lips. He had lowered her on one of the cushioned seats, and now drew a chair nearer to hers and sat down.
"Although you have sustained no injury to your head, you are acting as if you have. Why did you drink so much when, very clearly, you cannot tolerate alcohol, woman?" Draco leaned closer to Hermione, an elbow on the table and the palm of his hand holding the side of his face, as if he was trying to decipher the most puzzling mystery ever.
Hermione tilted her head to one side, pursed her lips, and lost herself studying this fantastic, bright creature by her side.
Melodia snapped her fingers in the air between them. Draco immediately leaned back, as if he had been surprised, but Hermione, still under a strange spell, kept staring at him, a suspicious light hovering at the back of her eyes.
"Has our Ladon Hydras finally met his match?" a laughing Melodia inquired.
"Melodia, will you-
"Utterly absorbing!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed, standing up and interrupting Draco. "Malfoy, you are a book!" She then slumped back down and continued scrutinising his face, holding her chin in between her thumb and forefinger.
"Draco, that's a very unique compliment you've earned there," a young woman said, giggling.
"Don't trouble yourself with her; come to us here. We'll shower you with sweeter praises, rather than calling you a mere book," another young woman added, sneering at Hermione.
"Thanks for the tempting offer, Venetia, but I'm afraid I can't join you beautiful girls, tonight." Draco, the roguish rake, smiled. The girls waved their peacock-feathered fans more energetically, turning red.
"Ahh, it-it doesn't matter!" the girl called Venetia said, blushing deeply. "Yes, it's okay," chorused the other four girls sitting at the same table. The air had suddenly turned very hot, and they were feeling all sweaty in their colourful, silk dresses.
If Draco Malfoy has been refusing all the kind offers to have drinks with the lively, unruly congregation, it certainly meant he had some other business on his mind. They were all extremely proud he trusted them enough so as to never retire to private quarters in order to talk business with anyone who sought him. They were exceptionally loyal to him, and out of deference, struggled not to eavesdrop on his conversations; however, those were always so very interesting that they almost always failed in their noble endeavour!
"Can you brew Miss Granger some of your Sobering potion, chica?" Draco requested Melodia.
"Yes! A captivating book!" Hermione interjected, pointing a finger towards Draco.
"Right away, my lord," Melodia said, sniggering as she walked away.
"I don't want a Sobering potion! Get me some of that Pineapple Cocktail!" Hermione ordered. Immediately, a crystal ship made its way to their table. It transported a flute of the transparent, yellow-tinted liquid with the light green flames. Hermione made for the drink, but Draco caught her hand before she could reach it.
"No more drinks," Draco cautioned.
The ship started to make its way back when Hermione irately commanded: "Come back; I want that!" This triggered a puzzling interlude where Draco repeatedly refused the drink, and Hermione adamantly kept calling for it. Torn in two different directions, the candles on the poor ship burnt out in no time, and it was so worn out that it started to flail about helplessly.
"You've had enough, Granger!" Draco bit out, losing patience.
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Hermione said, putting undue emphasis on his name as she stood up again. It was her turn to stop Draco's forthcoming protest by putting a finger across his lips. The inn was buzzing with astonished whispers, anew.
"You—you brought me here, and then you abandon me! You didn't even tell me you were Ladon Hydras! Did you—did you enjoy playing me for a fool?" Hermione asked. "I—I don't even understand Khmer; if Hildy had not been kind enough to talk to me, I would have sat here like a sad monkey! I did-" Hermione, besieged by a bout of hiccups, found it quite difficult to continue her sentence.
"Why—hic—why are you—hic-laug—hic—hing—Mal—hic-foy?" Hermione asked as Draco lowered her finger from his lips.
Melodia came back with a glass filled with a translucent potion which hissed delicately. A lemon-scented vapour spun out of it.
"Thank-you, chica," Draco said, taking the Sobering potion from the still smiling Melodia.
"Anything for you, my lord," Melodia quipped.
"Here, drink this. You'll feel better," Draco urged Hermione, putting a coaxing hand at the back of her head.
"Do you want to poison me, Malfoy?" Hermione looked at him charily, but she did not wait for his answer, closing her eyes and drinking from the glass he placed at her lips.
"You know the potion will only stamp out the effects of about three glasses of liquor, right?" Melodia said.
Old Hildy fidgeted nervously with the edge of her shawl. "Merlin! But this young lady has had seven glasses—sorry, my dear Draco, I tried to persuade her out of it, but she wouldn't listen-"
"Right!" Hermione cut in after she'd drained the glass of Sobering potion. "A glass...for each of the seven Wonders!" The potion had scarcely had any effect on her!
"That was really unreasonable, Granger; just what got into you?" Draco asked, peering into her eyes.
Is he trying to hypnotise me? Hermione pondered.
"Close your trap, Malfoy! I came here to look for" —well, for Ladon Hydras, and I already found him— "the Lover's Heart, and not to watch you waltz about with this—this multicoloured parrot!" Hermione exclaimed, pointing at Melodia. "She looks like Kiki! No—that would be insulting to Kiki!" Hermione let out a shrill laugh.
"This ungrateful woman is calling me a parrot!" Melodia complained to Draco, who was fighting not to burst out laughing.
"It's a compliment, chica," he asserted. "Sit down, and let us get over with this once and for all. Mrs Hildy, will you please -"
"Oh, Master Draco, you need not ask. I know you wish to discuss some important matters with these lucky girls here," old Hildy said. She started to get up from her seat, but Draco had already reached to her side, courteously drawing back the chair for her, and holding her hand in the process.
"Thank-you, dear," Hildy said demurely. She walked to another table, and Draco regained his seat.
"Granger, I did not bring you here for you to be entertained, or for you to entertain the gallery, which you have, nevertheless, been very good at," Draco said. The men composing that same gallery were now sending sympathetic glances towards Hermione, whereas the women sported complacent smiles on their faces.
"Don't talk to me like-" Hermione had started saying, but Draco, once more, put another silencing finger across her lips.
"Will you let me talk, lady?" he urged.
Hermione swallowed. Well, if he was down to pleading, one might as well listen to him.
"As I told you," Draco continued, "it would be impossible to find a Wonder without a map, regardless of the robust will you undoubtedly possess. We have to find the old wizard I talked about in The Passion Serpent; he has a Papyro Ithicus. However, I sent him to travel with the Gypsy Caravan. He is safer this way, but nobody knows where the Gypsy Caravan is at present. This is where Melodia comes in."
"The parrot is going to help us?" Hermione muttered to herself, but an annoyed Melodia overheard her.
"Princess, will you?" Draco requested, nodding towards Melodia and squeezing her cheek apologetically.
"Accio crystal ball!" Melodia directed. A medium sized, shining sphere flew across the pub and landed on the table in front of Melodia.
"Crystal ball! Are you a Seer?" an incredulous Hermione asked.
"Looks like you've finally sobered up!" Melodia exclaimed.
"So alongside being a parrot, you are also a fraud. And here I thought you were going to give us some kind of substantial help instead of some rubbish prophecy! CHARLATAN! CHARLATAN! THIS WOMAN IS A CHARLATAN!" Hermione had suddenly jumped out of her seat, pointing her wand towards Melodia.
"How dare you call me a charlatan?" Melodia bristled, aiming her own wand towards Hermione.
"The hen's feathers have been ruffled?" Hermione derided. Horror of horror, she thought. Another Sybill Trelawney!
Draco sighed and lithely sprang up from his seat. "Calm down, girls. Melodia, sit down. Granger, stop acting as if your seat had been transfigured into a sea urchin!" Draco commanded in a firm voice. Both girls regained their seats, eying each other warily, their wands held in front of them in the typical duelling pose.
"She is not a fraud, Granger, and she is not going to make some kind of hazy prophecy. Melodia has the ability to gaze into that crystal ball and reveal the approximate location of the Gypsy Caravan. We'd have to manage with the information she gives us," Draco clarified.
"Approximate! Fine, let us see what she can do!" Hermione conceded imperiously.
Draco winked playfully at Melodia, immediately winning her over.
Melodia focused on the crystal ball, which at once misted up. In no time she opened her mouth to speak, but Draco stopped her, putting an Inventario Colloquium spell around them first. It was a spell he had invented himself, and, different from the Muffliato spell which simply prevented a discussion from being overheard, this particular spell enabled listeners to hear a fake conversation in its place. It was the first time he was actually using it; it wasn't that he did not trust the people assembled in the inn, but the information he was going to get could potentially endanger their lives, should they, in a flash of recklessness, decide to trail him.
"Draco, the Gypsy Caravan is somewhere in the Cardamom Mountains. I'm afraid that's all I can see," Melodia said, addressing herself solely to him and deliberately ignoring Hermione.
"Thank you, love. I owe you one," Draco said. He then removed the Inventario Colloquium spell.
"Will you be careful?" Melodia asked him, a distressed look on her face.
"I'll be fine, doll. Now go and have that very important conversation with that brat of yours, will you?"
Draco hugged Melodia, and she kissed his cheek. Melodia looked up to the stage as she walked away, and Lancelot met her gaze. He had ceased playing the piano when Hermione had caused the glasses to crash on the floor, and taken to shouting words at Draco. He had been as dumbfounded as everyone else in the inn had been.
"Why are you so quiet now, hayatim?" Draco asked Hermione, seating himself a bit too close to her.
Hermione did not know what 'hayatim' meant, but from him, it sounded shiveringly exotic. It felt so much like a soothing, loving caress; no wonder women appeared to fall like rain at his feet. She had watched the cosy little exchange between Draco and Melodia, feeling inexplicably angry and exceedingly jealous.
She now looked at Draco, for the first time in the evening, dimly aware that maybe she had drunk a bit too much. Had she been unforgivably rude to Melodia, who had helped them? Had she been taking Draco's help for granted? Why had she allowed herself to drink so much?
"Hey?" Draco inquired softly, raising her chin.
The concern she read in his eyes made her feel strangely vulnerable, so much that she felt absurdly teary.
"I'm just...tired," Hermione sighed, not meeting Draco's eyes. It was the truth. She had been experiencing all kinds of intense emotions ever since she came across him that afternoon. Yes, she felt exhausted... She could hear Draco bidding good night to the pub goers, who seemed particularly disinclined to let him go. He somehow managed to charm them over, and they were soon earnestly entreating him to be vigilant and to come back to them safe and sound.
Hermione suddenly felt as if the ground under her had given way. Her semi-drooping eyelids at once flew open, and she found herself being lifted into Draco's arms. The instant wave of startled gasps and astonished exclamations which undulated across the inn gradually faded away, as if a slow-spreading, ethereal mist were blanketing each and every shout, cry, and whisper. Everything around her, with the exception of him, became an indistinct blur.
She should tell him to put her down; that Draco Malfoy carrying Hermione Granger was something so out of place it couldn't even happen in dreams...But she couldn't. Her mind would not let her; her heart would not let her. What if he agreed to her request? What if she opened her mouth and he disappeared, as if he had never been there in the first place?
Instead, she just smiled at him. His lips did not curve back in an answering one, but his mesmerising eyes did, quickening the pace of her heartbeats to that rapid, sweetly painful...thud...thud...thud...
Hermione's flowing skirt flapped gently as Draco walked with her in his arms down the deserted cobbled street.
The bright, bewitching moonshine and the million twinkling tars in the night sky seemed to be listening to a sensual saxophone being played by this brief moment in eternity. A warm night breeze accompanied the silky tune by its hushed murmurings.
Hermione caught a whiff of Draco's ensorcelling aftershave, and she snuggled closer to that drugging scent of his, sighing contentedly.
...
Two hours later
Hermione woke up in a luxurious room, where a stately fire burned in the hearth. She felt thoroughly disoriented and blinked contemplatively at the unfamiliar surroundings. She was still wearing her white blouse and long skirt, but her boots had been safely tucked away at foot of her canopy bed, and by its side was a pair of snug slippers.
Slipping out from underneath the warm, plush blanket, Hermione padded to the sleek, wooden table which was next to an open window. A lovely candelabra stood on it, illuminating a transparent bowl which contained a fizzy mixture of the leaves of linden, lavender, feverfew, eucalyptus, and chamomile. It was a potion which, when inhaled, stalled both headaches and queasiness. She found her cardigan, which had been carefully folded, with her thin wristwatch lying on top of it, on the table, and at its foot were her two, neatly arranged, travelling bags.
A cool draught swept inside the room, making her shiver. Hermione felt a dark purple stain slowly stealing to her face.
What had gotten into her this evening? Right now all she wanted was for the Earth to open and swallow her up whole! This feeling was not alien to her. In her second year at Hogwarts, she had accidentally used cat hair in Polyjuice Potion, and had undergone a horrible transformation. She had, of course, not joined Harry and Ron, who went on to question Malfoy about the Slytherin heir, disguised as Crabbe and Goyle. Alone in that stall with Moaning Myrtle cackling about how ugly she looked, she had wanted to never come in front of anyone again!
Looking at the bowl of potion, Hermione remembered the mud-removing one Draco had brewed earlier. She had not even thanked him yet! She could not comprehend why she had behaved so shamefully. She had not only made a magnificent fool out of herself, but she had also insulted Melodia! She had not known she was capable of such unflattering deeds; she would have to apologise to both of them!
True, it had been a real shock when she'd learnt that Draco Malfoy was the mysterious Ladon Hydras the whole of wizarding world wanted to know about. It still seemed unreal. She had drained her first glass of mead in the hope it would help her process this momentous information. He had accomplished so much in such little time! Ladon Hydras was believed to be one of the most powerful and intelligent wizard of their age, and he was none other than Draco!
When he had played his violin, she had drained her second glass of mead without even noticing it! The second glass had been followed by a third, a fourth, a fifth... She had been utterly dumbstruck, for she had never known he could play an instrument. Back at Hogwarts, she had never really bothered to know what his hobbies were. In her mind, Draco had been labelled as a mean, shallow bully, who neither she, nor Harry or Ron, were able to completely brush aside.
However, no shallow person could have such absolute mastery over a musical instrument. When he played his violin, it was if his audience had become the strings, and he himself was the bow, pulling at whichever chord he desired in order to make a tune! His music had such profound depth. Had he known how to play when he was a student? He couldn't be the same Draco Malfoy she had known back then, could he? He was such a complete enigma!
The sound of a soft, romantic, slow-beat song interrupted the flow of Hermione's self-recriminating thoughts. She walked to the ornate door, opened it, and peered outside. The music seemed to be coming from further down the corridor, which was lit by a row of antique candle chandeliers; their flickering flames reflected on the polished, hardwood flooring. Various arresting paintings adorned the walls in between the multitude of ebony doors.
Hermione stepped out tentatively and almost died of fright when a ghostly couple came through the opposite wall. They had been entwined around each other, but disengaged themselves on seeing Hermione, bowed politely to her, and once again embraced each other as they blissfully twirled towards where the music came. Hermione had returned their curtsy, and, now extremely curious, followed the Khmer couple.
As she tiptoed down the beautiful hallway, the chandeliers above gradually dimmed by themselves, and when she reached the room in which the couple had disappeared, she was washed by a muted, cool purple light.
A perplexing spectacle met her eyes.
Draco was right in the centre of the room, slow dancing with a little girl, whose legs were wrapped around his waist, and who reminded Hermione of herself, when she had been a four year old. The little girl had tight, bushy curls, and her head rested on Draco's shoulder. Her little hands were endearingly wrapped around his neck. Draco held her fondly to him by both hands.
They danced, eyes closed, and lost in their own world, making Hermione feel all kind of strange, dangerous things again. She might forget everything else, but not sight of this highly attractive, alluring man dancing with a tiny little girl to help her sleep.
The ghostly couple were dancing next to the fireplace, at the other end of the imposing room. Some distance away, another woman was seated at a large table and used her wand to soundlessly rearrange a bulky, disorganised pile of scrolls. She seemed to be in her mid-forties and wore thick glasses.
The song soon drew to an end. Draco turned to the plump, bespectacled woman and said: "Leonora, I'll tuck her in bed." He stopped in his tracks upon seeing Hermione standing in the doorway. Leonora joined his side, giving Hermione a wide, welcoming smile.
"I'll be with you in a moment, Granger," Draco said.
"Okay," Hermione replied, feeling as if she was an intruding stranger amongst them.
"Hello, Miss Granger. It's a real pleasure to meet you. I'm Leonora, Draco's head secretary; I've heard so much about you. I was here when Draco brought you. How are you feeling now?"
"Oh, I'm quite fine, Leonora, thank-you. You can call me Hermione. I hope I haven't been too much of a trouble," Hermione said, mortified.
"No trouble! Of course you'd have fallen asleep, tired, after having trudged in the forests in search of Ladon. He himself brought you to your room, and directed everyone not to disturb you at any cost," Leonora said.
"Where am I?" Hermione enquired, not wanting to think about Draco tucking her in bed, his face hovering a few inches above hers as he did so.
"Ah, sorry, I should have informed you about that first. You are currently in the quarters of the Cambodian branch of The Passion Serpent. This place is quite the mansion at night, but in the morning it buzzes with so much activity, you're never quite sure where to give your head! Every night, I have to put a Cleaning and Sorting charm on the mansion!" Leonora chattered away. "Oh, let these things be. Draco told me you'll be going with him to find the Gypsy Caravan?"
"Yes, that's correct," Hermione answered. "That little girl, is she Draco's-"
"No-no-no," Leonora denied, letting out a heavy sigh. "Eliza is my daughter. I had her rather late in life, you know. Eliza's father left us when she was about two."
"Oh, I'm truly sorry-"
"Don't be, Hermione! He didn't die, though I've wished for that to happen a couple of times already. He left us for another woman, you see," Leonora laughed bitterly. "Eliza looks up to Draco as if he is her father. That little girl is so completely in love with him. Whenever Draco is here, she'll never sleep unless he dances with her, like you've just seen!"
There was a tender, loving expression on Leonora's face whenever she spoke of Draco.
"Do you know why Draco has established such a grand empire under the name Ladon Hydras, Leonora?" Hermione asked.
"Because of prejudices, Miss Grang-I mean, Hermione," Leonora paused. "When Eliza's father left us, we were quite on the road, with nowhere to go. I only started working here two years ago, and by that time, Draco, as Ladon, was already tremendously successful. I only know that after the war with Voldemort, Draco was badly injured, and, at that time, he had been staying with Melodia and her father in Kathmandu. I've been told all this by Melodia. I trust you've met her tonight?"
Hermione nodded. She had met her, and thoroughly offended her!
"I know all about that dreadful war. Who hasn't heard of the Boy Who Lived and the Dark Lord? But I was not in England at that time; I have lived in Cambodia all my life. Anyway, after Draco had recuperated –it took him a staggering six months; I never found out how he'd been that badly hurt! - he had gone back to England."
"He had?" Hermione, disbelieving, couldn't stop herself from exclaiming.
"Yes, but he didn't stay long. You see, he had wanted to start his career as a journalist. According to Melodia, he was already as good as he is now, and his manuscripts were fascinating reads, full of insights and analysis."
"What happened, then" Hermione enquired.
"No one accepted him because of his name, you see. He was Draco Malfoy, and after the war, the Malfoys were apparently not seen in a very good light because of their association with the Dark Lord. His writings and manuscripts were refused time and time again by each one of the publicists he had gone to meet," Leonora said. "Some had thrown his writings in wastepaper baskets, without looking through them, whilst he stood in the same room; others had refused to receive him when they'd learn who he was; and those who had bothered to read what he had written had, on purpose, misconstrued what he said."
"It must have been quite upsetting," Hermione conceded.
"To cut a long story short, Draco thought it best to start all over by using a new name. The result is before you today," Leonora finished her narration, a touch of pride lighting up her face.
"What are you ladies talking about?" Draco asked, entering the room.
"Oh, of this and that," Leonora answered smilingly. "It's time I retire for the night." Hermione and Draco bid Leonora goodnight, and there was just the two of them left. The ghostly couple had already vanished behind the fireplace a while ago.
"Are you turning purple, Granger, or is it simply the light which is reflecting off your skin?" Draco teased.
"I think I owe both you and Melodia an apology for the way I behaved this afternoon," Hermione admitted, cringing in embarrassment.
"No need for apologies, Granger. I have had a most entertaining evening, and I think Melodia's inn will receive even more visitors after tonight," Draco said offhandedly, leaning against the large oak table.
She was sure Melodia would not brush off the affront to her persona that easily; hadn't Hermione called her a charlatan?
"I don't drink—I mean I don't usually drink that much," Hermione quickly changed the turn of her sentence, seeing the incredulous sheen in Draco's eyes. "I wanted to thank you for the two potions you brewed today - didn't really get the chance to say that before."
"You're welcome, Granger," Draco said. Hermione struggled not to squirm under his keen scrutiny. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure, what is it?"
"Can you stop saying my name as if it was some kind of dagger you were trying to kill me with?" Draco entreated.
"Ah, you mean back at the pub? Yeah—I—right, okay."
"I think it's natural to have a certain amount of discomfiture between us, given that ours has not been a rosy... friendship. But, since we'd be working together from now on, call me Draco," Draco extended a reconciliatory hand to her, showing no sign at all of the awkwardness he had been talking about!
"I agree, and you can call me Hermione," she offered, taking his hand.
Draco stared at her for what appeared like an eternity, and then slowly shook his head as he held onto her hand. "No," he said cryptically, "you are Granger."
He shortly let go of Hermione's hand and went to open the French windows, which overlooked a terrace with a multitude of potted plants and blossoming flowers. He walked to the balustrade, and looked enquiringly over his shoulders. Hermione, still mulling over what he had said, had stayed behind, but now joined his side.
"What do you think of the claims about the ancient architectural constructions of our world being aligned with the constellations? For instance, claims about the Pyramids of Giza being aligned with Orion, the Sphinx -
"With the Leo constellation; the Angkor Wat Temple with the Draco constellation?" Hermione completed, looking up at the clear night sky. "They are mostly conjectures made by a few Muggles, and also supported by some wizards. The renowned astronomers of the wizarding world have long proved those suppositions to be untrue, though, and that a few of the correlating alignments are mere coincidences."
"I'm not asking about the wizarding world; what do you think, Granger?"
"Well, I think that trying to look for alignments between buildings on Earth and the stars is just an attempt to steep oneself a bit further in the mysterious - to make one feel a part of a grander scheme of things."
"A scheme of things which, according to you, doesn't exist?"
"Correct. Doesn't the great Ladon Hydras think the same?"
"Then, you won't believe it if I say that, tonight, something very special is happening?"
"Special? Isn't tonight just a normal September equinox?"
"No, it isn't; tonight, the constellations are aligning themselves with the crumbling edifices, creating a unique equilibrium, and tipping Phileas's Law of Wizarding Transportation into temporary jeopardy. In other words, portals are opening, Granger." Draco looked at Hermione's frowning face and laughed. Roguish rake, roguish rake, roguish rake, the words echoed in her head.
"You are alluding to Fe's ancient runic theory, aren't you? It says that inscribing certain runes on some stones at strategic locations on Earth, whilst the stars at a particular position in the sky, can create natural portals, which transport you from one country to another; some are even said to create passageways to other planets. But Fe's theory has been largely dismissed. He has never been able to prove it!"
"That's right, Granger. He hasn't," Draco relented. "It's getting late; I think it's time to call it a night."
"Ah, it's true," Hermione agreed, looking at her wristwatch. The thin needles pointed to twelve.
"Good night, Granger."
"Good night," Hermione said. She walked away, looking back several times at his attractive silhouette against the stars, wondering why he had suddenly dismissed her. It did not seem like he himself would budge from where he was any time soon.
"Granger!" Draco suddenly called. Hermione stopped just in time to avoid banging into a white, Indo-Corinthian column that served absolutely no purpose in the room, other than being a decorative piece! Had she been caught stealing glances of that broad, fine-looking back of his?
"Ye—yes?" Hermione asked.
"Have you ever ridden an Airavata?" Hermione looked at him, nonplussed. "You know, those three-headed white elephants with-"
"I know what an Airavata is! I—I never-I have just been on Buckbeak once, and twice on a Thestral."
"Good! You'll have the opportunity to hone your animal-riding skills, tomorrow." The crooked, devilish grin on his face made Hermione intensely suspicious.
"What do you mean?"
"Banthoy L'boeun." Draco winked at her. Ahhh, should she faint? "It's khmer for 'slow down'; you'll probably need it."
"Why would I need it?" Hermione enquired, thoroughly puzzled.
Draco ambled to where Hermione was, and lowered his head to whisper in her ear: "Remember, Granger: 'banthoy l'boeun'." With that, he was gone, leaving only a tantalising whiff of that maddening cologne in his wake.