A/N: warning: start of a oral sex scene at the end of the chapter


Hogwarts Castle

Slytherin House

In Draco's small room, he slapped a blank parchment on his desk and agitatedly grabbed his quill.

Hermione, my heart,

I know I only recently sent you a letter via Padma and I should wait for you to reply, but I have to let you know you're in serious, serious danger right now.

Blaise managed to find Gia, and you won't believe what happened. Pansy Parkinson convinced Gia, while they were at Beauxbatons, to use Blaise to find out where Ron Weasley is, so she can craft a revenge plan against me and Blaise. She disfigured Gia terribly to get back at Blaise, love. He won't say much, but he's terrified for her, and I'm terrified for you.

We're certain that Pansy and Ron are planning to do something to get back at me. My love, the worst thing they could do to me is do something to you. Your transfer to the Sanctuary couldn't have worked out better if they tried.

I still don't know what you think of me right now; but even if you hate my guts, please heed my advice.

You have to leave. Get away as far as you can without letting Weasley know. Don't be a hero and confront him. You'll become a martyr. You know the lengths Parkinson took to set me up. I don't want to even consider what they could do to you.

Blaise is on his way to help you. Together you can work out a plan that will get you somewhere safe.

You are the best thing in my life, love. If anything happened to you, I –

Draco couldn't finish that sentence.

I love you.

D.

He forced the parchment into an envelope, sealed it and galloped off to the Owlery.


En route between Rome and Bucharest

Once again, Blaise found that getting a Portkey from the Roman wizarding authorities was a piece of moderately-priced cake, bribe-wise.

Pity the opposite party in Romania were immune to the glint of Galleons.

In fact, Blaise moaned to himself as he sat in a cold, draughty and windowless office in the Romanian Ministry of Magic, he'd even managed to bag himself a Romanian Percy Weasley, who was not moved by Blaise's exhortations that he needed to enter the country in double-quick time.

The grey-garbed government drone unfurled a large parchment and grasped a quill in his knobbled hand.

'Purpose of visit?' the drone monotoned in halting Italian. Which was only marginally better than his English.

What reason might crack this bastard's heart? Blaise thought. He cleared his throat. 'To visit my fiancée.' He smiled winningly.

The drone looked on impassively, then made a note on the parchment.

'Why the awful hurry, then?'

Um... 'She's pregnant,' Blaise gulped. 'Having some problems. She's very upset.' Gods, what level of Muggle hell am I going to end up in for telling all these lies? he thought to himself.

The drone cared not for pregnancies or problems. 'Intended destination?'

'Uh, just out of interest, how many questions are left to go?' Blaise asked politely.

The drone consulted the end of his parchment. 'There are precisely ninety-eight questions left, Mr Zabini,' he intoned. 'If that is your real name.'

Blaise quietly sobbed on the inside.


At last, at long FUCKING last, Blaise was permitted to enter Romania. Hurtling out of the Ministry, he dashed to the wizarding section of Burcharest's central strain station, but first he had to get directions to the correct train from a conductor who struggled to interpret Blaise's unique patois of stumbling Romanian, Italian and English.

Eventually, he climbed aboard the train, just before the door closed, and slumped into a seat, trying his best not to fall asleep, but that interrogation was so boring...


Blaise woke with a start. The train had arrived at its final destination, and the conductor was waiting impatiently for him to disembark. Blearily, Blaise grabbed his stuff and stumbled off the train, his eyes owlishly adjusting to the bleak evening light.

He set off down the platform, striding past the sign that proudly stated 'Welcome to Bacău!'

Blaise slowed, then stopped.

Patting his pockets, he drew out a sheaf of parchments and rifled through them until he found the one that had the Sanctuary's address:

The Ancient Oak

Near the Muggle township of Băile Herculane

Caraș-Severin

Southern Carpathian Mountains

Oh, shit.

He found a dimly-lit tourist information board that indicated Bacău's presence on a tatty map of Romania. After many frustrating minutes, he managed to pinpoint Băile Herculane.

They were very, very far apart, indeed.

And, if he wasn't mistaken, the train he was on was the last for the night.

Blaise took a deep breath.

The decibel-shattering swearword he loosed off many have been in Italian, but the birds roosting nearby still had the good foresight to shoot up into the evening air and scatter themselves to the four winds, nevertheless.


Dragon Sanctuary

Early morning

Why in Merlin's godsforsaken name does Charlie keep sending me out to the most remote parts of the bloody Sanctuary? Ron griped to himself as he filled up his everlasting bottle of strong, hot coffee. It's getting ridiculous, that's what it is.

Doing up his bag, he shot a glance at the staff message area, usually a busy spot in the dining hall, but at the moment it was just him. As usual, there wasn't any mail for him. Sometimes, he got a letter from Mum. That was worse than not getting any mail at all.

An envelope with Hermione's name on it caught his eye. The address looked like it had been dashed off in a hurry. Idly, he looked at the seal. It bore the Malfoy crest.

Oh, my.

Ron added it to his gear in the bag, tied it closed, and headed off to work.


Wizarding Băile Herculane

Afternoon

It took Blaise a good number of hours to travel to the right town, and he fretted with every mile that passed. Already so much time's been wasted on bureaucratic bullshitters and pointless train trips.

'Please be okay, Hermione,' Blaise murmured to himself as the scenic greens of the Romanian countryside whooshed by.

At his poorly-inhabited destination (after checking to make sure he was, indeed, where he should be), he asked a portly porter how to get to the Dragon Sanctuary.

'Well, it's quite some way's off,' he began, taking off his cap scratching his head.

Do they have a Floo?' Blaise asked.

'Ooh, yes!' the porter exclaimed.

Blaise picked up his bag.

'But it's busted, so Mr Weasley told me, last time he was here,' the dottery old man finished. 'He's waiting on parts.'

Wonderful.

'Is anyone heading out that way I can catch a lift with?' Blaise asked, teeth on edge.

The porter had a good, hard think. 'No, can't say I can think of anyone heading that way, sir.'

'Well, does anyone from the Sanctuary come in to town regularly?'

'Why, yes, son, they do!' the porter beamed. 'Except...'

Oh gods! Blaise managed to keep that behind his teeth, just.

'They picked up their regular weekly supplies just yesterday, you see,' the porter lamented. 'Won't be expecting anyone for six more days. The perils of living in isolation, you see.'

Blaise was not the slightest bit surprised. 'Can I buy or hire a broom anywhere?' he asked.

'Absolutely!' The porter beamed. Blaise sighed in relief.

'In wizarding Bucharest!'

Right, that's it. Time to get off this rollercoaster of idiocy. 'Have you got a picture of the Dragon Sanctuary?' he snapped.

'Er, no, sir, not on me. May I ask why?'

Blaise shouldered his bag and stared at the wooden train platform beneath his feet. 'Because I'm going to apparate there,' he gritted.

The porter was thoroughly alarmed. 'Oh, my dear sir, you mustn't!' he bleated, wringing his hands. 'It's ever so dangerous if you've never been there before!'

'Yes, I am aware of the dangers, thank you,' Blaise said, glaring at the worried porter. 'But I have to get there now. It's a matter of life and death.'

'Oh, dear, oh dear!' the poor porter fretted, covering his eyes for fear of what he might see.

Blaise took a deep breath. Destination, determination and deliberation. He can do this. No problem. Just concentrate. Who cares if the bloody place is miles away? Who cares that I've never seen it before? Just apparate there, rescue Hermione, and go back home to Gia.

Gia –

The porter heard a 'pop' – and the sickening sound of something squelchily thumping onto the platform floor.


Dingy Muggle hotel room behind the pub

Near the Dragon Sanctuary

Evening

Pansy read Draco's letter, then dropped it onto the bed, tapping her front teeth thoughtfully.

Ron watched her while he had a cigarette.

'What did Granger's letter to Malfoy say?' she asked.

He blew out a stream of smoke. 'She wanted to know what the photos were about, but she wasn't angry,' he recalled. 'Wanted to put it both behind them. Plus the usual shit about keeping an eye on me.'

Pansy set up and put Draco's letter to Hermione back in the envelope.

'We should write to Malfoy,' was her rather surprising statement.

'And what do we have to say to him?'

'Not us, darling. Hermione wants Draco to know that all is forgiven viz a viz the photos, she's terribly busy at the Sanctuary and can't spare any time, but she's looking forward very much to seeing him once more at Brown and Nott's wedding, which, after all, is just a couple of weeks away.'

The wedding.

Ron's cock hardened.

'It'll keep Malfoy content. Or as content as he can be. He must be gagging for a shag. One when he's awake, this time,' she snorted. She looked over at her brooding lover by the windowsill. 'Can you get a sample of Granger's writing to charm?'

He nodded, stubbing out his cigarette. There's bound to be plenty in the Infirmary. 'What about Zabini?' he asked. 'He could throw a right kneazle among the pigeons.'

Pansy shrugged. 'Nothing we can do until we know where he is.'

Ron ambled towards her, his jeans riding low on his hips. 'How do you stay so cool about all this?' he asked, somewhat grudgingly. 'I can hardly wait until the wedding! Magic's practically fizzing from my fingertips!'

Pansy smiled slowly, the bulge in Ron's crotch not escaping her eye. 'Someone's excited to get their revenge,' she murmured, divesting herself of her outer layer of clothing.

'Fuck yeah,' Ron growled, his eyes on hers as he undid his jeans. 'It's going to be better than the best sex I've ever had!'

Pansy laughed and crawled on the bed towards him, her lips red, wet and curved in a smile.

As she fed his erect cock into her mouth, Ron put his hands on his hips and closed his eyes.

Yeah, getting his revenge on Malfoy would be nice.

But there was something he wanted much, much more.

Oh, fuck, that felt good.


A/N: Yep. There's a wedding.