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XXI:The Chariot
Hermione Granger discovered that getting dressed in the divine gardens was a grave sin.
On several occasions, as she'd reach for her bra or knickers, she would be met with a stern glance and a quick yank of the desired article before she could protest. If she were insistent, the look would melt into an inviting summons, luring her to stand before her lover while his silver-blue eyes drank her in like nectar.
He'd reach out to touch her waiting skin, starting with a slow line up the curve of her calf, circle around her knees, then trail up her ivory thighs before cupping and squeezing the soft flesh of her bottom.
Sometimes, as his wandering fingers disappeared inside her, Hermione would forget her desire to cover herself. Instead, she'd grip his shoulders while her pleasing moans carried over the pink petaled rose bushes.
Sometimes, in a blatant attempt to dissuade her, Draco would lift her ankle and press the sole of her foot on the marble bench before slipping to his knees. He'd grip her hips as his lips pressed kiss after wet kiss against her own pink petals until she shuddered, shook, and begged him to take her.
Indeed, clothes were woefully frowned upon in the garden.
Draco was especially mournful as he contributed to the stifling of such beauty when he hesitantly connected the hooks of her bra-straps. His fingers lingered on the dips of her shoulder blades and trailed over the silken skin of her neck. The pair were taking their time preparing their departure from the garden, which had been the ideal location for lovemaking.
Time was a mere philosophical construct there, with the enchanted sun rising and setting at the pace of its magic and drastically altering their circadian rhythms. With each writhing climax under the heavy, persistent sun, their glistening skin adorned the already exquisite space, warranting the decorative function of the Greek marble lovers obsolete.
It was in the garden that Draco taught Hermione to please him. He'd gently guide her to kneel on the softened blades of grass. He'd draw the pad of his thumb over her lower lip as he'd part her lips for her.
His eyes would slowly devour her nude form, settling on the pink of her cheeks, then trailing to the peaks of her breasts that rose and fell with each nervous breath. Hermione would puff up with pride at his responsiveness to her, watching his pants swell as he grew hard at the mere sight of her.
Draco would ask her to open her mouth as his fingers slipped into her hair, caressing and kind, before a gentle tug would urge her head forward. He loved taking his time, letting the shiny, smooth skin of his cock gently run over her parted pillowy lips before slipping in a taste more. Sometimes he would pull out.
"Stick out your tongue," he'd instruct and she'd obey, of course.
He'd captured the image of his shaft slowly sliding over the wet heat of her tongue. With his hand in her hair, he'd guide himself slowly in and pause, letting her jaw adjust and relax around his thickness. Then, with each careful thrust, his breath would grow ragged and shallow and soft moans would escape his lips, causing Hermione to squirm and take in just a bit more.
Hermione learned that, despite his gentle care and demeanour, Draco greatly enjoyed her discomfort. She noticed it first when, as his hand would gently stroke her jaw, his gaze would grow dark and knowing. His grip would tighten, holding her in place as he'd thrust a tiny bit deeper, push a little bit farther than her comfort would allow. It was her reaction that would elicit a deep groan to rise from his lips. He loved to listen as she'd whimper, loved to watch as her throat tightened in a gag and her eyes stung with tears streaming down her cheeks.
In those moments, a small part of her wanted to pull away and question his enjoyment of her pain. Yet as he would delicately wipe the tears from her face, force her knees open with his foot, and instruct her to play with herself as he filled her mouth, Hermione found herself intentionally leaning into his thrusts. Her concern would be washed away by desire as she'd glance up at him with wide, tearful eyes until he'd groan and spill into her hungry, obedient mouth.
"Good girl," he'd coo. "My good, sweet, dirty girl."
He'd pet her hair and kiss her tears away before pushing her back onto the ground to transform whatever discomfort he'd caused into sheer unfiltered pleasure.
They were grateful for these moments of quiet intimacy.
Still, the utility of the greenhouse and garden proved lacking as with each attempt at unpacking and enlarging the bits of furniture, snacks, knick-knacks, and - most importantly - the brick fireplace that was a useful resource for both cooking and communicating with the outside world, they failed. It became evident to Hermione the space that seemed so perfect for drawing in outsiders did not want them to linger.
The magic invoked by Helga Hufflepuff had rigid limitations on any foreign alterations. Each item that Hermione attempted to unpack and enlarge would quickly shrink back to its original size and re-appear in its designated location in her book bag. The magical restrictions weren't limited to only her items, but any changes made in the garden. A carelessly plucked rose lived a brief moment in Hermione's hand - long enough to get a whiff - before it re-appeared on its stem.
Despite the undeniable beauty, it became rather confining to live in aesthetic perfection.
Draco grumbled as he turned her around to see her chest covered in the sheer fabric of her bra. Though it usually would have been gasp-inducing and a trigger for ravishment, it was now a fabric prison for trapping one of his many favourite bits of her. He knew the importance of them leaving, and he knew he was making it harder on himself as he ran his palm over the only parts of her that remained bare - her stomach, her thighs. She humoured him, watching with silent amusement, while mentally ensuring that he was making some progress toward their goals of leaving.
They had to go. They had no access to Harry in this magical vacuum. It would've made the Order's efforts in finding them significantly more challenging if they were hiding away in an enchanted land accessible only to those who knew where to look. Thus, back to their warm, cavernous home they went.
"Ready?" Draco asked, his hand resting on the golden doorknob.
Hermione scurried to him at the entrance, her hands full of herbs and plants that she had rushed to collect and organize as a last-minute forage. Though Draco did not make a peep about her procrastinating, she could see the strain in his forehead and the corners of his lips, and she opted to drop everything into her pockets rather than provoke an impatient glare that was imminent.
With her hands free of plucked greenery, Hermione drew out her ten-and-three-quarter-inch Ivy and Walnut wand with Dragon Heartstring core. Having a new and personalized weapon did wonders for Hermione's anxiety.
"I'm ready," she said.
Draco pulled the door toward him and Hermione's eyes suddenly burned as they attempted to adjust to the brightness. Everything was white. She could feel the brisk air rush into the open room, and her arms instinctively wrapped around her torso to protect against the frigid cold. She slowly blinked, allowing her pupils to constrict and her mind to comprehend that brilliant white snow coated the ground, a fact she'd not been privy to from inside of the greenhouse which perpetually projected a sunny spring day.
Her teeth started to chatter as they both stepped outside.
"Well?" Draco glanced at her expectantly.
"Well what?"
"Do you expect us to freeze to death on our way back?"
"Oh!"
Hermione bounced on her toes as she pointed her wand well above them and cast a warming charm. A slow, trickling heat fell on the pair and enveloped them in a large heated sphere that moved with their steps.
It must have been morning as the sun, muted by floating clouds, was barely over the horizon of the tall pine trees. She wondered if the snow had started at nightfall and continued throughout the morning. A thick sheet of white covered the earth and dented with their every step. It coated the pine trees like dense cotton. Hermione felt like she was walking through a Christmas card. They left a wet trail as the heat of the warming charm melted the snow beneath them. Despite the casual pace, Hermione could feel Draco's arm held rigidly and noticed his eyes darting from side to side to assess the space.
The Forest continued to exist as it always had: on its own terms.
Draco stopped abruptly, glancing over her right shoulder with vigilance. She followed his eyes, her stomach lurching as she spotted its focal point. It was like a small meteor had struck and created a wide clearing in the middle of the Forest, several trees had toppled and were trampled under the weight of something. Broken branches and fallen leaves scattered over the floor.
The smashed snow crunched and crusted under their feet as they grew closer to the clearing.
It grew harder with each step until she felt the edge of her foot enter a ridge in the ground.
She blinked. Horseshoe prints so heavy they revealed the brown earth inches underneath were visible all over the ground.
Hundreds of times, the feet of a horse-like creature had stomped hard into the snow. She considered why they would have come barreling down the path, and she tried to reconcile why her heart had started to race as she envisioned it. Whatever they were, wherever they were going, they were in a hurry.
They inspected the area like field detectives, taking note of a deviated footstep, identifying which direction the creatures seemed to turn as though in a herd mentality. In some regions, Hermione could swear the footprints resembled those of a human, but she lost track of whether they were her own or someone else's.
"Granger," Draco's voice called out in a raised whisper.
She turned sharply toward him to see him squatting in front of what at first appeared to be a long twig that had fallen and stuck straight out of the ground, yet as she approached she saw the small feathered fletching at the top.
"It's an arrow."
"Centaurs," Draco breathed, his face growing visibly pale.
A whole herd of centaurs were mere minutes from the cave. He dreaded those proud cold-blooded beasts with their tauntingly mysterious methods.
"Let's get out of here."
Hermione's newfound confidence had dissolved as she considered their chances of survival if faced with a hoard of centaurs. As they tried to divert away from the footprints altogether, Hermione felt her stomach drop before her mind comprehended what she had just seen.
It was stark against the blank canvas of snow. The large mound of glistening pale brown atop an imperfect pool of vivid burgundy laid bare in the open clearing, surrounded only by the splatter of newly collapsed small trees and crushed shrubbery. It was her sudden trembling that caught Draco's attention.
"Wait here - "
She trailed behind, despite his orders.
"Hermione," he started. He was fully aware of the effect the sight of the corpse had on her.
"I'm not letting you go alone, Draco. I won't - I won't look," she said, her hand curled into a tight fist around her wand.
Draco sighed. There was no point in arguing with her, the stubborn Gryffindor had made up her mind. Each step felt heavier and grew slower as they approached the ash-blonde heap, and Hermione felt her throat tighten as her eyes picked up thin streaks of hair sprouting from the surface. It was a shade of sickly yellow against the pure white snow and was tall enough to reach their waist.
Hermione pried her eyes away when she saw it - a deep gash of scarlet and burgundy carved in the middle. Blood. It was a body. She could see the long legs, narrowed into small U-shapes. Horseshoes.
She couldn't swallow and her hands suddenly felt cold. Her chattering teeth had nothing to do with the cold air that lingered safely outside of their warm bubble.
"Don't look, Granger." Draco's voice was sharp and commanding, but she could feel the trembling in his fingers as he held her hand in his.
"Who is he?"
There was no response, only a sharp intake of breath as they stood still. Hermione snapped her head toward him, immediate in their detection of his shifting emotions.
"Draco."
"He - helped me - back when…"
Draco stared at the still-open eyes of the dead centaur, the previously sparkling purple that reminded him of amethysts now seemed pale and empty.
"What could have done th -"
Hermione's words were cut short as the sound of a raspy growl startled the pair. They whipped out their wands, and their shaking knees bent in an aggressive stance. Hermione could hear the sound of her heart pounding incessantly in her chest as she tried to focus on what they had heard: a predatory, deep rumble from a dry windpipe. It was inhuman. It caused a shudder to course through her bones.
"There!"
Their eyes flew toward the sound at the edge of dense trees. For the briefest second, Hermione imagined it was Harry or Ron. They had finally come to take her home, away from this savage land, but as her eyes spotted the point of a black hood amid the rustling branches she froze.
It was not the Order who had come for her.
"Draco -"
"Run."
The word didn't need to be spoken as their legs moved before their minds could comprehend it.
They struggled through the snow, something that previously felt so picturesque and perfect now belaboured their burning limbs as though wading through a dense liquid.
They were out in the open. In the middle of an old battleground, they were retracing the steps of the centaurs who had fled. Colourful sparks were flying in their direction, barely grazing them as they tried to run in a zig-zag pattern in the open clearing. Their chests seared with each breath as they fled.
A sudden harsh tug at Draco's ankles yanked him back and caused him to fall forward. He squirmed as he tried to scramble back to his feet, but a rapidly tightening rope at his ankles prevented his escape.
"Draco!"
Two tall Death Eaters emerged from the trees, their faces shrouded by heavy hoods.
Hermione could only hear her heartbeat as she looked from the towering dark wizards to Draco struggling on the ground. His eyes were on her; his mouth was open - pleading "Go."
She didn't. Instead, Hermione slid toward him, casting a quick shield charm around them as she began working on the ropes. She shrieked when a purple spell hit the shield and the magic shattered around them.
"You're outnumbered," one of the Death Eaters called out lazily. They scurried to their feet.
"And surrounded," another stated, his voice coming from behind the pair. He was right; they were. There was nowhere to run, as on each side of them was a masked figure with their wand pointed straight at them.
There were six, she counted. Six versus two. Six trained Death Eaters versus two students.
Yet they hadn't made any killing blows. Hermione hadn't seen any green spells fly past them.
Their mistake.
Her muscles tensed against Draco. He turned his head slightly toward her, her every move noted as she clenched and braced and then, in a swift motion lunged forward. He followed as, in a flurry of incantations, their arms swished, flicked, and cut through the air as spells released from their wands.
Their disadvantage was glaringly apparent to Draco who knew the depths of darkness these wizards were willing to reach to achieve their means. Especially against two students whose instincts it was to primarily use the stunning and disarming spells. That wouldn't be enough. Jinxes and dark spells passed his lips - he tried to recall spells his father had taught him, in case of emergencies. Slytherins were rather adept at self-preservation. He would have to be one step ahead the Death Eaters to survive.
He aimed and flung his wrist over his shoulder, intent to cast a rather painful head-swelling jinx when he heard the incantation for the stunning spell leave Hermione's lips. It struck the target he'd been aiming for. It wasn't the spell that caused Draco to take pause, but rather the fact that the Death Eater froze mid-stance and, with the force of the spell, fell backwards, shattering into a million pieces.
The effect of the spell caused everyone to pause for a moment as eyes turned toward the newly murdered Death Eater - cast on the snow-covered floor like jigsaw puzzles made of human meat.
The air was thick with silence and magic.
Had a vicious hex meant for the pair accidentally hit the Death Eater?
Ever the opportunist and with no time to further question her circumstances, Hermione cast another spell.
"Incarcerous!"
Rope flew out of her wand and Hermione turned toward her next target, assuming success. The loud, strained sound of choked breathing drew her attention back for a brief second and she watched in abject horror as the rope that had ejected from her wand wrapped around the Death Eater's neck. It moved like it had a mind of its own as it flew up the branch of a nearby tree and dragged the wheezing man upward until his feet left the ground. He kicked helplessly as his hands struggled to tear off the rope that cut off his airway. His hood had been effortlessly discarded to reveal his middle-aged face, strained and turning purple.
She could hear Draco's cry. It was like someone had twisted the Time-Turner but hadn't clicked it in place, causing time to blur and move in slow motion. She watched as blood spurted out of Draco's side after a slicing spell struck his torso; it splattered like fine mist over the white snow.
The Death Eaters were becoming uneasy. It was evident in their panicked spellcasting and the malevolent magic they were relying on; they had not anticipated quite a fight.
"Silencio!" Hermione cast at the Death Eater that struck Draco.
It was a normal spell; a simple quieting charm that would silence the victim.
This wasn't that.
The spell hit him in the chest and spilt outward, its vibrant light sinking into the man's flesh and causing his mouth to shut tight. His lips drew into a line together, growing pale from the pressure of skin against skin.
The spell didn't stop. Hermione watched in sheer horror as the line of his mouth disappeared entirely. The dark holes of his nostrils started to fade, sealing together with the skin of his nose. The panicked man fell to his knees, his fingers chaotically scratching at his face, painting long red streaks of blood where his mouth and nose were. It wasn't enough - no amount of scratching brought back the orifices that previously allowed oxygen into his body. He fell to his side, curled in a fetal position, as his body writhed in desperate need of air.
Hermione began to shake with terror.
She had no idea what was going on.
She had no idea why all of these simple spells were causing the Death Eaters to die truly horrific deaths. She'd never seen anything like it.
Draco lay on the ground. His hands gripped at his side as his chest trembled with ragged, pained breaths. A fourth Death Eater stepped out from between two trees and pointed his wand straight at Draco's vulnerable form.
Though his hood was up, she could see the slight glint of his grin as his chin was tilted upward. The pleasure in his face made her want to tear his skin off. It was like all manner of horror had disappeared - rage taking its place as the incantation passed her lips.
"Bombardo."
The word was barely a whisper. Hermione didn't need anything more. She could feel the power surge from the ground upward, through the muscles of her thighs, soaring through her veins, toward her fingers that gripped the wand which buzzed with hunger and energy.
The spell darted out of the tip of the wand with such force that it nearly thrust her backwards.
It struck the Death Eater in his stomach, yet nothing happened. The spell had failed. His lips were still curled with cruelty before they parted and the sounds of an incantation started to pass his lips.
The sound stopped abruptly. With equal haste, the man's hand flew to his stomach, gripping it as though alleviating a mean stomach ache.
Hermione had barely taken a breath when the man screamed in agony.
She glanced at Draco who watched wide-eyed, her whole body flinching as a warm fluid sprayed her face and coated Draco. All she could see was blood. And entrails.
When she glanced up to where the man had been, she found nothing. Her blood froze when she realized she'd been wrong. There was something: feet. Legs. The rest of him had been flung into a tree several feet away, his torso entirely split from his pelvis. Skin, organs, and bones were everywhere - like the snow itself, they sprinkled down onto the earth with the wind.
He'd exploded.
She did that. She caused a man to explode.
Hermione felt an overwhelming urge to vomit, but the cold laughter at her left caused her to freeze in place and swallow that urge.
"Drop your wand, little girl," came the raspy voice.
Hermione's torso swivelled, her wand glued to her fingers as though it was another limb that grew from her body. Her lips curled into a furious sneer as she saw the hairy, bestial face with his hand clutching Draco by the throat.
Draco was barely standing as blood openly dripped from his side to the crisp floor. He was dying. She understood that as terror gripped her again, squeezing her insides and making her fingers twitch around her wand.
Draco was bleeding out and this vicious creature was seizing him by his throat and crushing his delicate windpipe.
"Drop it, or I'll tear your boyfriend's pretty head off and drink his blood in front of you."
The image of Draco was enough to sway Hermione, and she could see he was fighting to tell her his same mantra.
Don't engage. Run. Go.
Hermione didn't get the opportunity to decide either way as, within a flash, she was knocked unconscious from behind.
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Author's Note:
Hope you're all staying safe out there. Bless fanfiction for giving me this little escape.
Please review if you enjoyed this chapter.
All the love,
S
