Dragon vs Maiden VII
Previously...
"Well... Well... Well... We cannae have this now can we...what're you doing back here Hermione Granger?"
Draconis did not know what force propelled him from his bitter stupor. Missing? She was missing!?
A peasant chit who had dared defy the Dragon. 'Twas neigh on unthinkable. And for the first time he felt his numbness dissipate, his anger rising from the fetid waters of grief and self-recrimination he was drowning himself in. He didn't wish to examine the cause of his anger too closely. But by all that was holy she was his and a Dragon never gave up his treasure without a fight.
A fight... aye he relished the thought. Grinning a feral smile, he tried to stand, finding himself far more inebriated than he had initially thought. The blood came rushing to his head, making the scar where his eye was supposed to be throb. Also, the new bloody hand he had given himself.
His elf valet gave a mocking smile, "Imbibed a bit much have we, perchance?" Dobby asked in a saccharine tone, dripping in disdain.
Draco glared before chuckling, "Your grandmother would have been ashamed Dobby, your tone lacks deference."
"Aye you drunken sot." grunted the elf, "That wasn't good done of ye. Ye can't just lock a lass up and demand she ask no questions. And kissing her." He shook his head, "Ye are a half-wit. She's a good sort."
High praise from the elf who detested everyone.
"If yer father saw ye now he'd take a cane to yer backside."
Draco scowled, "Look I'm not saying I didn't make mistakes, but it wasn't all that bad. I gave her food, clothes, even books for Merlin's sakes! Do you know how much parchment that lass uses!? I assure you it's far and beyond more than you could guess!"
"Aye you fool, but she had food, clothing and parchment in her own home. Granted, mayhap not as fine as yers but 'twas there all the same and 'twas where she was happy." He said emphatically, "A home to which she cannot return to since you have already kept her here for two weeks now? What was she supposed to say she was doing in an abandoned castle by herself and who gave her, her new fine cape she wore to leave this place? It's a village Master Draconis, not London. Villagers gossip."
"I... didn't think..."
"Aye ye didnae think, the world is different for women as it is and ye are a selfish man."
"Enough." Draco said in a quiet voice, "She cannot return there without being accosted, what is done is done now. I assume her land will have been claimed by someone now and they will not appreciate her return. Let alone the fact that she has no papers to claim the land as her own. I must fetch her back. What is to be done after that, we shall see."
The elf muttered a quick spell under his breath, having the effect of sobering Draco's pounding head. Their magic was crude at best, but the spell did the trick of clearing his head.
He also muttered a healing spell for Draco's hand.
Another foolish injury cause by self-pity, thought the elf sourly.
And then with the military precision gained through years of tender loving care in Her Maj's Navy Draco picked himself up and made his way out the door.
Pistols were out of the question, he thought while marching out of the kitchens and down the dark and abandoned great hall. They were notorious for misfiring and he didn't want there to be a single chance of him hitting Hermione. For now, his fists would be enough, lame though he might be his shifter half was always by his side during combat. Taking on a few men wouldn't be a problem.
The elf wouldn't be able to leave the castle walls as they were bound to certain physical planes as commanded by their masters.
Generally, Dobby had a much wider range of activity especially in London where he had gained his little eccentricities like speaking however he pleased to Draco and swearing.
He chafed at the ancient restraints in Glenmorgan but kept his mouth shut since he felt a strong intuition that Draco's legacy was tied to this old highland keep.
Draco knew finding her wouldn't be hard, there were few ways back to the village where her house was and with his superior shifter senses, he could easily make out the path she had taken.
But he had to hurry, a sense of dread gripped him. In the silence of the forest he had to admit to himself that he had not handled their interactions well especially their more intimate interactions.
She was still young, due to the way the Dragon aged he still looked only a wee bit older than her, but the reality was a little different. This was not his first brush with such intense sexual hunger. Hr should have known how to deal with it better.
In fact, in the beginning with Astoria it had been like this as well, but he also felt something with Hermione in the short time that he had had her that he had never felt with anyone else. For there had been those who had come before Astoria as well.
But she... she gave him a sense of peace. And by Merlin her lips were soft; the truth was there wasn't much he disliked about her at all. He enjoyed her soft Scottish brogue, her sparkling honey eyes that seemed like pools to get lost in, her incandescent laugh and her biting wit.
Her presence was a balm to his shredded soul, he was so lost and only now after returning to Scotland was, he regaining a measure of clarity and the joy he felt when he was near her was probably the clearest thing he saw.
But his guilt was equally strong. The presence of Astoria lingering behind every memory. His first big love... the most important in a Shifter's long life. By the time she died they hadn't been intimate in almost two years, he had noticed how her pregnancy was affecting her and yet had chosen to blind himself to the truth.
But those feelings weren't her responsibility. He had had the option of leaving her out in the rain. Or letting her leave sooner. He hadn't taken either. If something happened to her, it would most certainly be his fault.
He considered letting out just his wings before deciding that being on foot in the dense forest made more sense.
He just hoped he was in time.
...
Hermione let out a nervous chuckle, "Harold... Ron... er... lovely to see you." Don't wave fool, she instructed herself sternly struggling to control her natural impulse to be polite.
She didn't like the way both men were looking at her. The chill she felt going down her spine was less to do with the cold wind around her and more to do with the slightly malicious light in their eyes.
Harold wasn't interested in knowing anything other than if the Dragon was appeased. Or if there was a Glenmorgan Dragon at all.
However, Hermione could tell from Ron's face. He had lied all along, the Dragon had simply been a convenient excuse to get rid of her.
Why would he do this to her, she was outraged!
She had always known that he had lusted after her lands but to go this far! They had grown up together, their mother's had been friend's till her parent's dying day.
Did they know what their son had done?
"Tell me..." he said softly, his voice echoing in the dark forest. "If ye are still alive. Which if there were a Dragon you shouldnae be. What were ye doin' in the Keep for so long? And how have ye not starved?"
Harold whipped around, his emerald green eyes bright with fury, "Nae Dragon... so that could mean bandits! Robbers! English! Tell me lass... are ye a traitor? Or a witch? To have survived for a fortnight without food or fresh water."
"Neither, I'm neither." She said hastily moving further into the trees, "I can tell you what happened, there's nae thieves nor Dragon's."
"Enough." roared Ron, startling Hermione.
"I don't know if I wish to hear ye lie to me?" he said in a speculative tone, "Mayhap we should first make sure ye are nae a witch, in case ye try to bind us with yer unholy lies and honeyed words."
Harold's eyes took on the feverish light of fear. "A witch..." he muttered under his breath, his gaze wide and fearful upon her face, "Mayhap she's the reason the milk is souring in the sheep and the bairn's are dying. A witch... a witch... all that reading and her parent's strange ideas. We knew this couldnae be good."
Hermione knew only what her father had said at that moment, 'make a plan. stick to it.'
So, she did.
She began inching her way away from the men, she had to be out of arm's reach in case either of them tried to grab her. She would drop the cape she had borrowed because it would only add weight during her run. 'Twas obviously not an ideal position to be caught in her flannel nightgown but at least it would be somewhat warm.
It was clear that Glenmorgan would not welcome the return of Hermione Granger. However, as she was a young woman with an extremely even temperament and practical mind, she said a mental goodbye to her childhood home, promising to grieve it later in private in all the glory it deserved since it had truly been a wonderful home while her parent's had still lived.
She was sad she couldn't get a single keepsake, but she knew that it was more than likely that whoever had claimed her little house had most likely already burned or destroyed whatever they had not deemed useful. She doubted they had kept the cameo of her parent's painting. Her only image of them.
Oh well... she must remember every detail of her dear mama and papa and pass it on to her own children.
She was almost at the edge of the forest where the trees grew thick and prickly. She just had to drop the cape and make a dash for it, it would have to be quick.
"Well gentlemen... I assure you there's no need to listen to my tale. I'll simply disappear." She replied with her most charming smile.
She winced knowing that it wasn't having much of an effect on poor Harold who looked like he was ready to have an apoplexy the moment the word 'witch' had been mentioned.
"She's trying to get away." He muttered, narrowing his eyes as he studied her.
The two men then started towards her menacingly.
It was here, Hermione thought! Now! She had to run!
Letting go of her cape, she darted into the thicket. Covering her face with her arms. Her new boots were sturdy, and the loamy ground was still firm. She simply prayed that the weather remained clear. Any rain would spell disaster for her.
They weren't far behind her, she could hear the heavy thud of both men's work boots.
She couldn't run far, in a desperate attempt to hide she ran to a tree with a strong low hanging branch; gathered her nightgown and walted up.
Her hair had come loose from the chignon she had put it in while walking through the forest and now bits of hair, sweat and leaves clung to her damp neck. She tried to even out her breathing as she ascended upward, thanking whoever was watching out for her that even in the darkness she had picked a strong tree.
The sound of boots was much closer now, almost under the very tree she was hidden in. Her arms ached with the strain it took to keep a firm grasp around the tree, her nightgown was around her thighs and while the chafing of the tree trunk against her bare skin was bad. She imagined getting caught, tied to a wooden board and drowned would be much worse.
How could she have forgotten they would accuse her of witchcraft. The one thing both the Church and pagans feared intensely. Even the good Reverend couldn't get her out of this one.
She was a lack-wit. Draco's offer to resettle her in a more accepting place like Edinburgh had been sound and her foolish romantic notions had come in the way.
Would he even come for her?
She allowed herself to think of the man she had left behind earlier that night for the first time since her ordeal had begun.
Somehow, she felt he would, she didn't know much about the man, but she did know he seemed to think he was omnipotent.
If she died, he might not lock himself up in a delipidated old castle like he'd done for his wife, but he'd certainly mire himself in enough guilt for it to reek out of that castle in giant waves of sadness.
While Draco hadn't been very communicative with her, her daily chats with his house elf-valet/butler/man of all affairs Dobby had been enlightening. Until he had stopped those too.
She had never had a chance to speak to the elf after seeing him without his glamour. They had spoken about Draconis MacFoy the Man... but now she knew there was so much for to him than just being a man.
He was so fascinating to her; magical yet mortal, a man with a deep almost fatalistic sense of responsibility to those who he perceived as protected by him yet with an almost selfish and self-centred notion of what he may mean to those very same people. So close yet not close at all.
They were circling back to where she was hidden. She was hidden fairly high up by now but not so high that they wouldn't be able to see if they lifted their head and looked up at the canopy.
The two men were also talking among themselves, Hermione had to strain her ears to listen to what they were saying. She had no desire for a confrontation. All she wanted was to leave in peace.
She had too much pride to return to Draco, but she knew how to read and heal and if nothing else those two skills would come in handy in a big city. Of-course if he came for her, she would inclined to forgive him.
She'd have to be cautious though if she was to take the roads down south, but she was sure she'd be able to make her way down to Inverness if she was careful and travelled well camouflaged.
After all, travelling as a single lady was not to be done, it invited the worst bedfellows. Pun not intended. But she couldn't carry out her grand plans whilst struck in a tree with no money, no clothes and nothing to eat.
Survival was key.
So far, her luck was holding, they had gone on ahead, but she wasn't sure if they would double back. She hadn't been able to hear their conversation. What if they called more men?
She hadn't forgotten the mob that had dragged her to Draco's. Maybe she hoped... just maybe they were too far inside the thicket for them to go back for more people.
She knew if they claimed she was still alive and had lived alone in that castle with some mysterious 'other' no one would hesitate to jump on the witch argument. She'd be burned at the stake or scored above her head quicker than she'd be able to say Bob.
{Authors Notes for Historical Context- witch hunts were often conducted by vigilantes, who may or may not have executed their victims. In Scotland, for example, cattle murrains and deaths were blamed on witches, usually peasant women, who were duly punished. A popular method called "scoring above the breath" meant slashing across a woman's forehead in order to remove the power of her magic. This was seen as a kind of emergency procedure which could be performed in absence of judicial authorities.Jane Wenham was among the last subjects of a typical witch trial in England in 1712, but was pardoned after her conviction and set free(source: Wikipedia) ) }
Just a wee bit longer she prayed desperately, if she could just make it till first light, she'd be able to find her way out of this forest and onto a main road. She knew the Great North Road went through their neighbouring village, but she had never paid close attention to which one.
Just as she began to contemplate which way out would be best, she heard a beastly roar echo across the forest.
What now, she wondered, tightening her hold on the thick branch. Even before that thought was finished the whole front section of the thick forest was lit ablaze.
Hermione gasped in shock when out of the fire with a hand around each man's neck came a fierce looking Lord Draconis MacFoy. His eye wasn't his own mercurial silver... it was the shifting and ever-changing mercury of the Dragon and each human inch of him covered in golden scales.
He was magnificent sight; terrifying, unearthly and divine.
And my god... she was so desperately happy to see him. He looked so strong, that all she wanted was to run to him and weep. This night had not gone exactly to plan for her.
However, he would crush their throats if she didn't intervene. Unlike the whispers of humans, Draco's deep and inhuman voice carried quite clearly, and he was demanding to know where she was. He must believe her to be dead since he was asking about a torn bit of her flannel nightgown he must have found caught on some branches.
She didn't want the deaths of those two men on her conscious and she feared that rather than dying by the Dragon's hand they might expire in shock itself after witnessing such a fearsome creature descend upon them.
Both Harold and Ron looked like they were about to soil their braries, a sight that would have sent her into a fit of giggles had their choking sounds not reached her too.
Before he roared another question to the terrified duo Hermione called out in a plaintive voice. Finding that despite her grand plans she was exhausted and in desperate need of coddling.
"Draco...Draco I'm here."
Her legs had turned into jelly and she found she couldn't unlock her limbs enough even to climb down the tree.
...
Draconis MacFoy was enraged and so was his Dragon. Finding a small scrap of the flannel pattern of the nightgown that belonged to his Hermione had unleased the beast.
The two men returning from the same path where he could scent her presence had the smell of predators about them like they had just completed a successful hunt.
He hated them on sight. Especially the red head. There was something almost smug about his face, was he responsible...?
His rage was incandescent and after happening upon the men he could have only been stopped by a miracle.
The Dragon's mighty roar echoed through the forest bringing with it the ancient flames that his ancestors had used to win the Pendragon's and Plantagenet's their vast kingdoms.
He had been just about to crush their worthless throats, disregarding their fearfully bulging eyes and their rasping breaths but a soft and faintly pleading voice called out his name.
He tossed each man aside carelessly, they were unconscious anyway. His focus now solely on the large oak where the sound had come from.
It had to be her. She wasn't dead after all. He let out a sigh of gladness, feeling the weight lift off his chest.
Finding that small scarp of her nightgown had triggered a series of images from the war and he had fatalistically decided that she was dead. What else could she be after being hunted by those two jackals wearing human skin.
"Hermione." He couldn't help but roar, despite his relief of having found her alive he was furious with her.
She had disobeyed a direct order.
"I'm here..." came the plaintive voice again, "Up on the tree."
He wanted to laugh and praise her ingenuity. She had made the best use of the thick forest around her, cleverly hiding in one of the biggest oak trees around. He didn't know what had transpired with those men but suffice to say she had succeeded in hiding from them.
"I... I can't come down." she admitted in a small voice, "'Twould seem my legs have become firmly attached to the trunk of this tree."
In the end he was the one who had to climb up and fetch her. Gently he pealed her hands away from the rough bark and helped her put them around his own neck.
She sighed gratefully before burrowing her nose in the space between his shoulder and neck.
"I was scared. Their plan was to accuse me of witchcraft." she whispered to him. "I assume they split my land or one of them took it. They must have spotted me coming down the forest path. Like a fool I took the one we in the village use regularly. You can see that path from the embankment."
"You never should have left." He replied, unable to keep the anger out of his voice as he climbed down, with her wrapped around him like a rose vine.
"Draco..."
"No." he shook his head, "We won't talk about this right now. There's this problem to deal with." He said gesturing to the two unconscious men.
"You can't mean to kill them surely!" exclaimed Hermione, lifting an incredulous face to his, "No Draco that's wrong."
He glared at her, "Miss. Granger I was a soldier, I have killed a great deal of men regardless of if it were right or wrong and besides what do you propose we do? Just leave them alive so that they can return to the village with the tale of the Dragon and the silly maiden he came to rescue? And then we can be sure to see a mob outside our castle door demanding our blood, yours for being a witch and mine for simply being me. Or I can kill them, and this ends here. Many a man have gone missing in these parts. They won't be missed."
"No, you can't Draco please. They have families and parents. Maybe... maybe they won't remember." She said with faint hope, from the safe haven of Draco's arms. Feeling a faint shudder go down her back when she even looked at the two unconscious men.
"They tried to hurt you. I don't understand why you're defending them." He said exasperated.
"Because you're not like them Draco and two wrong's never make a right. It's wrong to kill. Anyone." She replied empathically.
Draconis sighed, they wouldn't get anywhere like this. The two men would have to be dealt with but without mentioning anything to Hermione. 'Twas in his best interest to return her to the castle as soon as possible. Since he felt enough rage having found her in such a position to pound something into submission.
"What's going to happen to me now I wonder?" she asked in a small voice, "I have nowhere to return to."
Remembering his anger at her again he turned her to face him, "For now my treasure you shall be returning to the Keep and with regards to your punishment for disobeying a direct order and putting yourself in such grave jeopardy... well that is a conversation you can look forward to once you have bathed and been dressed in some warm clothes."
"Punishment... for what!" she sputtered, "And I didn't agree to return with you, My Lord!"
"Yes, my dear... but you forget you're my prisoner. A part of my treasure. And a Dragon never let's go of his treasure. You belong to me."
And with those final words, the Dragon emerged... it's mercury eyes arrogantly almost daring Hermione to defy the gauntlet that Draco had thrown down.
But instead of trepidation she felt a keen sense of anticipation. Equally boldly she climbed onto its back.
Her eyes accepting the challenge Draco issued.
His, was she... well she'd see about that.
TBC
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Also S/O to the guest review asking if everything was okay because I hadn't uploaded a chapter of this story in the past two weeks! Thank you! I'm good! Just been busy, I'm sorry!