At long last, my fic for Sperrywink for Fandom Trumps Hate!


Chapter 2

Born To Run

-oOo-

Hermione stumbled onto the uneven flagstones of the stable yard. It didn't look anything like the Malfoy Manor that made frequent appearances in her nightmares. She could see the outline of the big house, with windows and staircases tacked on at frequent intervals and an extra floor attached in a way that reminded her of The Burrow. From this angle, it looked reassuringly plebeian.

Something whinnied very loudly, and she recalled why she was there.

Malfoy stood behind her in his shirtsleeves, holding the reins of a team of four splendid winged horses. Hooves the size of dinner plates flew in the air, and the horses were throwing their heads around like they were raring to go.

The carriage harnessed to them looked like it belonged to a Dresden figurine. It had been gilded to the point of blinding an innocent bystander if the sun hit at the wrong angle, and the covered seats had been upholstered in bright blue silk. It was everything Hermione could have dreamt of back when she was seven years old and briefly obsessed with Cinderella.

"Ready?" Malfoy asked, gesturing to the open door.

"As ready as I'll ever be," she sighed. At least they would be travelling in a confined space, rather than holding on for dear life as she had on the back of that dragon.

Even spending an extended period in a small space with Draco Malfoy beat that.

Leaving the ground involved a series of jerking motions, and Hermione kept her eyes firmly shut. Once the movement of the carriage stabilised, her heaving stomach settled and she risked a glance under her eyelashes.

Nothing worse than Malfoy's pale hands holding the reins greeted her, so she bravely opened her eyes completely.

The hills of Wiltshire unrolled below, mile after mile of chalk downs. There was nothing very shocking about the green and gold beneath her, or the steady pace of the winged horses bobbing gently up and down before them.

She finally believed that they were not about to be tossed to the ground several thousand feet below, or at least not at present.

Malfoy must have noticed her shoulders loosening up. "Pretty nice, isn't it? If you look left you may be able to spot the Cherhill White Horse in a little bit."

"How long do you think it will take to get there?" They seemed to be moving at the speed of an airplane, but the manes of the horses barely fluttered - clearly magic at work. Hermione couldn't detect any charms increasing the speed of the horses, but that did not mean there weren't any.

"A few hours, tops. Bit more complicated than a Portkey, so I wouldn't normally travel such a long distance. They might flag a bit towards the end."

It belatedly occurred to Hermione that parking a team of winged horses wasn't exactly like parking a car.

"What happens when we land?" she asked.

"I believe the normal procedure is to disembark in an orderly fashion, but I'm willing to be corrected." The corner of his mouth was quivering.

"I see you went to the Severus Snape school of communication. What I meant was that A) It'd be a bad idea to land in, say, central Dublin, and B) I need to buy a map somewhere, so you can't just go for the most desolate spot you can find either."

She had to stop to breathe but ploughed on before he got a chance to interject. "Besides, we will have to find a way to get around, too, so a remote area would mean a lot of walking. Which might be a bad idea, because we don't know where our ultimate destination is. Can you just leave the horses tied somewhere, or what do you do?"

"May I speak now, or do you have another verbal explosion lined up?"

"Go ahead. Please." She tried to make it sound sweet, but it was a losing proposition and she knew it.

"To answer your last question first, I brought a house-elf to mind the horses while we're attending to our respective errands. Topsy climbed up after you got in, so you probably didn't notice him."

"And where is Topsy now? Did he fall off? How do you know he hasn't fallen off, with nothing to hold on to? Where is Topsy?" Her voice was getting shrill, but she didn't care.

"Right here, Miss – never you fret!" a squeaky voice announced from above. Malfoy must have got his wand out while she was busy having palpitations because the carriage roof was now transparent. Seemingly suspended in the air just above it was a smaller than usual house-elf, grinning from ear to ear.

"You're all right up there, are you?" Hermione asked, her voice trembling slightly.

"Squeaky-beepy fine, Miss! Will I take the reins for a bit, Master Draco?"

"Please – I'd like to check our position."

Hermione watched, horrified, as the reins – the only thing keeping her in the comfortable carriage rather than tumbling into the glittering sea miles beneath them – rose in the air. She didn't start breathing again until Topsy had them in a firm grip.

"Was that really necessary?" she said on the exhale. It came out a bit faint.

"Hm?" Malfoy tilted his wand this way and that, before jotting down some notes in the little black notebook he had produced from somewhere. "We seem to be doing decent speed. What were you saying there?"

"I will die a happy woman if I never have to see those reins move in the air ever again."

"I'm sure that can be arranged. I'll tell you when to close your eyes, would that be OK?"

"Malfoy!" In a way, it was helpful when he was being exasperating, because it distracted her from dwelling on how easy it was to plummet to her death.

He held his hands up. "Joking, just joking. Although we do need to swap sometimes, for safety purposes."

Hermione could dwell on that, or find something else to focus her mind on. She chose to go on the attack instead. "How convenient to have a house-elf running interference for you. Imagine if your family had to pay the going rate for staff – do you think you would still be rich then?"

Malfoy shrugged and made the top of the carriage transparent again. "Topsy, Miss Granger is concerned you're working for free. Can you tell her?"

"Topsy gets paid, Miss. Topsy gets a foal!" The house-elf flicked the reins and one of the horses whinnied.

"Good for you," Hermione mumbled, and the roof became solid again. She turned back towards Malfoy. "What about Topsy's colleagues, do they get paid?"

"They won't accept any payment. I've tried." He spread his well-manicured hands in front of him. It was a mercy Topsy was handling the reins at the moment, or they may end up in Wales instead.

"How convenient," Hermione said, not bothering to hide her sneer.

"Listen, Granger, what do you want me to do? Tie them down and force it into their pockets?" Malfoy looked so earnest a fool could tell he was up to something.

"I expect you to try harder, to find something they actually want, like Topsy."

"Maybe they don't want anything. It's just the way they are made," he explained as if she had never heard that asinine attempt to justify the arrangement before.

"Or maybe it is because they've been told nothing is all they deserve for so long that they internalised the message. I've been on the receiving end of people telling me what to do and not to do too many times not to recognise how it works." She was glaring at Malfoy, who no longer had the excuse of looking at the horses.

He did not seem too bothered. "But you didn't listen. Obviously," he pointed out.

She took a long, heaving breath. It was either that or scream with frustration, and the latter would probably spook the horses. "That is like saying running a marathon requires no effort, just because the winner made it."

He politely waited for her to make sense.

"Oh for God's sake," she sighed. "A very long race, then. The annual Swedish broom race. Just because one of the participants made it to the finishing line does not mean no effort was required in getting there. Surely you can understand that? Somehow I managed to ignore everyone putting me down because I was a Muggle-born, but think of all those who may have achieved things but didn't."

She looked at the green stripe at the horizon without seeing it.

"Great things, but they never got there because they were told it as was not for people like them." She laughed, but there was no joy in it. "Ironically, I was born with a healthy sense of privilege in the Muggle world – maybe that's how I could stand up to it. If I'd been working class, I don't think it would have seemed so obviously unfair. Being pig-stubborn probably helped too, but that's not necessarily always an –"

"I did not make it." Malfoy spoke so quietly she wasn't sure she had heard it right.

"What?"

"I didn't make the finishing line. It's questionable I even made it to the starting point of the race, but that's stretching the metaphor so thin it'll reach all the way to Scotland from here."

Hermione did not know what to say, or even where to begin saying it. Sputtering outrage fuelled her on, though, and the words followed soon enough. "I can't believe... That's the complete opposite of what I was talking about – You cannot seriously compare yourself to Muggle-borns and house-elves!"

She banged the sky blue upholstered silk in her agitation, only to have her hand bounce back up again. Damn those pinching diamond shoes indeed.

"No, of course I can't," Malfoy agreed in that too-quiet voice. "Or rather, only when it comes to one thing: I was also told who to be and what to do. Unfortunately, I listened. The parallel struck me for the first time."

"Oh," was the best Hermione could come up with in response.

There did not seem to be much to say after that, so she pulled out her book instead.

When the narrow strip of green at the horizon had become a discernible coastline, it occurred to her that nothing had been decided. Just like travelling with her parents, really – interminable discussions when no one ever made up their mind.

Biting her bottom lip, she considered whether she should say something about their previous conversation. Malfoy had been studiously quiet since, apart from exchanging the reins with Topsy once or twice. Would it be more awkward to acknowledge that it was awkward?

Yes, she decided with relief. There was a reason people were being awfully British about this sort of thing, and that was because it worked.

Now she just had to sound natural.

"Malfoy?" It came out more like a growl. Hermione tried to clear her throat but ended up with a coughing fit. By the time she had caught her breath again, cheeks aflame, any previous embarrassment had been forgotten in favour of a brand new complement.

"Water?" Malfoy produced a clear bottle of something, and Hermione decided to take him on faith.

Well, that and she had sent Harry a note to tell him where they were going before leaving the Ministry. Hopefully, any dastardly plans by Malfoy would take into account that she wasn't completely stupid.

"Thank you." Breathing freely was very nice. "So what do we do when we get to Ireland? Bearing in mind that I need to be in central Dublin in –" she tilted her head to check his Muggle watch "– six and a half hours. And we'd better fit in some lunch, too. I'm starving."

"I'm terribly sorry – naturally I made sure we have some supplies, but I completely forgot..." He Summoned a basket with daintily wrapped sandwiches and more water bottles. Made of crystal and embossed with the Malfoy crest.

"Please tell me you didn't spend all night making this. You really shouldn't have. Oh, look, the cucumber is sliced so thin you can barely see it – however did you manage that?"

There was a trace of pink on Malfoy's cheeks, but he did not buckle down. "It is food. If you don't like where it comes from, I'm afraid you'll have to make your own arrangements."

"And so I will – once I'm not stuck miles up in the air with no options other than a squashed Mars bar at the bottom of my handbag. Thank you very much." She raised her eyebrows pointedly. "Your efforts are very much appreciated."

"You are most welcome," he said formally, not a smirk in sight.

She had noticed it before – he really couldn't stop himself from sounding like she was his honoured guest sometimes. Unless he was winding her up for his own amusement. She really didn't think so – Malfoy was much too fond of his own wit not to go in for the kill if he spotted a chance.

"So what do we do when we land, then," she asked again, once the sandwiches had been disposed of. The cucumber was rather good.

"I believe the question is rather where to land. I think the best spot would be just outside a village – if you think they'd sell maps in a village shop?"

"Almost definitely. As long as we pick a fairly big one."All gas stations would have maps, wouldn't they?

"Then we could just choose a deserted bit of road, land, and disguise the wings," Malfoy said as if that finished the matter.

Hermione had discovered some promising square packets at the bottom of the basket, so her question was a bit muffled. "Then what?"

"Then we get Topsy to hide inside the carriage and drive the team to the village, of course."

She burst out laughing, which sent his eyebrows off to the skies.

"It's what my grandfather used to do – I don't see what's so funny about that." He did not sound pleased with her mirth.

"Malfoy, Muggles haven't used horses for transport for the last fifty years, at least. The sight of four thoroughbreds trotting into the village – Well, I'd rather fly under the radar."

"Under the what?"

She considered explaining and decided it would take too long. "Let's just be discreet. I realise it doesn't come naturally to you, but you can try."

To her great relief, he nodded.

"The horses will need to drink, though," he pointed out.

"OK. So we're looking for a small – but not too small – village with a clean source of water and a landing strip of some description nearby. I assume you have no idea where exactly it is you need to go?"

Malfoy clicked his fingers and a strip of parchment appeared. "The Laurels, Knockaroo, County L-a-o-i-s, however you're supposed to pronounce that."

"La-oi-ss, maybe?" Hermione suggested. Hopefully, the locals had heard of it. "Any idea where Laois is, then?"

Malfoy predictably shook his head.

"Well, then, we'll just stay close to Dublin then. Close-ish," she amended. Winged horses were a lot less convenient than she had thought. Another complication occurred to her. "Won't the horses need to eat, too?"

"They eat grass, Granger. Considering it's called the Emerald Isle, I think they have grass in Ireland."

"Oh." It had been a quite long time since she read Black Beauty and cried all night when Ginger died.