She could not feel.
She felt trapped, but more than trapped- stifled, asphyxiating on the black emptiness of the air that pressed in around her. The black did not bother her so much as the silence- there was no breath, no wind, only thick, stagnant air that blocked her from the comfort of sound. Alone and cold, without even the touch of magic to warm her- she could feel nothing.
Nothing but hunger.
Oh, the hunger- it ripped apart her insides, past her once-beating organs to the very depths of her spirit, her soul. Its fire chased away the chill of the abyss, consuming her, her thought, her mind, her conscience, until only the hunger was left, the thirst… the thirst for life, and a life not her own.
She would call out, but she could not move. Paralyzed by fear, she knew she was not herself… there was some thing inside of her, some thing dark and ancient, a great whisper that drowned out even the thirst. It called to her and it spoke as her, all at once.
A black wind blew, breaking the silence, pressing the air against her harder, rushing down her throat and straight into the heart of the battle for her consciousness. She tried to move against it, pressing hands to her throat, but they were weak, pale, and against the heat of her body they burst out into ashes- ashes and ashes, dust to dust-
Eyes snapping open, Hermione Granger lay paralyzed in the bed that was not her own, wrapped up in layers of thick foreign silks, too terrified to breathe. Had she screamed? The small circular room seemed to echo her terror, once welcoming, now a prison, a known prison, a trap. She did not usually dream (or remember them, to be precise) and she had not had more than a handful of nightmares in her recollection. All had involved Professor Snape, poor test grades, the most recent incarnation of Lord Voldemort, or some combination of the three.
Slowly, warily, she snaked a hand out from underneath the covers to push some no-longer-thick hair out of her face. Ah. No terrifying winds or ominous voices. No limbs burst into ashes. In fact, she was quite seriously considering moving her other arm when an ominous figure pushed open her door.
Well, he was ominous in the bloody dark.
"Dear Lord. Are you all right?" Draco asked, once he'd convinced himself that she was in no immediate danger by half-heartedly glancing around the room. "I heard you scream. In fact, I'm surprised the entire house didn't hear you scream. Where was that voice when you and Potter were sneaking about after hours?"
"Do stop being such a twit and shut the door, Draco." she replied, thoroughly annoyed. And also rather relieved that she was no longer alone, though she tried her damndest not to show it. "I had a rather strange nightmare, for your information. One that I'm quite sure would have made you scream like a first-year Hufflepuff girl."
"Really?" he asked, casually making himself comfortable at the end of her bed. "How terrible for you."
"Draco!" she glared, surprised at his reaction. He'd been awfully sweet lately- well, as sweet as Draco Malfoy ever got, which was not particularly. Why this? And now?
"I'm not the one who slowly got myself smashed on an empty stomach and went straight to bed. I've never heard of a hangover nightmare, but they do tend to have… unpleasant side effects."
Hermione frowned. It was quite possible… but no. She'd been so sure that it had meant something- she'd never had a dream so vivid, or one so odd. That hunger. And the feeling of being cut off from magic entirely. She hadn't felt it in the room, not like that, though she knew she couldn't touch magic inside. What could it- eyes widening, it struck her, as suddenly as the nightmare had.
"It's not that, Draco." she said, her voice turning grave. "I spoke to one of your relatives today- a vampire, inside a painting. This room… it was her prison. Cast a spell."
He frowned, still taking in the information, but responded to her command almost automatically, prompting his frown to deepen.
"That's odd, I… can't. Usually I do fairly well with wandless magic- most Malfoys do, they never expect an attack when you're wandless- but I can't do anything at all." Growing frustrated, he sat up to face her. "All right then, what's the trick?"
"Lodestone." she replied, matter of factly. "Also known as magnetite. Muggles use it for its magnetic properties, but it also disrupts the flow of magic, causing a wizard or witch surrounded be it to be cut off from magic completely. This relative of yours was turned, and they locked her up in here when she was about our age. See?"
Pulling him off the bed and trying very hard to ignore the near-transparency of her shift, she pointed out the window that faced the gardens. "There aren't any windows or scaffolding around for her to jump to, and it's far too high to jump down off of. I suspect she was very weak, at any rate- one meal a week doesn't seem like much for a young vampire. I wonder how many-"
"Hermione." Draco said shortly, taking her arm. "Slow down. You spoke to a painting. A painting of a vampire in the Malfoy gallery that you're not even supposed to know exists, who told you that she was bitten and locked up by her family in my mother's old bedroom?"
"Yes." she replied impatiently. "What of it?"
Shaking his head, Draco smiled. "Nothing. You're just terribly cute when you're clever." With that, he resumed his leisurely stretch on her bed, heaving a sigh. "It's nearly four o'clock in the morning, you know. We'll be late for breakfast at this rate."
Bothered that he was ignoring her, Hermione sat down next to him and attempted to loom. "How do you figure? Unless your house is so gargantuan that we won't be able to make it properly downstairs in three hours."
"No, it's not quite that large." he replied, a devilish smirk appearing on his face as he rose to her height. "I just plan very much so on being occupied. Now do shut up about this bloody room and sit still for a moment, won't you?"
Much to Draco's surprise, she did. And much to Hermione's dismay, he was quite right about being late.
Hermione had tried very hard to admonish Ron for teasing his little sister, one terribly rainy Hogwarts afternoon… Harry had been at Quidditch practice, and they had been attempting chess in the common room. Chess between Ron and herself generally ended up in a row one way or another, and this afternoon had been no exception. The youngest Weasley brother had regaled a tale of the previous summer- one where Ginny had made a brilliant spectacle of herself by gaping at Harry and stumbling around the house for nearly two weeks, ending in a particularly amusing episode involving a butter dish and wayward elbow.
Hermione was beginning to understand how Ginny must have felt.
Everything at Malfoy Manor was a terribly formal affair. A choice of meals had been presented to her at breakfast, ranging from freshly caught Nova Scotia salmon to a particularly delicate-looking pumpkin pasty disguised with a curious French name. She'd decided on the simplest thing she could imagine: a blueberry scone.
Even a blueberry scone was no simple thing at Malfoy Manor.
The array of marmalades and jams before her was dazzling. It seemed as if every fruit she'd ever heard of- and many that she hadn't- had been freshly distilled into a spread, for the Malfoys didn't seem to eat anything that was packaged or processed. One of their three house elves prepared the scone for her after she'd selected something called 'passion fruit', and carefully arranged a napkin onto her lap. Forgetting herself, she began to thank him, but was cut off by a loud harrumph from Draco.
"My dear, are you sick?" Narcissa asked, looking at her son with concern as she carefully picked apart the pumpkin pasty. "That's quite a cough."
"No, mother." he replied, with a winning smile. "I think it's only my allergy acting up again. I'll take some more of that potion after breakfast."
"I didn't know you were allergic to anything." Hermione said. Draco smiled sharply.
"Actually, love, I'm allergic to sunlight." he said through clenched teeth, clearly not pleased at having to reveal his weakness. "Thankfully, my father stumbled across a very ancient potion that repels it. So I can play Quidditch and all."
"Hmm." she said quietly, taking a sip of tea. "That must have been an exceedingly useful potion for any vampire that 'stumbled across it.'"
"Ha!" Lucius exclaimed, looking up from his paper for nearly the first time all morning. "How very astute of you, my girl. That's exactly how I discovered it… you know, the Malfoy family are cousins to the Draculas of Romania."
"Really!" she smiled, feeling quite as if clammy hands had suddenly taken hold of her internal organs. "Why, that's fascinating. They're one of the most- er, powerful vampiric clans, aren't they?"
"Yes, indeed. We can't have them over for dinner too often, understand, but soon enough they'll be able to hunt the streets of Hogsmeade with impunity."
'
"Oh, I can't wait!" Narcissa said, reanimating for a brief moment. "Octavia has a habit of wearing the most intriguing outfits. Always black, though."
Underneath the table, Hermione grabbed Draco's free hand and held onto it for dear life. The cold feeling inside her body had not subsided in the least. The Draculas! They were the Muggle equivalent of the royal family- not much official power, but more than enough clout to have whatever- and whomever- they wanted. They terrorized Romania, as Viktor had been quick to tell her, and wherever else they could fly to during a few day's time. He said it was something in their blood that allowed them to let their skin see sunlight. Now she knew.
Draco coughed again.
"Well, excuse us, but we ought to head upstairs. I need to take my potion, and get Hermia dressed a bit more properly-" he stood, letting go of her hand at the last possible moment.
"Oh? I think she looks lovely-" Narcissa began absently.
"Yes, mother, she always looks lovely, but we'd like to go out riding today. With your permission of course, father." Draco replied, looking over at Lucius, who waved a distracted hand.
"Of course you can use the horses, Draco. They're as much yours as anyone else's, considering they won't let the rest of us ride them. I hope they take to Hermia."
Draco smiled lightly, looking over at Hermione, her hair shining in the sunlight. "I have a feeling that they will."
"Draco, you do realize that I've ridden horses before?" Hermione asked impatiently as he lead her through a particularly prickly bramble thicket. She'd trusted him this far, leading her almost blindly, as it was, but as the path grew less smooth and he grew more eager in dragging her along behind him, she was sorely tempted to peek from underneath the blindfold he'd insisted on wrapping around her eyes.
"Of course, of course." he said absently, helping her up over a rock in the path. "Let's hurry, though. They're less temperamental before noon."
"Look, I realize you're very proud of them, but even a Thoroughbred horse-"
"They aren't Thoroughbreds." he replied, lifting her up over a fallen tree. The sunlight of the morning felt warm upon her face- they had apparently emerged from the small forest between the manor and the far stabled. She stopped short, crossing her arms underneath her breasts.
"Draco, this is ridiculous. I'm taking the blindfold off."
"Give me two minutes, love." he said cheerily, giving her hand one last quick squeeze before darting off. After stumbling around for a moment or two, she sat down on a rock, deciding to give him a full sixty seconds before removing the blindfold. He returned in thirty, and though she made out his eager footsteps quite clearly in the dew-covered grass, she couldn't hear the sound of hoofbeats.
Slowly, as if to increase the suspense, Draco came around behind her, removing the silk blindfold with a flourish. Hermione spun around almost instantly to admonish him for his immaturity, when she was quite suddenly rendered unable to speak.
Horses? You could never call them- horses- to do so was an insult, a careless offense that could only be uttered from the mouth of the most vile of Malfoys. They were angels- floating apparitions, crystalline phantoms that no prose and certainly no single word could do justice. A sense of overwhelming wonder overcame her, so much that she felt like a child again, stepping off of the most curious train she'd even seen to be greeted by the magnificent silhouette of Hogwarts.
The manes of the Malfoy Pegasai glistened in the morning sunlight, less pale than they were transparent, cerulean and giving off an entirely unearthly glow. Their hooves glistened silver, wrapped and braided 'round carefully with ribbons of a similar color. Wings of purest white beat idly at the air, feathers tipped with steel blue dye to match the shimmering cobalt of their wide, humanlike eyes.
They were the most beautiful thing that Hermione had ever seen.
"I knew you'd like them." Draco said quietly, wrapping a gentle arm around her waist. "They're the purest creatures- not particularly intelligent, if beautiful."
"Draco." she said quietly, enthralled by the sublime grace of the half-horses. "You oughtn't say such things about them. Just because they don't prance around like warhorses trampling everything in their path..."
He sighed heavily, though the amusement in his voice was easily apparent. "Go on then. The one on the left is mine-"
"The one on the left?" she asked, turning to face him with a steely glare. He sighed once more.
"Lucien, then. That's Isendre on your right. They're mated, of course."
Hermione approached Isendre slowly, meeting her doe-like blue eyes with the most peaceful resolve she could manage, under the slightly unsettling circumstances. She reached out with a shaky hand to gently touch her braided mane, which Isendre surprisingly tolerated, even nuzzling Hermione's hair lightly in return.
"How old are they?" she asked breathlessly, hardly turning to look at Draco.
"No one's really sure." he replied boredly, already preparing to mount Lucien. "My father believes them to be at least five hundred years each- at any rate, they've been around since when my grandfather was young, which is something of an accomplishment."
Hermione stood for a moment in serene tableau with Isendre, contemplating the sheer wonder of the noble creature before her. How many Malfoys had this angel seen come and go? How many cruel and kind masters, those like Draco and those like his father? If anyone knew of their capacity for good and evil- but could a being of pure good even contemplate evil? She doubted sincerely that the Pegasai were flawed as humans were… suddenly feeling quite painfully aware of her own impurities, she turned to Draco.
"Do you think she'll allow me to ride her?" she asked. He shrugged.
"I don't know. Why don't you ask her yourself?"
Hermione nodded absently, stepping in front of Isendre once again. As she remembered doing with the Hippogriffs what seemed like centuries ago, she bowed her head deeply to Isendre. For a moment the creature seemed to study her, azure eyes piercing through all the layers of Hermione's deception… and she bowed her head in return. Draco grinned.
"Well, that's as good a consent as any. Get on, will you? We've got thousands of acres of Malfoy land to see, and only a few months in which to do so." Hermione consented, smiling over at him benignly once she had mounted Isendre.
"Thank you, Draco." was all she said, placing a light kiss on his cheek and reaching over to take his hand once more. He looked at her, mystified.
"For what?"
She only smiled again, as Isendre and Lucien displayed the Pegasai's slightly less famous ability for perfect timing, soaring gracefully off into the morning sun.
Isendre and Hermione twirled circles in the air against the milieu of the setting sun, displayed in brilliant oranges, reds, pinks, and a glittering haze of gold. They cut a stark contrast, Hermione in her black riding coat and Isendre's wings of shimmering white. Draco and Lucien hovered idly off to the side, clearly content to watch their mates enjoy the new beauty and new wonder of a newfound friendship. Hermione laughed gaily and Isendre whinnied in return as they flew in circles, creating delicate patterns against the fiery backdrop.
Though Draco was quite hesitant to put a halt to the stunning spectacle, he called out to Hermione, guiding Lucien closer towards the pair.
"Hermione, we ought to be going inside." he said, a hint of worry coloring his tone. Isendre turned towards him, and Hermione laughed haughtily.
"Why on Earth, Draco? I feel like I could stay upon Isendre forever-"
"As well you could… but this land is dangerous at night. Not all of the extended Malfoy Family is as benevolent as these two."
"Don't be silly." she replied, as Isendre took her for another few loops. Neighing playfully, it seemed almost as if she was trying to encircle the sun. "What could possibly harm us up here? Only a few more minutes. Just until the sun goes down."
Against his better judgment, Draco retreated. He sighed, and stroked Lucien's neck lightly, whispering into his ear.
"Don't worry. They'll come to their senses soon enough, I'm sure- at least Isendre knows how dangerous the forest after dark." Lucien neighed softly in approval, watching Isendre and Hermione intently.
When the aforementioned few minutes had passed and the sun was sinking lower into the sky, Draco approached Hermione again, the urgency in this voice clear even to Isendre, who started slightly. "Come now. Sunset perhaps I can handle, but we cannot stay when it's dark. We can visit Isendre and Lucien tomorrow. And the day after that, if you'd like."
Hermione all but glowered at Draco, though she and Isendre reluctantly followed Lucien in the direction of the manor. But while the vast expanse of the Malfoy estate was bathed in the brilliant blood-red glow of the setting sun, Lucien stopped short, twirling around to stare in the opposite direction. Draco had to hold on very tightly to Lucien's mane to keep from falling.
"What is it, Lucien?" he asked. Isendre flew towards her mate, whinnying softly. Lucien brayed in response, kicking his heels up in the direction of the sun. Draco watched for a moment, finally able to make out the increasingly large black dots in the distance.
"Draco?" asked Hermione, growing worried.
"My- what are they?" he whispered, staring off into the distance just behind her shoulder. She turned to look, her eyes growing wide with fear.
"I don't know." she replied. "But they're large- and approaching very fast. Perhaps we ought to pick up the pace?"
But just as Hermione finished speaking, Isendre turned sharply as well, facing in the same direction as Lucien. Draco began whispering to Lucien once more, but the pegasus refused to move, rooted to the spot as if steeling himself for battle. Draco picked up on this quickly, reaching into the folds of his robes.
"Wand out, Hermione. I have a feeling-"
He was cut off abruptly as the creatures came into view, accompanied by a series of intensely piercing shrieks. They were entirely black- seeming almost as holes in light itself rather than breathing beings. Lucien brayed loudly, and Isendre did the same as the creatures extended their massive wings, shading the sun almost entirely from view.
They were bats- enormous bats, but more than bats for their size and apparent strength. The beating of their great wings created an icy wind, blowing the seemingly fragile pegasai back a few feet, and nearly causing Hermione to fall. She threw her arms around Isendre's neck, pointing her wand in the direction of the bats.
"They're vampire bats!" Draco shouted to her, staying low on Lucien. "Use Incendium Incarne- it's the only way to kill them!"
"Draco, that's black magic!" Hermione shouted back, holding Isendre tighter to her. It was very black magic, in fact- used only in the first of the wizarding wars, when it was still important for pride's sake that one's enemy be reduced entirely to ash.
"Hermione, you have to! They're not human!"
"That doesn't matter-" she began, though was cut off by a quick constriction in her throat as Draco raised his wand, shouting in a clear baritone-
"Incendium Incarne!"
She watched in horror as a bat flying dangerously near to her burst spectacularly into flame. It was a dreadful way to die, a sentiment echoed by the high-pitched shriek its comrades emitted upon fiery destruction. They seemed to all be focusing in on Draco and Lucien now, as the latter raised his hooves in preparation for battle. It happened so quickly and yet so slowly- Hermione could not stand idly by as Draco was drained of life, drained of blood as she'd dreamed of Carden doing a thousand times- and, at any rate, Isendre most certainly would not have it, beating her wings furiously in attempt to rescue her beloved.
Draco was destroying the creatures as quickly as he could, but there quite simply were too many of them- and in a moment of startling clarity, Hermione raised her wand and spoke two simple words, unfamiliar words that slipped so clearly off of her tongue that you would have thought she'd killed in cold blood a thousand times.
More screams broke out as Hermione and Isendre joined the fray, the pegasai biting and kicking for all they could, while working feverishly to avoid being bitten by the glistening fangs of the vampire bats.
But bloodlust was no match for love. True love, the ferverent love of equals and friends, soul-mates of the highest order. The time honored love of the most sacred of creatures, and the heat forged bond of the ever-tragic lovers. Nothing could defeat twin fires, the ever burning flame of righteousness and desperation- without you, I am nothing, said every fatal kick and every wrathful scream. Without you, I am less than nothing- and cornered creatures fight for life with peerless strength. Threatened with death, we almost always fight- but, threatened with the death of those we love, we fight and win.
Lucien and Draco were trapped by seven vampire bats, spreading their wings wide to form a death-black prison. Draco's wand arm had been slashed and he was bleeding profusely, barely able to raise it, as Lucien kicked with all his might at the bloodthirsty creatures struggling for position blow him. But, in a flash of righteous fire, light pierced the darkness of their black winged cage. Hermione, eyes burning with fury, hair lit up fire red against the fading glow of the sunset, screamed the ancient spell with such force that the remaining creatures flew off, terrified, into the oncoming twilight.
Isendre nuzzled a bloodstained Lucien lightly, and Draco looked up from his wound to Hermione. All the light had gone out of her eyes- she seemed faint, most likely from the draining effects of the magic she'd used. Pitching his voice softly, he called out to her.
"Hermione… let's go back to the stables. There's somewhere we can sleep there. I told my parents we might be out for the night."
She made no reply, but Isendre followed Lucien once more as they made their way back towards a safe haven. Their journey was a short one- if only he'd been more firm. If only- if only he could have kept her from danger as he promised himself he would do. Protect his gloriously pure Gryffindor girl from having to harm or be harmed- until she chose to do so of her own accord.
They dismounted the pegasai in silence, though Hermione seemed very reluctant to part from Isendre. Draco tugged lightly on Lucien's mane in a familiar gesture, and Lucien whinnied once more before flying up into the sky, hovering just above before Isendre joined him, and they faded out into the moonlight.
Draco took Hermione's hand once more, though it felt limp in his. He led her towards the house by the stables, a small retreat his mother had commissioned when he was a child so she could keep an eye on him during riding lessons. It wasn't that Narcissa was particularly overprotective- but (at that time, anyway) she had enjoyed any spare moment away from Lucius.
They climbed the marble staircase
together, and Draco led her to the sole bedroom, guiding her over to the
fainting couch and helping her to sit.
"Let me see where you've been cut." he said gently, taking her hand in his. She allowed a hint of a pained smile to show.
"Where I've been cut? You're bleeding far worse than I." her voice was thick with emotion, and he moved closer, barely curbing the impulse to hold her to him.
"And I've bled many times before. Where are you hurt?"
Looking at him with partial amusement, she lifted her shirt up halfway and turned, revealing a large, bloody gash spanning the length of her back. Draco winced, then ripped off a strip of bed sheet to bind the wound. She hissed softly as the rough linen touched it, but bravely bit down on her lower lip to keep from screaming.
Giving her a moment to adjust to the pain, Draco touched her shoulder gently, pouring all of his empathy into the simplest of caresses. That was when she could not keep from crying. That was when he could hold back no longer- he gathered her in his arms, holding her as tightly as what felt like a broken rib would allow.
They did not speak. They only held each other, silhouetted by the pale moonlight.
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I finally wrote something! So, feel free to stop with the death threats, kids… at least for a while. This chapter was impossible to get out- but I made it a bit longer than usual (or I think I did), and I really think it's my best one yet, so hopefully it's worth it. I owe this semi-timely update to the most recent rash of reviewers in late July- no clue where you guys came from, but thanks for granting me a very happy sweet sixteen, and also a fair bit of inspiration.
I'd like to take a moment to thank some old and frequent reviewers: Hermy-own-ninny, Trinity Day, heavengurl899, Lady Guinevere of Northgalis, josh, blood thirsty, VenusDeMilo, RedhotNYchick, Draco'sgurl, Katana47, Kearie, JDPhoenix, Icy Stormz, EvilGeniusSmurf, and to anyone I forgot I owe you a sneak peek of my newest project… I can't say this enough, reviews are what keep me writing. Period. Thanks to all of you who have ever written me a review with constructive criticism (by far the best!) and or one that's over a few sentences long… I don't have a beta right now, so you guys are all that I have.
On a similar note, if anyone's interested in being my beta/sounding board/new best friend ;) drop me a line at my (NOTE!) new email address, a_arsenic@hotmail.
PS. For all of you who I'm sure were about to ask… yes, the Little White Horse left a very deep impression upon me as a child, and most of this chapter was written to Beethoven's 6th. Ciao!