Disclaimer: When I was a youngin' I watched wholesome TV shows that taught me important life lessons. TV shows like Sesame Street, Barney, and Mr. Rogers. They taught me to eat my veggies, to share, and not to lie. Being an honorable person, I intend to hold true to the lessons I was taught, so here you go, even though I would make billions of dollars, earn world-wide esteem, and be worshipped by readers everywhere I will confess that I do not own Harry Potter. Thank you, Big Bird.
Author's Note: How random could that disclaimer be? I just kind of started typing, hoping that in the end it would have a point. That's how I write just about everything, including this Author's Note. Okay, I should come up with a point. Um, today a very traumatic thing happened to me. Even though I doubt a single person cares, I'm going to share- briefly- my day. One of my best friends lost consciousness mid-sentence while having a conversation with me and I, with the help of some other people, had to call an ambulance and go to the hospital with her where, only after what seemed like years of waiting, totally confused and terrified about everything, she was restored to near-normal conditions and excused from the hospital with the explanation of some kind of nerve contraction thing that I didn't understand because I don't speak all that high-tech doctor lingo. Sorry for making this so long, and, may I just say, if you're still reading, I admire your patience. Thanks for reviewing, everyone!
In Dreams: I'm sorry to confuse you. I hope I either clear things up for you, or distract your previous confusions with brand new ones to be confused about.
Alenor: Oui, tres bien. That's just what happened.
Miss Mills: Maybe I'm just totally slow, and completely random, but what does MWA stand for? And thanks for the enthusiasm.
ThousandI: You make me happy.
Chapter 14: Complications with Accommodations
Hermione awoke, terrified and disillusioned, in the arms of one Lucius Malfoy. Her eyes fluttered open romantically with the image of Harry and Draco lingering in her mind's eye only to be met by the icy, fierce gaze of the elder Malfoy, an effective alarm clock to the say the least. She sprang back, gasping for air, and landed on her knees on cold concrete. It took her a few moments to gather her wits while leaning against a wall as cold and solid as her apprehender's eyes. He remained still, a statue of ice radiating a silver light in the bitter blackness.
"My pet," a quiet voice grated against the silence.
She shuddered and thought frantically of what had happened. Did he know of Harry and Draco? Why had they been there? Why had she passed out?
"Master," she breathed heavily in a guttural groan through her exhausted fear. She guessed that it was a safe enough answer.
He approached her and, numb in apprehension, she waited for him to meet her. He bent and lifted her back to his arms where she wrapped her arms around his neck subconsciously, holding a piece of his hair between her fingers and rubbing them gently. The hair was so much like Draco's...
"Why ever did you try to escape?" the mock-sweet tone came again and shook her from her thoughts.
"I saw a fire," she slowly tried to explain, still not knowing how much information was too much information. "And I forgot everything, tried to see where it was coming from... if anyone was hurt..." Her mind wandered again, the hair in her fingers bringing waves of warmth through her body, an image behind her closed eyes that comforted her briefly.
"And so you left."
"Yes."
"That was very bad of you."
"I'm sorry."
"You must be punished."
"Yes. I know."
"Do you like your home?"
"Very much."
"Then you must be taken back to you old cell."
Silence.
"You know it was your own doing."
Silence.
Hermione did not want to be taken to her old cell. It was cold and dark and rough, unlike her room, full of color and warmth. Yet she knew it would happen, what with his new attachment and her monumental foul-up sprung from curiosity. She nearly shivered from rage of what she had done for months and now had to be stripped from everything that she had achieved from her pains. However, somehow, in the midst of her frustration and despair, she still held the lock of Lucius' hair, the hair so like Draco's and she was brought back to one of the many nights in Hogwarts spent with him, holding his face and stroking his hair either in comfort or leisure or subconsciously as they spoke.
Lucius stood, placing Hermione on the ground and striding to the door before Hermione thought of something. Something of vital interest.
"Wait!" Hermione shrieked as he approached the door. She crawled to Lucius and latched on to his leg gently, leaning her face against the knee.
He bent and took her face in his hand and whispered into her ear, "What is it, pet?"
"I need something," she looked into his eyes, unsure of whether this request was completely in vain. "I know I've been horrid, but I need it..." she lowered her eyes, starting to doubt herself as the moments wore away.
"What is it?" he breathed scathingly.
She drew her breath and courage, "My journal."
His face retreated from hers and looked down at her. "Your journal?" He stood and paced to the corner of the cell, "I didn't know you found my gift."
"I did," Hermione hurried on, "and I love it and I beg of you not to take it away from me. You've already taken away the beautiful room." Not to mention all the joy and hope in my life...
"Yes," he said slowly, "I'll think on it." He walked again to the door and opened it pensively, "If you're a good girl, I may bring your little diary back to you."
She nodded and was enclosed in darkness once again, left to cry until, unknowingly to her, it was morning.
"If I'd known I'd be playing long-term babysitter twice this year I'd have thrown myself out that window ages ago," Draco said over his shoulder to Harry Potter, who sat in the overstuffed armchair of his bedroom.
"You could do it now and save me the trouble."
"Ah yes, Potter, you would throw me out the window, leaving me to plummet to my death. However, you would be forgetting the small detail that you can only stay here as long as I am resident."
"Then I'll toss you when I'm done with you..."
The conversation was halted abruptly by a timid knock on the door and a panicked glance from both boys.
"Under the bed!" Draco hissed and Harry took a dive, only to crash headfirst with a wooden trunk of some kind. He crawled back out groaning and Draco helped him up and into the closet, which was so full they found they couldn't close the door with him inside.
A second knock came again, more persistent this time and the boys scrambled about the room, looking for an appropriate hiding-place for Harry.
"Just get in the corner," Draco pushed him to the corner beside the door and opened the door, covering Harry, to admit a woman in her mid-thirties who shuffled in awkwardly past Draco towards the bed.
"My lady told me my young lord was home," the woman said in a quiet, dusty voice as she shifted her eyes uncomfortably along the ground.
"Yes, Aila," Draco said, walking to direct her face toward the back of the room as Harry crept out from behind the door to see what was happening. "I'm staying for a few weeks at most. My mother finds it most advisable."
"Oh, yes, my lord," Aila looked up at Draco, catching him mid-signal to Harry and giving him a slightly perplexed look.
"Yes, Aila?" Draco straightened himself, giving her his attention, "What were you saying?"
"Just that I am very glad to see you back at home, my lord."
"I'm glad to see you too Aila."
Aila's lips turned slightly at the sides and her hand found the forearm of Draco's shirt and tugged gently for a moment, thinking intently.
"I should be going back to work now, Sir."
"Very good, Aila," Draco took her shoulder and led her around to the door where he gave a gentle shove, saying, "I'll call you up sometime and we can talk."
"Anytime, Sir," she smiled and turned to shuffle her way down the hall.
Draco swung the door shut, revealing Harry behind it who was making the most smashingly debonair expression he could muster, eyebrow raised, a smirk marking his expressive features.
"So," he said in a low, smooth voice, "who was that spicy vixen?" he gave a little growl and stepped away from the door.
Draco rolled his eyes and followed Harry where he started unpacking his trunks, passing the clothes to Harry who tossed them unceremoniously in any drawer he pleased.
"That was my nurse," Draco answered as the assembly line continued, "She basically raised me. Her name's Ailanka Brumfrauer. She's a Finnish witch who's worked for us my entire life. In fact, the Brumfrauer family's worked for my family for longer than I think most Malfoys can remember."
"Do you know the story behind that?" Harry asked, beginning to really be curious.
"I think back in the 15th century sometime, a Brumfrauer borrowed something from a Malfoy and couldn't repay him, so he gave him his youngest daughter. That daughter got pregnant somehow and had a kid, and when she died, the kid took over. Then that kid had a kid who took over and so forth until now."
"Does Aila have a kid?"
"Yeah, a little girl, as always. She's like two now or something."
Harry nodded, satisfied by these answered and happy to know of Ailanka Brumfrauer, just to add more interest to his life.
"So," Harry asked, "You're sure your dad has no idea about us the other night?"
"Yeah, we got out of there fast enough. One of the servants could have seen, but I doubt he'd believe them. It would take eyewitness proof for a Malfoy to believe that the infamous Harry Potter and the invincible Draco Malfoy are conspiring against the family together."
"Let's hope so."
They were silent once more.
"So," Harry said again, "where am I going to sleep?"
"Lucius," Hermione whimpered when a sliver of light entered the cell and she crept from her corner. "I never thought you'd come." If there was ever a time to cajole, it was now.
"Indeed," Lucius' velvety voice broke through the darkness, "I have, as you know, very little time at my leisure..." She noticed his voice steadily rise from a low snarl to a controlled rage until he was standing over her, his voice a booming and his looks wild as she cowered beneath him... "And I have wasted the majority of this day reading through a peculiar specimen in the form of the petite journal that I gave to you. Now, I am not naturally a suspicious man, but when my pet has written such cryptic contents, she leaves me with no choice but to be suspicious!"
She had sunk back into the corner, tears leaking from her frightened eyes as he shook her, bruising her wrists.
"My lord!" she wailed, "I meant no harm... I didn't think... I never meant to..." she fell limply into incoherent sobs as he continued to wrack her body against the stone wall in his rage.
Her bones ached from the violent assault and slowly she could feel the hot blood from the back of her neck and back on her skin, matting her hair in places. Exhausting himself in his fury, Lucius threw her away from him and watched her skid across the cell into a hapless heap as he backed up to lean himself heavily against the wall.
"Well," he sighed to the flaccid girl, "when you feel yourself able to plainly explain yourself, I will be very grateful."
He headed toward the door but stopped as a faint murmur escaped the corner of the cell, turning his whole form to Hermione who was desperately trying to lift herself from her tender form.
"Yes?" he asked as he closed the door behind him, reaching her and kneeling beside her.
She picked up her head with an unrivaled effort and looked him straight into the eyes.
"Lucius," she breathed just clearly enough for him to understand, "I don't understand."
"What," he held her face in his hands, "do you not understand, my pet?"
"I don't understand what's wrong with my journal."
"Your journal displays a distinct theme of artistic pieces which suggest a slight subtext."
"They are all valid and beautiful pieces of literature and poetry. They're things that I've memorized over the years because of their power and the memories they give me. They place no blame nor any of the undercurrents that you speak of."
"Then kindly tell me what today's entry would have entailed."
His eyes bore into hers as she fought her mind into thinking of the correct thing to say. Sonnets by William Shakespeare, lyrics from popular music, bible versus, all ran through her mind, though nothing satisfactory came to it. As the infinitesimal moments, probably forming only a matter of seconds, passed, her mind churned and fought to find an answer to the question her lord had asked of her.
"Emily Dickinson, Lucius." She had got it, and she straightened her throbbing body to sit against the corner so that she was level with Lucius' face. She continued-
"I've got an arrow here;
Loving the hand that sent it,
I, the dart revere.
Fell, they will say, in "skirmish"!
Vanquished, my soul will know,
By but a simple arrow
Sped by an archer's bow."
A full minute passed while Lucius gazed into the glassy eyes of Hermione, lips parted and head raised in confidence. She had done it, and she was more proud than she had nearly ever been.
After sitting in suspense of Lucius' reaction, action ensued. The marble form of Lucius bent forward and caught Hermione's lips in an aggressive salutation to the passion that the cryptic poem had drawn from the strong wizard. Hermione squirmed in surprise as she found Lucius' lips more sincere than they had been in weeks, months even and the electricity that sparked from their bodies, one in agony, one in burning desire, could have brightened an underground cavern.
"Have I achieved your satisfaction at today's entry?" Hermione sighed in rhythm to the pulsing of her body as she took the offensive position.
Lucius moaned in response as he flattened his body on the hard ground and lifted his hips to ease Hermione's access.
"Does that mean I get to keep my journal?" Hermione asked before dragging her tongue from his bellybutton downward. The answer was unintelligible to say the least. She lifted her face, looking at Lucius' for an answer. He nodded furiously.
"I want to hear you say 'yes' to me."
Lucius writhed as she teased him with her fingertips pitilessly. "Say it," she hissed, pinching hard.
"Yes..." he cried from below her. "Anything!"
"Very good," Hermione sighed as she lowered her face to the errand.
Harry's eyes flicked open, staring straight into the nozzle of a water faucet. He groaned as he adjusted his body to fit the semi-cylindrical tile that he had been shoved in. His legs wriggled out of the corner as he turned his body. He let out a sigh of contempt as he closed his eyes to try sleep once again. Just before his wish had been granted, a small drop of water splattered upon his eyelid. Probably the 35th water drop that night.
He let out an exasperated groan and shot forward, knocking his forehead hard against the faucet and crying out in pain, holding his palm to the bump before slipping on the tile in his socks, sending him flying over the edge, landing on some ridiculously sharp object that had been lying patiently on the ground, just waiting for a victim. He now curled upon the ground, one hand on his bum, the other on the still sore mark on his forehead.
A light flipped on in the bathroom and a frustrated-looking Draco Malfoy stood over him in his night-coat.
"You know," Draco drawled in the effects of being just recently awoken, "There are people in the very near vicinity who are trying desperately to sleep."
"Oh," Harry stood, still rubbing his wounded body, "well, I am so sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. I Get to Sleep on a Dry Soft Mattress Without a Metal Contraption Hanging Over My Head that Spurts Water Sporadically on My Sleeping Facade."
Draco crossed his arms and said calmly, "I detect some resentment, Potter. May I ask why?"
Harry exhaled dramatically and gathered his nightclothes in his fists before saying quietly, "I refuse to sleep in a bathtub even one more night."
End Note: I really have nothing to say here except for, of course, review please.