A/N: I'm sorry that the italicization was funny in the last chapter. No, not all of that was thought (although I'm sure (or I hope) you all noticed that). I guess putting in the page breaks messed it up. After I post this, I'm going to go back and fix it. Um…sorry this took so long to get out, I was gone last weekend so I didn't have any time to type it up at all. Next chapter will be up as soon as I can get it!

CHAPTER 18: Of Books and Blood

When the alarm went off, Hermione didn't want to wake up. Groaning, she reached over for it to turn it off, but a shadow passed over her and it turned off before she could complete the motion. The shadow hovered over her until she squinted her eyes open. "Morning," Draco said huskily, his voice mutated with disuse.

"Mmm," she replied, snuggling up to him.

Draco chucked and got up, leaving Hermione to curl up on herself for warmth. "No. No 'mmm'ing me. It's morning, and we've got to get to class." Hermione wrinkled her nose at him and blinked sleep from her eyes.

"Since when are you so eager to get to class?" she grumbled, sitting up."Never were before and now you don't even let me cuddle with you," she muttered mutinously, before stretching. Draco leaned down and cheerily gave her a kiss.

"I think we need to add a bed to this room," he mused as she grumpily pulled herself together. "I always worry that you're going to fall off the couch, even with my arm around you." Hermione shot him a dirty look, just because he was being far too jovial this morning. Having done so, her spirits were raised slightly, and with a resigned look she forced herself completely into wakefulness.

"I don't really care, so long as you stay close to me," she told him as she tugged her robe on. The blonde laughed and mentioned that he loved her before reassuring her that he would. "Good," she grouched. "Breakfast time. Great. My favorite time of day," she mumbled sarcastically.

"Yeah, well. Deal with it. At least it's one of the very few times over the course of the day that we get to be together without any hexes thrown at us," Draco reminded her.

Feeling guilty of her complaint now, she merely shrugged and cautiously peered out into the hall, ducking back in as a pair of students walked past. Then she and Draco slipped out into the hall and made their way to breakfast, chatting aimlessly (and sometimes senselessly) as they kept an eye out for other students intent on harming them. Thankfully, most were already at breakfast, and the few hexes that were thrown at them were quickly deterred.

Hermione and Draco tried to spend a lot of time at breakfast, and Hermione waited until everyone who wasn't in class would be very late before heading off to the library to spend her free period.

If she had been thinking, she would have realized that's exactly where anyone who wanted to find her would realize she was and wouldn't have gone there. But, alas, she only thought for the comfort the library had always given her and sought it out. She picked an inconspicuous table in the very back and pulled out a half-finished Herbology essay to work on.

The free period was nearly over before she heard a soft scuffling a few rows over from her. A shelf quivered and threatened to fall over as she heard the thump of something heavy hitting it. Curious, she packed up her bag and crept over to where the ruckus was loudest, and gasped when she came down the row.

At least four cloaked figures were in the row, and they were beating up on one last person. Hermione drew herself up to tell them off before she saw who the victim was—Draco. Her breath whooshed out of her chest as he struggled to his feet, bleeding from several cuts and bruised all over and attempted to continue to fight them off.

For a moment, it was all Hermione could do to stand there—it seemed as if her body would not respond to her. But then, with a strangled cry, she entered the fray furiously. Draco was tossed into another shelf, and books rained down on him as she elbowed someone in the stomach and punched another in the face. She was unsure of where all the sudden violence in her had come from, but didn't bother to worry about it. Draco had staggered to his feet and was fighting alongside her, and she took comfort from the fact that he was there.

There were too many of them, though, and through their best efforts, Hermione and Draco were pushed back. Hermione was nearly as cut up and bruised as Draco, though she'd not been in the brawl as long as he. The worst blows of all came from being pushed into shelves, because the force always sent books crashing down upon them.

There was someone coming up on Draco's side, but he wouldn't see them. "Draco," she warned, but it went unheard beneath a silencing spell she only now knew she had. The cloaked form shoved the blonde fiercely, and Draco stumbled into a shelf, and it quavered ominously.

Books showered down on him, and as if in slow motion, one opened up midway in flight, and when its open pages hit Draco's head—or should have—the book rippled the air around them and continued to fall slowly to the floor. However, it did not fall as it should have, and moved so slowly it seemed impossible, and Hermione could only watch in horror as Draco slowly disappeared into the book. It landed with a dusty thump where he had stood, but now her boyfriend was nowhere to be seen. "Draco," she called soundlessly, frantically scrambling over to where the book lay. As if sensing they had gone too far, the cloaked figures held back, and then slowly dissipated into the library without a sound.

One last showed a bit of ironic decency and un-silenced her before he (she?) too melted into the books. "Draco," she whimpered, pulling the book onto her lap and clutching it to her. "Oh, Draco." Several tears fell onto the book, and she heaved herself up to her feet.

"No," she muttered fiercely. Madam Pince finally came around to see what the commotion was about, but by then Hermione was rushing past her with no explanation and running as fast as her abused body would carry her to Dumbledore. Thankfully, class was still being held, so she met few people in the hall on her way. Hard to imagine though it was, she realized it the fight must have only been going on for less than ten minutes. Hysterically, she listed off several candies until one opened the gargoyle. She hastily took the stairs up to the headmaster's study, and landed on bruised knees inside his door without knocking. "Professor," she cried.

And then the tears began to fall as Dumbledore looked on in astonishment. She couldn't seem to get her breath enough to tell him the story, and just let her gulping sobs vibrate her body until she got control of herself. "Why Miss Granger," he breathed, "What by Merlin's beard happened?"

Hermione took the time to look herself over. She could still faintly taste blood in her mouth, and could see how bruised she was. "Oh, sir," she said hoarsely. "They attacked us in the library, and Draco…The book fell on him, and then he disappeared into it, and I don't know what to do!" I'm all alone now, she continued in her head. He was protecting me from all of them just by being at my side. We were untouchable, so long as we were together. And now he's gone. Just like that. Tears began to fall again, but this time she stayed serene and quiet as she achingly pulled herself to her feet. "I'm going to get him back," she said determinedly. "Whether you can help me or not, I'm going to do it."

Looking bemused, Dumbledore held out his hand for the book. Reluctantly, she let it over to his grasp and he looked it over, his frown deepening by the second. "Well?" she said impatiently.

Looking as old as his years, Dumbledore shook his head sadly, "I do not know this book. I can try to find some information on it, run some tests," as he spoke, he let the book fall open onto his desk and pensively ran his fingers over the pages, "But that is the best I can do for now. It may take a week, two, before I can find anything out," he told her apologetically.

"No. I'll get him back, and though your help will be appreciated, he will be back by the end of two weeks. He has to be," she said, and saw a flicker of fearful anticipation in Dumbledore's eyes.

"Now, don't do—" the Headmaster began.

"Don't tell me what not to do," Hermione spat at him. "I will do anything I can to bring him back. Anything. You may say this is a pathetic seventeen-year-old's love, and what can I know? But I know that I…that we love each other, and I will do anything to get him back. I don't care at what cost it comes. He's the only thing that's getting me through this year here," she rambled slightly in her anger and snatched the book from him before leaving the room huffily.

Pulling her wand (and feeling idiotic that she hadn't thought of using it during the fracas), she marched down the halls. She must have made a pretty fearsome sight as most students drew back from her as she passed. Uncaring, Hermione made her way to the Room of Requirement and locked herself in there. "Draco," she murmured to the book before she began to run her own series of tests on it.

Several hours later, Hermione was beginning to feel discouraged. She had tried everything she could think of to unlock the secret of the book—she'd even tried dropping it on her head! But to no avail. Her body ached from the fight, and she pulled herself onto the couch heedless of her cuts. Cuddling the book close to her, it wasn't long before she fell asleep.


Draco looked around in amazement. One minute he'd been in a fight, and the next…here. Wherever here was. Hermione, he thought desperately. "I have to find her," he said aloud without meaning to.

"My apologies, sirrah, but what was that you said?" A young man in his early twenties looked down on him from up a tree. The man's clothing caught Draco's eye, and he looked him over. He was wearing some sort of old style clothing, but Draco couldn't seem to place it. He looked around him in confusion. So…a different time period, was it? Well, he could play along with that.

"I seem to have forgotten the date," Draco said genially while mentally sneering. Most of these people were probably muggles, which meant he would have to get by on his own. No one would respond to the Malfoy name here. The man climbed down and landed next to Draco with a soft thud.

"Why that's an easy one, it's…um…" The man seemed confused, and then a smile lit his features. "Well, I actually don't seem to remember myself, but if you have some spare time, we could always stop by my house and see if my wife is home," he said, shaking his short, dark hair in amusement at himself. "Can't believe I forgot the date," he mumbled as he turned to lead the way.

Shaking his head in confusion, Draco followed the tall man. Abruptly, they stopped moving, and Draco nearly ran into the man in front of him. He made a crackling, whispering sound in the back of his throat, calling, "Open up!"

"Who is it?" The voice sounded nasally and obnoxious, but somehow whimsical at the same time.

"Oh, come now," there was that crackling, whispery sound again. It took Draco a minute to realize it must have been a name. "You know who I am," the man chided.

"Fine," the voice sounded disgruntled, and it took Draco a while to realize that it was the tree that was talking. While he was busy covering his shiver, the tree in front of them suddenly stood up and moved out of the way, exposing a large hole where the roots should have been.

What the hell is going on here? Draco wondered. He wasn't quite sure what had happened, but he was by now positive that this was a fantasy world. On, this, at least, his certainty increased as he followed the cheery man down into the roots, where there was a house. As the tree crawled back into place over the hole, Draco could see that the steps they were descending continued up into the trunk of the tree.

"What the…" he didn't even finish the sentence as they stopped on a landing and looked down.

"Welcome into my home," the man said with a flourish, indicating the room below proudly. All Draco could do was blink in disbelief. While the outside world and the man and the tree were realistic enough, every item inside the home was cartoonish. An outrageous pink plastic table stood in the room, and there were five mismatched chairs around it, varying from a pale blue one resembling a seal to an amorphous one in a blinding shade of orange (he wasn't positive this last was a chair, but assumed it was). The stove looked immensely fake, and was a badly colored brick color, with pieces of a white under-layer poking out through chips he could see from here. All the other furniture satisfied this ridiculous, random pattern, lending a surreal feeling to this new place.

"So what happened to you," the man finally asked, leading the way down to the room below. "You look like you got in a fight with a cozzelt," he laughed at his own joke.

"A cozzelt?" Draco asked dubiously. Suddenly, he did not want to know, as he finally reached the room below. Mayhap it was a beast as imaginative as the person who decided the furniture in this room matched.

"Yeah, you know, that…ah, well, we'll get you right fixed up," he said, shying away from the subject of the animal. Suddenly feeling wearied, Draco didn't argue and just sat down in the bright orange chair (he still wasn't quite sure that's what it was) and let the man tend his face. In fact, looking at his arms, he had several scratches on them that oozed blood, and hoped his face didn't look as bad, and knew it did. With a reluctant sigh, he allowed his mind to drift. "Draco," he seemed to hear faintly. "Hermione," he called back exhaustedly.

But then he was startled back into his hurting body by a chuckle. "Is that her name then, sirrah?"

"I'm sorry?" Draco asked, not following the conversation.

"The lady that you wanted and got into a fight over. I figured that's what happened. The cozzelt thing earlier was a joke," he informed Draco, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I haven't heard of anyone who ever survived one of those attacks."

Rather abruptly, there was a shrill squeal. "Bukkex, how could you not come tell me that we had a visitor!" a startled voice yelped. Suddenly, nearly all of Draco's vision was filled with a curly haired girl with wide brown eyes. "Hello-a, there!" She called, a straight-toothed smile dimpling her freckled cheeks. "I'm Xokos," she said, stepping back and making an odd gesture with her hand. Draco just looked on in amazement, and she seemed disappointed. Faintly, he realized he was supposed to repeat the gesture but was too exhausted to remember it now.

"Draco," he introduced himself.

Bukkex smacked his forehead with his palm. "I knew I was forgetting something! I never introduced myself! Well, as my little wife here just told you, I'm Bukkex, and I'm sorry, I missed your name?"

"Draco," he repeated. In comparison with their language (which was obviously something other than English, though he seemed to understand it anyway), his name was far more whimsical than their harsh names.

"Trako," the man repeated, looking to him for approval. Too exhausted to correct the mispronounced word, he just nodded.

"Wow, you look tired," Xokos said childishly. It was all Draco could do not to snap at her for her idiocy. "Well, I'll go and make you up a bed. Be back in just a jiffy," she said with an overzealous wink. Except that her looks reminded him of Hermione, he didn't particularly like her.

"Isn't she great," Bukkex murmured, staring after her. Draco pooled his features to calmness and just gave him a small smile. "Well then, would you like something to eat, Trako?" he said, stumbling over the name. Draco merely shook his head, wondering what the hell had happened to get him to this…place and wanting nothing more than to sleep to clear his aching head.

That night, he dreamed of Hermione.


Looking forlornly over the cliff, Hermione bit her lip nervously. "Draco?" she called quietly.

"I'm here, love," he called to her, reaching up the cliff and laboriously pulling himself up. Hermione bit her lip then winced as her teeth rubbed against a cut on it. She dropped to her knees, and he saw that she wasn't actually Hermione, but that man's wife, Xekos? Xokles? Something like that.

The girl, whatever her name, leaned forward. "What are you doing down there?" she asked, curiously. It seemed that now that he knew she wasn't Hermione, she was turning back to her own perky, pesky personality. She cocked her head and leaned over the cliff to get a better view of him.

And in that instant, she was Hermione. "Draco," Hermione's voice called, and she reached down to pull him up. "Don't let go," she told him, firmly grasping his hand with both of hers. He could feel the texture of her fingers, so like her regular ones, and as he used his feet and his other hand to pull himself up, he could feel her breath on his cheek, and he could see the worry in her eyes.

It was real, he knew suddenly. This is my Hermione, and she's dreaming this too. "Hermione, love, we're dreaming," he told her, not understanding it, but knowing somehow that it was true.

She paused, and her grip slipped a little. "Yes," she said hesitantly, "we must be." Still frowning, she let go of his hand unthinkingly and sat back on her heels, and Draco's fingers scrabbled against the rocks to gain purchase again. "But I don't remember why…" she seemed to think. "You're not with my body," she told him. "Why not?"

"Hermione, I don't remember…all I know is that I'm not with you and I want to be…I need to be. Love, being with you is like breathing. I can't not do it. I will come back to you," he promised.

"Will you still be mine when you come back, though?" she asked him, her eyes examining him apprehensively.

"I'm always yours," he told her. His fingers were beginning to ache from holding onto the rough rocks, but he didn't dare let go. They may not get this chance again.

"Hermione, love, I need you to do something for me. Go into my room, and in the bottom of my trunk is a dagger. Take it and carry it with you always. Don't let it…just, be careful, love." She nodded vigorously, reaching over the cliff again for his hand.

"Bottom of your trunk. Dagger. Got it," she repeated.

"Don't forget," he warned her.

"I won't, I promise." But still she eyed him reproachfully.

"I'll come back to you as soon as I can, love. I promise," he said seriously and knew they didn't have much longer. Once again, it was something he just knew without knowing how he knew. Letting go of the cliff with the hand she wasn't closing, he clenched her hands with his own, and could hear her gasp of surprise before he jerked her over the cliff.

They fell, and Draco wrapped his arms around her tight, giving her a brief kiss to seal his promise.


"Ow…" Hermione groaned. She sat up and felt at the lump on her head from when she'd hit the floor. Somehow, Draco's grasp in her dream had translated to real life too and he'd pulled her over the edge of the couch. Wincing, she pulled out the book from under her and gasped as she remembered her dream.

"The dagger," Hermione breathed. "A dagger?" she then questioned. "Why does he want me to have a dagger? No matter. I promised." Struggling to her feet, she felt all her aches and pains from the brawl. She staggered over to her robe and pulled it as well as a cloak on over her clothes before slipping out into the hall.

As no one was up this early in the morning, her trip down to the dungeons was uneventful. She quietly traversed the Slytherin common room and headed up to the boys' dormitory. Silently, she rummaged through Draco's trunk to the bottom and felt despair well up inside of her. There was nothing there. So it had only been a dream.

Sighing quietly, she began to put the trunk back to rights when she realized that the bottom she was feeling was too high. On her knees and right hand in front of the trunk, her left hand on the bottom of the trunk, she noticed that the bottom of the trunk was inexcusably high. So, it was a false bottom. Mentally grumbling at the inconvenience, she wiggled her fingers around the edges for a catch, and found it in the corner nearly fifteen minutes later.

There was a minuscule click and she could feel the faux bottom shrink slightly in the trunk so that it could be lifted out. Easing it up, Hermione felt around and finally came out with the only item beneath it—a big square box that was only about two inches high. Smirking to herself, she clicked the artificial bottom into place and organized Draco's stuff again before sneaking back upstairs.

In the relative safety of the Room of Requirement, she opened up the box. In it were several items—a small framed picture of Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco when he was about five, a vial of some potion, several long, silvery hairs, a little rubber duck, a large claw (dragon?) and two other boxes.

Hermione took out the smaller one first, and opened it up. Inside were several papers, written in a hand she had never seen before, some pictures of a young Draco with Crabbe and Goyle, the three laughing about whatever prank they had just pulled, some other pictures with Draco and some other children, and an even smaller, square box. Lingering over the pictures, she picked up the box curiously. She knew that it could not be the dagger (the box was too small), but she was a naturally inquisitive person and peeked inside.

"Wow," she breathed. Inside was a beautiful gold ring, with several small diamonds perched in the middle of it in the shape of a heart. In the top of the box cover, she read, "Narcissa, now you can wear my love for you even when we're apart" in a curvy, boyish hand. Feeling as if she'd overstepped her bounds, she placed it back in the other box and placed that one in the other box, taking up the last one.

This last box was far heavier than she'd expected, and Hermione knew instantly that this was what she had been looking for. Hesitant suddenly, she paused before opening it. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. But she had promised him, even if it wasn't the real him. Then again, it had to be the real him. How else would a dream have told me about a secret compartment in his trunk that I didn't even know existed? She thought. She tilted the lid open and peered inside.

The dagger was long and slender, and the handle was of a dragon, the hilt was its wings extended to the sides and its long tail curled about the blade to about halfway down. It had truly marvelous workmanship, as the handle was still comfortable to grip even with the design of the dragon. Holding it in her hands, she imagined she could feel Draco's heartbeat, so steady that she wanted to cry.

"Oh my Draco," she said softly, laying the dagger across her lap to pull out a note that had been lodged under it.

Hermione, I hope that you never have need for this blade, but if something happens to me then it must be in your hands and yours alone. It is keyed into my every move, and if ever I am not amongst the living, its power will be released. This dagger will protect you as I would were I there with you, exerting a shield all around your body so long as it is touching your skin somewhere. I don't know what has happened to me, that you had to take this dagger, but I promise that it will serve you well, as I cannot.

I love you, now and forever. Do not forget me in death.

"You're not dead," Hermione protested feebly, but she could already feel the tears beginning to come. "I will get you back," she snarled to the note. "I will." Suddenly feeling angry, she tore off her cloak and robe and looked around for somewhere to put the dagger. But then she hesitated. Draco wasn't dead, so would it even work? Biting her lip, she decided to test it out.

Hermione tucked the blade into her shirt, under the middle piece of her bra. The wings rested comfortably against the top of her breasts, and the handle came up to just under her collarbone. It was kind of surprising to see exactly how small the blade was, as the tip of the dagger didn't quite come down to her navel. Steeling herself for more pain, she kicked at the armchair, purposefully banging her shin against it. But the impact never came, as the armchair skidded back a bit from her touch.

"Interesting," she murmured appreciatively. "So is Draco really alive?" frowning in thought, she read over the note again. "Except for the last bit, all it said was that when he's not among the living," she murmured to herself. Well, I guess this works. I'm kept from harm as I wait for him to get back, and he's…well, not alive, but he's not dead either.

Carefully, she packed everything back up as she had found it and lay down again for one more hour of sleep before class started.


Draco grunted as he hit the floor. Wincing, he clawed his way back onto the bed, noting how tangled the sheets were about his legs and the precarious way his pillow hovered on the edge like a bird poised for flight. So as he'd been clinging to the edge of a cliff in his dream, he'd probably been clinging to the edge of the bed in real life.

A cliff…he thought to himself. "Oh," he murmured as he remembered the dream. "No, it was too real to be just a dream," he decided. Oh, fuck! I forgot to tell Hermione that the dagger was under the compartment. "Damnit," he grumbled as he settled in for sleep again. "Well, she's a smart girl. I'm sure she'll figure it out…hopefully…" he mumbled, already beginning to lose himself to sleep.

"Why good-a morning there, Trako!" a voice cried. Wincing, he opened his eyes a slit to see someone that looked like Hermione hovering over his bed.

"What time is it?" he growled.

"Far too long to be in bed!" Xokos (was that her name?) chuckled enthusiastically. "But if you must know," her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "It's almost two in the morning."

Groaning, Draco picked himself up from the bed. It was going to be a long day.


But I'd rather have you here with me, right next to me
I miss the way you hold me tight

—Natalie, "Going Crazy"