Chapter Four
An Uninvited Guest
"The master's not as terrible as he appears!"
Mrs. Pott
Draco sat at the head of a long, elegantly dressed table. Crisp white linens caressed the floor, and candles flickered in their golden, ornate candelabras. The table was filled with enough food for a king—roasted lamb, potatoes, asparagus, and freshly baked bread.
At the other end of the table, a house elf presented Narcissa with a bottle of wine. "A '52 merlot, Madame. An excellent vintage, produced by the Rodolphus family's vineyard."
She studied the label and nodded at the selection.
Just as the house elf began to pour, there was a loud crack, and three more house elves arrived with a mad man in their clutches. The man howled like a wounded animal and bit down on one of the house elves' fingers. They screeched and lost their grip.
The man broke free, grasping at the edge of the linens. "Help!" he shouted. "Help! They're trying to steal my invention."
Startled, Draco dropped his water goblet, and it shattered on the marble floor.
The house elves dove at the man, and his face contorted in outrage. It was at that moment, Draco realized he was carrying something in his shirttail.
The man lost his grip in the scuffle and a pile of Malfoy silverware clattered to the floor. As he stared down at the silverware, the house elves pounced on him. This time, they did not hesitate to use their full powers to subdue him.
The man floated silently above them, immobilized.
"Begging your pardon, Master and Lady Malfoy. He just barged right in," said Dippy, bowing so low that his nose touched the ground.
"We caught him stealing the silverware," added Dot, the eldest of the house elves. "We apologize greatly for the disturbance. We'll just take him to the dungeons while you complete your meal."
"The bloody hell, you will," Draco growled.
The house elves froze.
Dot, who had served Draco Malfoy since he was a day old, took the brunt of it. "Begging your pardon, Master Malfoy. What do you wish, sir?"
Draco sighed. "Who is he?"
"We don't know, sir."
"Now, now, Draco," Narcissa said in a dulcet tone. "The old woman said you needed to change. What better way than to assist this downtrodden and confused muggle, to offer him the warm hearth of Malfoy Manor."
Draco snorted. "You've got to be kidding. Look at him. He's mad."
Narcissa shrugged.
Before they could continue their disagreement, an alarm began to blare, ending all conversation. The security wards were going off. But who would be stupid enough to enter the grounds without permission? Who would be stupid enough to step right into the middle of a curse?
Draco waved his wand, and an image appeared of the front lawn. A girl with frizzy brown hair stood with her wand aloft. The shadow pack moved closer, circling its prey.
No. It couldn't be. Why would she be here?
He pushed back from the table and stood. His feet pounded the hard floor as he sprinted toward the entry and threw open the front door. He had only moments before the wolves devoured her, and her soul was trapped amongst the pack for eternity.
"Lumos!" he roared.
A blast of light shot from his wand, engulfing the wolves. And just like that, they were gone. Light defeating shadow. There was probably something poetic about that, but he had larger things to worry about at present.
He moved in quickly and sighed in relief. Hermione lay crumpled on the ground, but he didn't see any blood. He leaned down and listened for her breathing. It was soft and steady. He could use an enervate charm to force her awake, but it'd be better to just let her rest.
He was older and stronger now. Flying and training had been an escape after her returned home. And, to his surprise, as she lay so still, he realized the formidable Hermione Granger was actually quiet small—nearly a head shorter than him.
He leaned down and scooped her into his arms before any other bogeymen could appear. She murmured and nestled her head into his chest.
He nearly dropped her in surprise. Never in a million years had he expected her to do that. But she was unconscious. It couldn't be helped.
His cheeks turned pink, and he thought to himself, "Get a grip, Draco." He took her to the guest bedroom and performed a few simple healing charms for the scratches on her face.
He frowned as he noticed the tear on her leg. That was outside of his skillset. He'd need Dot to tend to her. It wasn't possible to call an outside healer, not now.
Still, she seemed okay. She was breathing gently, and her face looked relaxed on the pillow. Thank Merlin.
He felt certain that the untimely death of one of the golden trio would not bode well in regards to his promise to the old hag. Would a "better man" let a former classmate be ravaged by shadow beasts on his front lawn? He didn't know a lot of do-gooder types, but his gut said no. Besides, he had always had a distaste for physical violence, preferring to win via skill, wit, or all-else-failed bribery.
As Draco sat by her bedside, waiting for her to wake, he couldn't help but think what an unusual week he was having. First, he had nearly died. Then, he had been cursed. Now, Hermione Granger was sleeping in his guest room.