Erstwhile on TUB:
"It's... raining? That's it? Are you sure?"
"Your room downstairs has an outer wall; you'd be able to hear it there too," he notified, keeping a comforting hand on her corresponding shoulder. Hermione shuddered.
"I can't imagine if I was down there all alone..." she shared, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Well, you're not, are you?" Draco prodded, squeezing her in a reassuring hug. Hermione smiled nervously and tried to relax.
"No... I suppose you're right."
-
Chapter Seven: Library Card
Draco was startled awake by a loud bang, as if someone had slammed a door near his ear. He sat up immediately, only to discover that his body movement was restricted. Hermione was sleeping peacefully beside him, lying sideways on the bed with her legs trapping his and her head more on the night table than the mattress. Smiling in spite of himself, Draco gently pushed her away and proceeded to cautiously get out of bed, searching the room for the disturbance.
After a few minutes of futile searching, Draco slowly sat back down. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary to the naked eye, but his eyebrows remained knotted and senses at their peak. He shifted himself to sit with his back against the headboard, but placed his hand on something much denser than the feather-soft mattress. Looking down, Draco discovered an unfamiliar book nestled between his pillow and Hermione's, looking inconspicuous.
He took the foreign object into his hands and proceeded to look around the room in confusion. It was only when Draco noticed a dent in the soft maple of his headboard that he realized the origin of the book's presence. He turned his head toward the fireplace just in time to see a thicker, blue covered book fly out of the flue, fluttering like a deranged bird. Instinctively, he leaned to his left and caught it, but heavily fell onto the mattress in the process. Hermione woke mid-bounce and gasped as she registered the situation.
"Draco? What's going on?" she asked, withdrawing her legs from their awkward position and pushing herself up. Draco, who was now holding both books, threw them onto the floor and took Hermione by the arm.
"Get down," he commanded, sliding off the bed and onto the ground while pulling Hermione with him. Confused, she put up no fight and curled into the corner formed by the bed stand and wall. Draco instinctively positioned himself as to cover her.
"What's happening?" Hermione asked again in whisper, voice slightly panicked as she held herself tightly pressed to the wall. Draco sighed slightly.
"Books," he answered, bothering not to further explain. Hermione's eyebrows knitted for a moment, but the fireplace answered her confusion by ejecting another tattered tomb at the headboard. Another soon followed, and another; their pace quickening. After about half a dozen books had been projected into the room, there was a slight pause. Both Hermione and Draco waited with bated breath for something to happen.
"Is it over?" Hermione wondered, praying herself correct. Draco shook his head, shifting slightly closer to her.
"I don't know."
"Where are they coming from?"
"Either the farmhouse or someone with the wrong address; no one else knows about this connection," he told her, speaking softly as if any sound could trigger an avalanche. Hermione opened her mouth to voice another question, but the chimney again interrupted her. This time, the books flew with incredible speed, hitting against the wall as if shot from a gun. Hermione peeped in surprise and tensed, squeezing her eyes closed and hugging herself while Draco pressed his body persistently closer to her.
The shower ended quickly and the room was again bathed in silence. Draco and Hermione remained in air raid position for a few minutes, hoping, but not certain, that their drill was over. Hermione slowly relaxed, tentatively opening her eyes. She watched Draco's face with worry, but he seemed merely to be listening.
When assured the unexpected delivery was complete, Draco moved away from his captive. Hermione placed one hand on his arm and used the other to put weight on the table and allow herself to stand. She stood against the wall, still nervous, and watched as Draco rose from the ground.
"Well, that's something you don't see everyday," he commented amusedly, gaze on the pile of books littering the bed. Draco retrieved the two original tombs from the floor and tossed the second into the pile, keeping the pioneering text in hand. Out of curiosity, he opened it; reading aloud from the first page. "'It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.'... what is this?" he asked, tossing the book into the pile. "Some kind of joke?"
"No," answered Hermione, gently taking the golden lined treatise into her grasp. "It's a gift." She ran a gentle hand over the cover before opening to the title page and as she was about to turn another leaf, some fresh quill marks caught her eye. "Look," she said softly, as if in awe, and read aloud the delicate inscription. "'To hold you over, love Harry.'"
"Hold you over?" Draco repeated. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"My letter... He sent me a library," Hermione noted with a wide grin, eyes dancing with joy. "This book was my favorite," she told him softly, holding the book as if it her first born child. Draco made an undistinguishable sound and crossed his arms.
"Well, that's all well and good, but did he have to attempt murder in the process?" he asked, sounding childish. Hermione gave him a sidelong glance, but showed no other ill will toward his treatment of Harry's gesture. Instead, she focused on her gift, bringing the binding close to her nose and inhaling the sweet and familiar scent of the book. It was pure bliss; inked pages had never smelt as fantastic.
Without sparing Draco recognition for his semi-sour mood at having been awoken so abruptly, Hermione gently closed the book and sat on the edge of the bed as she began piling the tombs and inspecting the titles. Draco watched her with mild interest as her face lit up each time she drew in a new novel, a new world of experiences. A galaxy of moons she left behind a long time ago. Watching her practically radiate sheer joy, Draco's irritability melted away, and he again seated himself on the edge of the mattress. Just as he was about to start meaningless conversation, Hermione squealed.
"Look!" she cried in alarm, her hand shooting out to shake his arm as if her shrieks weren't enough force to get his attention. She held in her other hand a frayed, pinstriped book engraved with an elegant H on the cover. "It's the one I was telling you about; with the candy cane forest... Harold of Mandisa Field. Oh, how brilliant! It must be coincidence; Harry couldn't have known..." she babbled, shoving the book into his hands before diving back into the pile on the bed.
In minutes, the tombs were stacked in neat piles of five, by size in the order she planned to read them. There were twenty books altogether, including Harold's Fields and the inscribed Pride and Prejudice. Once everything was carefully inspected and mentally indexed, Hermione moved the piles from the bed to line the adjacent wall, making sure her favorite brown covered book was on the top.
When the last of the four piles had been moved, she scurried toward the door with no indication of where she might be going. Draco, who had up until this point been silently watching and trying to get the plague of paranoia to leave his system, jumped up at her quick exit.
"Where are you going?" he asked, startling her slightly. Hermione turned back, looking credulous.
"To the bathroom... why?"
"Oh," Draco said, slightly embarrassed, sitting once more. "I just wanted to know in case I need to find you."
"Why would you need to find me?" Hermione asked, growing more interested as the inquiry progressed. Draco shook his head, slouching and looking down at the pinstriped book in his hands.
"I don't know; I just have a feeling."
-x-x-x-
"Draco, did you take arithmancy?" Hermione asked, squinting hard at a page near the latter half of her novel. Draco, who was lounging on the floor near the spot she was seated, looked up from his own book.
"In second through fifth yeah, yes. I didn't take the NEWT, though," he replied, watching her casually, and Hermione brought the text closer to her nose.
"What would... three ten stand for?" she then asked, sparking the squint of Draco's eyebrows.
"What?"
Hermione placed the book on the floor and moved closer to him, sliding it with her.
"Here," she said, pointing to the bottom of page three ten, where a slash had been made between the three and the one, and the entire number circled darkly. In tiny writing to the margin of the page, another inscription read 'See you soon'. "Harry wrote it in; it must be a message..."
"I don't know," Draco said, narrowing his eyes at the page as if to better see. "It would mean C-J. Does that mean anything to you?" Hermione shook her head, disappointed. "I bet you're right, though," Draco added in hope of cheering her. "It means something." Hermione shook her head, dismissing it.
"Do you like that book?" she asked, changing the subject to avoid her disheartenment. Draco was reading the book she'd given him, but was no where as close to finishing as Hermione was her own novel.
"It's refreshingly different," he said, sounding genuinely enthusiastic. "One of very few that really have a hidden meaning." Hermione laughed.
"You must be visiting the wrong library."
-x-x-x-
Hermione worked quickly through the piles, reading late into the night as she sat curled in the chair by the fire. Draco, after finishing over half the book she had assigned him, took a break and commenced working. Hermione made no mention of it, but he could tell she was disappointed. Evidently, she was very proud of that book. Draco worked himself into a stupor, then relaxed back into the bed, telling himself to just let his eyes rest before getting back into the candy cane children. When they were done resting, it was midmorning.
Hermione was still sitting comfortably in the chair, moved a little closer to the flame and turned to better view the bed, reading as if her life depended on it. She held an aura of utmost complacency, at home and calm, underwater in her world of fantasy. Draco rubbed the sleep from his eyes and lifted an eyebrow at her.
"Hey," he said and she jumped, startled by his conscious. She grinned when she saw him, however.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Hermione greeted, eyes alight with humor, before bending her head to continue reading.
"When did you wake up?" Draco asked conversationally, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Hermione laughed softly.
"Yesterday morning," she answered, turning the last page of another novel and placing on the pile next to her. Draco shook his head, falling back on the bed. Hermione watched him with a smile. "What? No lecture about my well-being?" Draco smirked.
"It'd be pointless, wouldn't it? You never listen to me anyway; I'm not going to try."
"Well, could you try and toss me that last book?" she mocked, making Draco chuckle. He sat up again, fishing the last remaining text from the floor.
"Didn't bother to pace yourself? Make them last?" he asked, tapping the spine of the book against his palm. Hermione shrugged.
"They're not going anywhere. I can read them again. Come now," she prodded, holding out a hand and gesturing him closer. Draco, smiling lazily, stood from the bed and ambled toward her, legs stiff with sleep. He knelt beside her chair and held out the book. Hermione took it gratefully, smiling, and for an extended moment, their eyes held the same gaze and their hands the same book. Then, Hermione grinned and looked down at her hand, prompting Draco to release the tomb. He gave a lopsided smile as he watched her turn to the first page, but his lips fell at the disappointed look on her face. "Oh," she said, smiling quickly up at him, but it did not reach her eyes. "I forgot about this one. Maybe I won't read it after all." Draco lifted an eyebrow and looked down at the page just as Hermione turned it.
"You don't like David Essex?" he asked, surprised, and Hermione shrugged a shoulder, placing the book on the last of the four piles she had reconstructed beside her chair, then took one from the stack opposite. "Oh; I knew that," Draco said, as if cursing himself for forgetting, and Hermione laughed, opening her new novel.
"You did not," she accused, shaking her head, and Draco nodded.
"I did."
"How?" Hermione asked, curiously moving closer to him.
"I can't remember if it was... it had to have been fifth or sixth year; you were fighting with Cho Chang about it," he recalled, speaking softly. "She claimed she loved Essex because he captured the true meaning of life and death, and that she felt closer to Cedric by reading him. You disagreed, assured that his books were pointless and the metaphors had nothing to do with Cho's ideas." Hermione was taken aback.
"You remember that? But, how..."
"You stood up for what you believed in, even though Cho and about a thousand literary arts students disagreed. I admired that. And everyone was talking about it for a week."
"I bet Harry doesn't even remember that; and he was with me," she noted, shaking her head. Draco shrugged.
"I..."
Hermione pitched forward the few inches needed and pressed her lips to Draco's, in mid speech. He was startled stiff for a moment, but she was persistent and he soon found himself indulging in the act, sliding his hand over her jaw and carefully executing a breathtaking kiss. Hermione let her book fall to the floor and tentatively slid her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss was broken prematurely and Hermione inhaled sharply, pressing their foreheads together.
"Draco..." she breathed passionately, eyes closed and savoring the moment. Draco, now beyond surprise, dug into another kiss, preluding with a series of nips just to the left of her mouth, and finishing with a deep caress. The second kiss was much better received than the first; more articulate and involved. Only when fainting seemed likely did Draco pull back again, this time in as much a state as Hermione. He exhaled onto her moistened lips and swallowed as she shuddered.
"You know how wrong this is, don't you?" he asked, tone hushed, and Hermione laughed breathily.
"Damn straight," said a third party, startling both occupants of the room, who turned sharply toward the fireplace, where a somber Justin Finch-Fletchley was shaking his head in shame. Hermione's hands sprang from Draco's neck, quickly covering her mouth.
"Fletchley," he hissed. "What the fuck? How long have been there?"
"That book," Justin said, nodding toward the overturned novel on the floor. "Used to be on her lap." Draco jammed his fingers into his hair, jaw set.
"... if you tell anyone..." he warned, but Justin waved him off.
"Fuck you, we've got more important things. Harry's gone mad."
"What?" Draco asked, relieved and anxious at the same time.
"He got up this morning and was happy. He was singing, Draco; singing. Then he refused breakfast and got his broom and claimed to be going back to bed, but Teige said she saw him fly off the grounds; I'm pretty sure he's heading for you."
"Shit," Draco cursed. "This is bad... very bad." He stood, and began pacing, fingers still lodged in his hair. "What the fuck am I supposed to do, Fletchley? He can't seriously be planning to break in and just start blind siding, can he?"
"You haven't seen Harry lately, Draco; that day you came was nothing. The way he's acting now, he just might. He's smashed; on what, I don't know. We're bringing back-up, but it's taking a while to get organized; Harry'll have a good hour to get himself killed," Justin explained, and a voice called from behind. He spared a glance over his shoulder, then turned back to Draco. "Don't fuck up, Malfoy." Justin disappeared and Draco screamed in frustration.
"Harry, you bastard," he hissed, pushing painfully on his eyes. Hermione, still in shock from both the interruption and the news, sat still in her chair, hands over her mouth. Draco cursed. "I shouldn't have to think this hard!" He let go of his hair, letting his arms fall, and looked up at her. Hermione let her hands melt to her lap, amazed at seeing him so disheveled. His hair was a mess; he looked scared -he was hardly Draco. "Hermione..." he whispered, almost to himself, and his eyes watched her as if he'd never seen her before. "Quick," he said, snapping into action and approaching her. Draco pulled her to her feet and kissed her forehead. "Go downstairs and get anything you can't leave behind. We have to get you out of here, all right?" he instructed, holding her face gently. Hermione nodded, looking shaken, and Draco released her, crossing the room to his bed table and sliding his wand into his pocket. He turned back to see Hermione slipping into the pumps she'd left by the door while trying simultaneously to put on her sweater.
"I'm ready," she said as her head peeked out of the collar, then pulled the hair from behind her and speedily approached him. Draco looked surprised.
"Are you sure?" he asked, and Hermione nodded.
"I'm ready to leave. I don't need anything but a way out," she said seriously, and Draco nodded, taking her hand and pulling her toward the fireplace.
"Hold on to me; don't let go," he told her. "We have to go together; if we're intercepted, I want to know where you are." Hermione nodded, linking her arms behind him and embracing his waist. Draco tossed in the necessary amount of powder and shouted "HG BB," before shifting them into the flames. As the floo ride commenced, it was accompanied by the pulse of alarm bells from the world below.
-x-x-x-
When Hermione landed, her world was spinning. She'd forgotten how nauseating a floo ride could be and had actually received a little damage from riding in the confined space alongside a passenger. She had felt her arms and elbows scrape the pavement more than once, and they now throbbed dully, adding to her lightheadedness. When her feet made contact with the floor, she held tighter to Draco for fear of falling down.
"Oh, good; company! Welcome to hell!" called a third party and Draco tensed, pushing her lightly closer to him. Hermione whimpered slightly, sure as the sun that they'd found themselves somewhere other than the safe confines of the farmhouse. She felt herself begin to shake, flushed with fear when hoping for relief. Draco made no move from the fireplace, and Hermione kept her eyes closed, buried in his chest and savoring his companionship. She was sure in her mind that they were standing before some greater power; some crony to Mauriz; someone who would take them to him. She flinched; she'd be caned; probably to death.
"Hermione," Draco whispered, then cleared his throat, as if surprised at himself. "Hermione," he repeated with more conviction. "This is Janelle." Only at this introduction did Hermione dare to open her eyes. How could Draco know the name of the woman demon sent to take them to Satan? Was this all a trick; a set up? Had he planned to touch her and love her, only to cut her?
Hermione peeked into the room to see a very livid and very pregnant woman standing before them, arms crossed and foot tapping. She noticed herself placed in the center of a fireplace big enough to floo an entire Quidditch team, looking into a dining area with a grand table mounded with dirty plates. It certainly didn't seem like hell. She straightened, suddenly alert and interested in the situation. Draco pushed her gently out of the floo, but stayed within its confines. He hurriedly reached to the sack of floo powder, extracting a handful and readying himself for a flight back to Hogwarts. Hermione suddenly looked scared.
"You're leaving?" she demanded, eyes wide and lips down turned. Draco spared a nervous glance to Janelle, who was still waiting patiently at the side of the table, now lifting an eyebrow at Hermione's response.
"Yeah..." Draco said distractedly, bringing his focus back to his wife. "I have to help. Stay here; Janelle will get you situated. Right?" he warned the loftier woman, who rolled her eyes and picked up a stack of dishes, heading toward a doorway. When she was safely out of earshot, Draco took Hermione into his arms. He embraced her and she returned it, suddenly afraid. "You'll be fine," he promised her. "I'll bring Harry back..."
"Don't go," Hermione interrupted. "Please, Draco; I'm... I'm scared."
"Scared?" he asked, chuckling in hopes of lightening the mood. "You've never been safer." Hermione trembled slightly in his arms, holding him close to her. Draco frowned. "Hey," he whispered, pushing her back. Hermione reluctantly loosened her grip and looked up at him, eyes glistening with a coat of moisture. Draco lifted a hand and let his fingers slide through her hair. "I'll come right back," he assured, smiling confidently. "We've done this a million times; we know what we're doing."
"But..." Hermione began, but Draco shook his head. He placed the most chaste of kisses near her lips, then took a backward stride and threw his powdered transportation device onto the charred floor of the empty fireplace. With a simple, "Princess Quarters" he had disappeared, up the chimney and back into harm's way. Hermione shuddered, crossing her arms at the sudden chill.
"Well don't just stand around," said a voice from behind her, and Hermione turned to see Janelle striding back into the room. "You're no more useless than I am; grab a stack," she instructed, piling a plate and glass on her stomach while balancing two more sets in each hand. Surprised, Hermione stepped up and lifted a fair share of flatware from the burdened banquet table. She followed Janelle through the doorway, and what was presumably the living area, into the kitchen. The room was immense; there were a hundred appliances, dozens of pots hanging from the ceiling, a breakfast bar, cooking island, and two sinks against the far wall. Janelle made her way toward the sinks, setting her dishes near the growing pile and mumbling to herself. Hermione, tentative and feeling awkward, followed the younger woman's example.
Janelle spared not but a glance as she plunged her hands into the soapy water pooled in the sink and searched out a dish towel, then commenced scrubbing. When she deemed the first plate satisfactory, she dipped it in the second sink, full of warm water but no soap. Hermione watched, feeling useless, as Janelle continues scrubbing. After the second and third dishes had been cleaned, she looked up, eyes narrowed at her houseguest.
"What are you waiting for; an invitation? There's a towel, there; I'd hope you could figure the rest on your own," she bit, then launched into her chore once again, angrily.
Hermione jumped to the other side of the sink, pulling the towel from the hook on which it hung and grasping the edge of one of the submerged dishes. She set about her task quickly, eyes always glancing in Janelle's direction. Hermione couldn't help but think that the girl seemed more of a tyrant than some of her husbands had. The dishes were scrubbed and shined in silence for a spell, suiting Hermione as well as conversation would have. It was Janelle who broke the unspoken agreement to speak not but an order.
"You might want to be careful," she warned, eyeing her matron narrowly. "Or people may learn what no one intends."
-
A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue.