The combination of Portkey transport, the extra weight of Hermione and the fact he hadn't eaten since the evening before made Draco stumble and nearly fall when they reached their location. He managed to catch himself by falling into a brick wall with his shoulder.
The Portkey had delivered them to a discreet and narrow passage between two brick buildings. There was barely room for them in the space. Draco set Hermione down on her feet which he realised now were bare. She was weak and confused. She looked odd with her black bob.
"Can you walk?" Draco asked. His tone was harsh. Hermione nodded. "Listen to me, follow me and don't say or do anything! Do you understand?"
She nodded again but later would have no recollection of this brief conversation. She was barely able to stand and couldn't begin to understand her present situation. Draco took her hand and pulled her into the twisted roads of Knockturn Alley.
There were few people about which boded well for them. The people who were in the streets kept their eyes downcast and hardly paid them any mind. Hermione stumbled behind Draco, barely aware of the cobblestone on her bare feet. Draco was frantically trying to determine his next move. He checked his pocket for the stones. There was no time for Gringots.
He headed toward the streets of Diagon Alley and stepped into the first establishment that would have a Floo connection. It was a small convenience store for wizards. The shelves were overflowing without regard to aesthetics. Just about anything a wizard or witch could need; butterbeer, beazors, bruise heeling paste, Doxycide, Gregory's Unctuous Unction, Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover, Murtlap Essence, Dr. Ubbly's Oblivious Unction, pepper up potions, Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.
Draco slipped into the small shop and headed to the back where the hearth stood. At some point he had decided where to go; someplace he was familiar with that perhaps the Death Eaters would not think to look first. In any case, he would be able to visit a bank there and they would move on. Still holding Hermione's hand, he pulled her inside a large hearth and stated their destination.
They emerged from the another hearth into the heart of wizarding Paris. Still clinging to her hand, he lead her out into the street. Hermione was feeling ill from traveling by Portkey and the Floo after being captive and tortured for several days. The world spun and her legs finally gave.
Draco was completely taken aback as he had not even so much glanced at the girl since they fled Knockturn Alley. Several wizards and witches glanced at them and Draco pulled Hermione to her feet and lead her to a near by bench. She seemed dazed, as if she would faint. He patted her cheek, not too gently.
"Don't you dare faint," he hissed.
He knew she needed food or at least something to drink. He had no idea if Mangela's Liquid Fire had lasting damage. He glanced around the street. It was crowded with people walking to and fro going about their shopping. It was almost as if they were oblivious to the war next door.
"Don't move!" he ordered, even knowing that she would be unable to get away. He left her on the bench and headed down the block to a small bakery. There he purchased two rolls and some tea. He returned to the bench where Hermione was still slumped, her eyes nearly closed.
"Here." Draco handed her a roll and she took a small bite. He ate his own in a few bites, suddenly realising how famished he was. He handed the paper cup to Hermione and she sipped at the hot tea.
"We are going to the bank. You need to stay with me but don't say a word. Keep your head down."
While she still nibbled at the bread, he stood and she followed. It occurred to him that he may want a disguise as well. He found a secluded spot by a small boutique, Unique Chapeaux. He quickly changed his hair from white blond to a brunette colour, not unlike Hermione's original.
They continued on. Draco was familiar with the area as he would come quite often with his parents.
Of course, it had been months since they had been here. He tried to recall the last time he had been there with his parents. A sudden wave of anguish filled him as he realised that his mother would never return to this place again.
He pushed aside the sadness and focused on the task at hand. Soon they approached the bank and the two walked inside, hand in hand. As in the London branch, this bank was also run by Goblins. Draco approached one that was available.
"Excuse me," he spoke politely and in perfect French, "I'm wondering if it's possible to exchange these for Muggle currency?" He placed the handful of gems upon the counter and the Goblin raised his brows.
"Muggle money?" The Goblin asked to make certain he had heard correctly.
"Yes. I'd appreciate some discretion in the matter. You understand."
"Of course," the Goblin responded with a crooked grin. "I'll need to get my supervisor for this transaction."
Draco nodded and the Goblin went off. In just moments Draco and Hermione left the building with a rather large amount of Muggle cash. Once again, he pulled the girl along the streets, anxious to move on. Draco kept his eyes open and Hermione tried her best to keep up with him.
Suddenly he stopped, causing Hermione to bump into him. They entered a shop. It was lovely; decorated tastefully in gold and scarlet. Hermione wanted to ask Draco what they were doing. Why were they in France? Why were they in such an elegant shop? Before she could, he shoved a pair of shoes into her chest.
"Try these on," he demanded.
Hermione barely noticed the style of the shoes but once she slipped them on her feet she was suddenly grateful for their comfort.
"Do they fit?"
She nodded her and Draco went off to pay. She stood there, staring at the rows of fancy shoes under the bright lights of their display. After spending days in darkness, she thought it was one of the loveliest sights she had ever seen.
"All right then, off we go." He took her hand again, more out of habit than real need.
They walked several more blocks and even though Hermione now had comfortable shoes to protect her feet, her legs were sore and she was tired. At last Draco found the place he had been looking for.
They stepped inside and Hermione was reminded of The Leaky Cauldron. Draco emptied the pockets of his robes and removed the cloak. He folded the robe and tucked it under his arm and headed to the back or the place.
He paused at the door and turned to Hermione.
"Have you been to Paris?"
She nodded.
"You know how to find transportation?"
She nodded again.
"All right, then." He opened the door and they stepped into a bustling street in Muggle Paris.
Hermione and Draco found a train station nearby and Draco purchased a map and two tickets.
Hermione fell asleep as soon as they were seated on the train. Draco studied the map which also had information on places to stay. He found a couple of possible spots that might work.
Too agitated to sleep, he watched as the scenery passed swiftly by. He found it ironic to be on a train now with Hermione Granger; the only time he had travelled by train before was on the Hogwarts Express where he had stayed clear of the Gryffindor. He wondered what he would have thought of this scenario a few months ago? Even two weeks earlier?
He thought back to the start of his sixth year. He had been so pompous, gloating about how the Dark Lord had chosen him for a special mission. He had reveled in the extra admiration and fear from the other Slytherins and he desperately wanted to avenge his father. But even then, deep down, he was worried about completing his task.
How quickly it all fell apart around him. When Katie Bell had been hexed, he had been certain he would be found out and sent to Azkaban; shaming his father and putting himself and his parents in jeopardy.
Fortunately, he hadn't been caught and he knew how lucky he had been. He shifted all his focus on the task, ignoring his school work completely. Unfortunately, this drew unwanted attention.
Dumbledore had requested to meet with him late one afternoon in November.
"Ah, Mr Malfoy, right on time," the headmaster greeted Draco with his usual good humour.
Draco entered the Headmaster's office cautiously, wondering why he had been summoned to the headmaster. Did the old man suspect something?
"Please, have a seat," Dumbledore indicated the chair before his desk. Draco sat down stiffly.
"Toffee?"
"No, thank you."
"I'm sure you're wondering why I've called you here. It's been brought to my attention by several of your professors, including Professor Snape, that your school work has been suffering."
Draco did not respond, unsure of what to say. Dumbledore waited for a moment and when it became apparent that Draco was not in the mood to discuss the matter, he continued.
"I'm sure you've had a bit more responsibility placed upon you since your father has been... away."
Draco wondered if Dumbledore was referring specifically to matters related to the Dark Lord. He resolved himself to remain neutral and not give anything away.
"It must be difficult to have the extra responsibility being only sixteen and still in school," Dumbledore commented.
"I'm managing," Draco assured him.
"Your grades state otherwise. Are you feeling well?"
"Yes, fine. Why?" Draco's tone was defensive.
"You look like you haven't been sleeping well."
"I'm fine, Sir," he lied.
"And your appetite?"
"Fine."
"It would be a shame if your grades continue to falter, Draco. You realise if this continues I may have no choice but to suspend you. I would hate to see you throw away a bright future."
Draco felt a jolt of panic. If he was suspended from the school there would be no way to complete the task. The Dark Lord choose him, in part, because of his access inside the school.
"Professor Snape has offered his help," Dumbledore stated.
Draco glared at the old man but quickly hid his anger. "Yes, I'll speak to him."
"That sounds like a good start. I know that your head of house wants the best for you."
"Is that all, Sir?"
"Yes," Dumbledore answered. Draco rose to leave when the headmaster spoke again. "Draco, know that you can come to me also."
Draco's memory faded as the train arrived at their stop. He gave Hermione's shoulder a rough shake.
Halfawake she followed Draco from the train.
"We need to get here," Draco explained pointing to a spot on the map. "How do we get there?"
"First you need to see if it's available," Hermione explained.
Irritated, Draco asked how that was done. It would have been so much easier to Apparate but he dare not use his wand in case the magic was traced. Hermione spotted a phone and explained how to dial the number.
They were in luck, there was a cottage available. The elderly man on the other line explained that since it would be late when they would arrive, he would leave a key for them and stop by the next day for payment. Hermione then explained to Draco how to phone a taxi.
She fell asleep again once inside the taxi. How she could remain sleeping while the tiny car zoomed along the rough road was a mystery to Draco. After a long and bumpy ride, the taxi pulled up to a tiny cottage. It's roof appeared to be missing some shingles, the white stucco was in need of another coat of paint and the yard was slightly overgrown. Muggles, Draco frowned.
He paid the driver and slipped from the car. Hermione was still sleeping soundly so he retrieved her from inside. The driver made a crack about being newly weds with a toothy grin. Draco rolled his eyes. The taxi speed away before he had reached the door of the cottage.
Draco found the key and unlocked the door while still holding Hermione. The door creaked open and he stepped inside. The interior was awash in shadows of the early evening. He flipped the on the light switch and the room filled with a yellowish glow.
Hermione stirred at last and opened her eyes. Realising that Draco was holding her, she squirmed from his arms. He set her down as soon as he saw she was awake; embarrassed slightly at being caught holding her. He went to inspect the place.
There was a small kitchen off the main room, a loo and two small bedrooms. It was furnished with pieces that had clearly seen better days. The fabric on the stuffed furniture was worn and faded. Draco had been going straight for nearly twenty hours and with hardly any thing to eat along the way. He didn't bother to assess the bed or to remove any clothing. He simply lay down and promptly fell asleep.
Hermione stood by the door for a moment, unsure of what to do. She had grown use to not having choices that it took her a moment to move on her own. She peeked into the room Draco had gone into and found him laying on his stomach, feet hanging off the bottom edge of the bed and snoring slightly.
She went into the loo and discovered a deep old fashioned clawfoot tub and was suddenly very aware of how long it had been since she had a proper bath. She closed the door, turned the lock and filled the tub with warm, clean water.
The warm water soothed her sore body and reminded her how tired she was. It was such a relief to wash the filth from her hair and skin. She scrubbed until the water turned murky and then refilled the tub to soak, inhaling the scent of soapy cleanliness. She stared at the faucet but didn't see it, too lost in her thoughts.
She was grateful to be gone from the dark cell and Mangela's lab. However, at least there she knew it would only be a matter of time before she succumbed to death. She had accepted that fact. She knew her parents wouldn't mourn for they were still under the impression they had no daughter.
Perhaps this was Draco's idea of torture; forcing her to go on without her two closest friends. Her heart ached thinking of them. She sank lower in the deep tub, her chin touching the water's surface.
How nice it would be to sink in the warmth of the water and float away...
A sudden banging on the door broke her reverie. She slipped and sputtered water from her mouth and nose. Apparently, Draco woke from his nap.
"Granger!" he bellowed through the door. "There is only one bathroom in this place."
Silently Granger left the tub and drained the water. She wrapped herself in a towel, grateful for its large fluffiness, and grabbed her clothing. Draco was waiting in the hall, arms crossed.
"It's about bloody time," he grumbled. "I was beginning to think you'd drowned."
He stepped into the loo and closed the door on her. She went into the second bedroom and closed the door, wishing there was a lock on it as well. The room was small and plain with a wardrobe, a stuffed chair and a twin bed with a striped blanket and a single pillow. She dried herself and slipped on the dress vowing never to wear pink again.
She peeled back the covers of the bed and crawled underneath them, drawing them up to her chin. She curled into herself and closed her eyes. Tucked inside the covers she felt like a caterpillar inside its cocoon. Perhaps when she awoke, she would be changed some how.
No, she had already experienced a metamorphosis; she was no longer the same person she had been just a handful of days ago. Had it only been days? It seemed like such a long time since Ron had held her hand. She drifted into an uneasy sleep.
She dreamed of Ron laying on the ground and bleeding, his blue eyes vacant. She saw Harry, not in disguise but as himself, running to help only to be struck with a curse. His body falling hard on the ground. Then she was alone in the cold, dark cell which began to shrink in size. The walls and ceiling closing in, becoming her tomb.
Hermione woke and blinked in confusion at the cheery sunlight that streamed into the room. Where am I? What's happened? Did the Order find me?! Slowly, the memories came; Mangela's lab, Bellatrix's hysterical laughter, Malfoy looking at her in disgust, a burning sensation in her throat and chest, and wishing for death.
There were also images of Diagon Alley, a Goblin with a crooked grin, riding a train and an elegant room in red. Had those been from her dreams? She glanced around the unfamiliar room, trying to remember how she how arrived there and who brought her.
She managed on wobbly, weak legs to stand and ventured into the hall. Across the way was an open door and she looked inside. She found someone asleep, one arm thrown over his eyes and a bare chest sporting a nasty scar. It was the hair that gave away his identity. Malfoy?! She had not expected to see the proud Slytherin. Was this some deviant plan of Voldemort?
Draco woke to find Hermione standing in the doorway watching him. He sat up, startled by her presence, wondering how long had she been standing there watching him.
"Granger?" his voice cracked with sleep.
"What am I doing here?" she demanded.
"Would you rather be back in the dungeons?"
"Yes," she lied.
"You would have died," he answered bluntly.
"I know."
He didn't know how to respond to her statement. Surely she didn't mean it. He was certain that her death would have been a gruesome affair; exploited by Voldemort to instill fear in Muggle and Wizard alike. He had expected some gratitude for rescuing her! Maybe she had gone mad as Crabbe suggested.
Hermione continued, "now Voldemort will be looking for you as well as the Ministry of Magic and the Order of the Phoenix."
"I don't plan to be found," he answered angrily.
"What's to keep me from leaving this place?"
"You're free to do whatever you want." Draco was not in the mood to argue with the girl. "Go find the Order and fight the Dark Lord. Go home to your mummy and daddy. Go back to Mangela!"
She turned her back to Draco and considered leaving, heading out the door and walking away. But where would she go? She had nothing, no money, no wand. What was the point anyway; there was no way to defeat Voldemort with Harry gone. Defeated, she returned to her bed, crawled beneath its covers and succumbed to sleep so she would not have to make any decisions.