The Hard Road

Chapter 25

-/-/-/-/-

Visions of naked women slid and caressed their way through his dreams. The scent of a woman, cheap shampoo, dozens of foods, and the faintest residue of wolf lingered. Soft skin covered the bony ass under his hand as she squeezed and massaged through his pants. His eyes fluttered, revealing Granger lying on his chest. She was still sleeping, but must have been in some dream. Her eyes and lips twitched while her fingers moved.

Merlin's swollen balls! The last thing he needed was this, now, with Wizarding Englands most famous female war hero. He could almost feel the rusty chains grinding across his skin. There was no due process for parole violations, just clap the shackles on and straight back to Azkaban.

His hand slowly crept out of her pants and gently touched her shoulder. Her whole body went stone hard. The fingers stopped, then slowly withdrew. Granger turned beet red as she shifted away and swallowed hard. She stuttered out an apology, but he waved a hand. "It's Potter's bloody vow."

With that, he made a bee-line for the bathroom. Three and a half months without a woman, and now this? Werewolf brain was screaming, Tear her clothes off and bend her over the table! Her scent was stuck in his skull while his mind replayed her caress. It took every scrap of occluding skill he possessed, but he beat the whole thing into a box. It would have been one thing if she was a willing participant, but she was not. He pinched the bridge of his nose and forced his mind off of the woman across the room and onto barracks full of men, quidditch matches, and flobberworms while he waited for things to calm down. If it wasn't for Potter's bloody meddling...

Her nostrils flared and her tongue dragged her lips as her eyes drifted from his legs to his face, but she flushed and turned away a second later. He apologized. "I should have gotten you a separate cabin. I didn't know it would do this. We were lucky this time, but we'll have to be more careful. The last thing you want is to be stuck like this, with someone like me."

Shame burned deep in his chest when she gave him a look that said she would. He moved to the opposite bench and stared out the window while she paged through Mother's ancient Black Family grimoire.

The glittering ballroom gown store was the epitome of everything he hated. Fawning sales women primped and preened and passed out flutes of pink champagne while shuffling him off to a leather great chair across from the party. Draco and his mother seamlessly transitioned to crisp Parisian French. Granger stared for a minute and then switched as well. Her French was technically proficient the sort of way Legion French had been, but her accent was distinctively London Private School.

She started coughing and red filled her brown eyes. He massaged his temples, and whispered, "Their perfume reeks, and all these blasted scented candles are giving me a headache."

She muttered, "It's horrible. I've got to get out of here before I choke."

Mother stared at him for a moment before rolling her eyes. She gave the cab driver the name of another store, and off they went. The second one must have been Wesen owned. While it still had the hoard of beautiful sales clerks passing out champagne and appetizers, it simply smelled clean. One particular sales woman kept sneaking glances and touching her hair and lips whenever nobody else was looking. Given the side effects of Granger's blasted vow, he had no desire to find out how jealous she would become. She was already giving off a predatory sort of killer whale among harp seals vibe that put some of the sales girls on edge. It made no sense, though, as the woman was so incredibly bland that she instantly became invisible in crowds. The poor girl hadn't even been noticed by any of the sales women in either store until his mother pointed them in her direction. Even as a recently fed walking skeleton, she looked like every other muggle on the street.

Something itched in the back of his skull. It was just out of reach and he couldn't quite put a finger on it. His mind drifted back to the war, and tried to remember any instance of Granger doing anything in particular besides being tortured, but he came up empty.

A sequined beige dress hung like a potato sack over her bony frame. The frizzy kneasle pinned to the top of her head by Aunt Bella's wand made it even more unappealing.

Aunt.

Bella's.

Wand?

Granger had disarmed the most dangerous witch he had ever met in one move, after hours of torture. Any other girl would have been ground to mush from the crucios, boots to the ribs, and the cutting. It should have taken her months to recover, but she had come out of the dungeon an hour later, fighting like mad. That wasn't how torture worked. His brain was groping at something, but he couldn't connect the dots.

His mother rolled her eyes at Granger's dress, and said, "No, no, no. That is horrible. I won't have her made into some sort of bag lady." She was now pointing and directing sales women. Girls came out with measuring tapes and fabric samples which Mother draped against Granger's skin one after another. She sent them to the back with shimmering red, glittering gold, forest green, and royal blue, and an admonition not to come back without a proper seamstress.

Granger nearly landed in his lap when she flopped into the seat. The bartender passed her something pink and fruity. Draco took a gin and tonic with lemon instead of lime, and his mother took her vodka collins with fresh orange slices and cherries. His date to be crunched her nose and waved as women brought dress after dress. "How do they think I can fit into these tiny size zero dresses. I'm at least a size eight."

Draco focused his powers and touched her hand. "Trust them. They did measure you, after all. Go ahead. Try one on."

She took another pull on the cocktail, pushed it into his hands, and said, "This is good. You should try it."

One sip confirmed what he already knew. It was thick and cloying with distinct flavors of banana, orange, grapefruit, and passion fruit. "Wow, that's sweet." He waved the bartender over and requested Irish whiskey with a splash of water on the rocks to wash the sugary slick out of his mouth.

Her smile bubbled up. "I know, right. It's so good."

With her second cocktail drained, Granger was laughing with the sales women and flouncing around the room in her form fitting gowns, but the tangled mass of brownish straw weeble-wobbling on top of her head was throwing them off. Mother presented Granger with a crimson and gold wrapped box. Granger made half an effort to refuse, but eventually peeled the wrappings off to reveal a crushed velvet box. Nestled inside was a golden half circle with filagree HJG engraving. She slid it over her wrist, but it was too large.

Mother chuckled, and said, "It's for your hair. Your wand holds it in place."

Granger's mouth made an o. She pulled the blackwood wand out of her hair and shook it out. Without its prior restraint, her hair exploded into a wobbly table top above her head subtended by a giant fuzz of brown terminating in a frizz of split ends. She corralled the unruly pile into the golden cuff and speared it with her wand.

Mother's eyebrows perked. "Now, just imagine whatever you want it to do, run your hands through it, and wordlessly repeat the incantation. Go ahead, try it."

Granger's skepticism was running high, but so was the alcohol. Her eyes squinted at the words on the inside of the lid as both hands slicked her hair into a shimmering curtain of silk that laid flat and perfect, stopping exactly at the middle of her back without even the slightest ripple.

Draco touched his Mother's hand. "You have surely outdone yourself."

Granger's eyes were wide and glittering with joy as her mouth hung open. She shook her head, and the hair cascaded over her shoulders in a brown waterfall before swishing back into place. "It's brilliant! Where did you?"

"A girl never reveals her secrets, but when I saw it, I thought of you."

Granger tried a dozen different hair styles and colors, from long to short, curly to straight, and pixie cut in brown, blonde, and black. Her eyes got misty when she changed it to strawberry blonde ringlets. His mother took her hand. "I remember your hair like that. Before the procedure."

Granger sighed. "What would she think? Aunt Tyrophenia?"

"She would be so proud of you. Now, shall we? I think the three we're down to are beautiful. Draco, which one do you fancy?"

He perked his eyebrows. "Curly, brown hair and the electric blue gown with sleeves."

Granger blushed. "The one with the open back? The waist is so small."

It was true. That shimmery satin dress flowed smoothly down her hips, erasing the telegraphing bones and making her look petite and supple. The shiny, brown curls falling down the middle of her back completed it.

With dress shopping out of the way and his matching vest and pocket square on order, they made their way to lunch. A small Bauerschwein owned cafe started her off with another pink cocktail and a baguette, butter, and salad with oil and vinegar. She took rare lamb chops with roasted potato and rosemary demi glace followed by a cheese plate with fresh apple and melon slices, and finally cherry filled pastries. He took rare roast beef with parsnips, and a bowl of sliced plums, cherries, and raspberries glazed with sweet orange, while Mother took a salad with grilled chicken. While in Paris, he regaled her with a few tales of pranks the men had pulled. By the end, she was gripping her side from the laughter.

Granger grumped when he settled her into her own suite for the return voyage. She frowned when he said, "Once the vow is resolved, if you still feel the same way about dating, we can talk."

The day he dreaded had become moderately enjoyable, but he still knew the truth. It was the vow, not her talking.

An hour into the return voyage, Granger flounced in and flopped onto the seat beside him. Her stomach rumbled and her eyes begged. He closed the sports section of the Parisian newspaper, which left Granger's eyebrow quirked. "Muggle football?"

"It's quite fun. Probably the single most popular sport in The Legion."

"I just can't imagine you playing muggle sports. What was it like? The army training."

"Eye opening. Can you imagine me, scrubbing blood out of my knickers?"

Her jaw dropped. He continued. "With my actual hands, and soap. I got quite good at starching my shirts and trousers."

She snorted out a laugh. "You? Draco Malfoy? With a clothes iron?"

"And I'm quite the hand at making up a bed with proper hospital corners."

"I've heard The Legion's training is quite brutal."

"You remember war. It's not like normal life. How many wizards died because they simply could not bring themselves to fight? Or worse, they had the heart to fight, but only knew play magic, and they just got killed."

Her eyes drew closed. Fury rippled over her face. Her jaws clenched. "Blasted Dumbledore. He would never teach a soul about really fighting. He sent them to their deaths."

"It says something about the man that Riddle's greatest plans were foiled by children. Do you know that Voldemort never got a foothold outside of the UK because they fought back. Every single death eater he sent across the channel ended up dead. Then, he went on a run to chase down Grindenwald for the Elder Wand. Just about ended up planted in a hole. They got his broom and broke his wand. You know, nobody else uses wands."

That caught her by surprise. He went on. "Yeah, I didn't meet a single wizard who actually uses one. They just do everything wandlessly. Wordlessly too. That's something, by the way. Oh, and I was mixing a lot of potions and medicine for them. No cauldrons. It's all done in stainless steel or copper cooking pots over electric or gas burners." He laid a hand on his chest. "I'm becoming a regular Arthur Weasley."

She burst out laughing. "You know, the funniest thing about him is that he tells you all about muggle things, but hasn't got the foggiest clue how they work."

"Doesn't he have a car?"

"And yet the git has never once driven it on an actual road. Muggle things are just curios to him."

It didn't make any sense. Everyone knew the man was The Ministry's foremost expert on all things muggle. "So if I brought him an electric razor?"

"If he actually plugged it in? He would probably cut off his fingers. But he's got no electricity. I don't think he'd even know how to plug it in."

It didn't make any sense. The man was a heavy hitter. One of the most influential wizards in the entire Ministry, but she talked like he was some plodding careerist.

He told her more stories from training in The Legion. Something warned him to steer clear of the subject of wesen, so he spun a heavily edited version of splinching himself. He had just told her about massive doses of healing potions sending him rooting trash cans while his whole body itched. "All the scars from Azkaban are gone. Even the ones from Potter's sectumsemura."

She gently teased. "I don't believe you."

He wasn't thinking when he undid the buttons on his shirt. Her eyes got dewey and her lips parted as her fingers trailed over the muscles. Feathery wisps of yellow and white magic slithered off her fingertips and trailed over his chest, numbing his mind to the world around.

A minute later, she was straddling his legs, crushing kisses into him. Every instinct said rip her clothes off, but a tiny voice in his skull said, Fight it. You've got to fight the magic.

It was a struggle, but occulemency walls slid into place and he gently slowed things back down. Granger grumped and crossed her arms as her bra slid back into place, but shame burned deep in his chest because of his embarrassing lack of control. Her growling stomach gave him the excuse to get out of the room. In the dining car, Granger once again ate a huge meal, though nothing like the monumental feast she had gorged upon this morning.

Her eyes said she wanted to stay the night, but they kept flicking back and forth between her watch and her cellphone. She declared she was late for some sort of all night event with The Ministry and hopped into the floo, but not before trading phone numbers and email addresses.

-/-/-/-/-

Back at The Manor, he and mother discussed the current progress on betrothal talks. The research had come back on the vow. Releasing Granger would require the blood of a wife who did not consent to his concubine. The ritual was simple enough, and then the captive would be set free. There were several promising prospects, but Potter's mess catapulted their timeline ahead. Certainly, marriage by Christmas was a foolish proposition, but Mother had two solid prospects in the final running, and one backup. With any luck, they could set up a visit this week.

The silver moon found Draco running at full gait across the manor grounds. Tonight's stop, after a belly full of goat, was a Wesen only pub on the backside of London. Apparition got him close enough. The bouncer took one look and swung the door open. Once inside, he found company in a few dozen Wesen enjoying the fun of the full moon. While it didn't effect the non-canid wesen nearly as much, they still loved the excuse to fang out and hunt.

He was halfway through his fourth pint, when they broached the subject of blowing off some steam at a wesen only fight club. Blood sport, women, AND food checked off every single item on his list. It was the most brilliant thing he had ever heard, so off they went.