Burning Hunger

Burning Hunger
Chapter Two: The Dragon
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling.


000


Hermione awoke to darkness. She blinked her eyes, the gritty texture of her lids telling her that she must have been out of it for some time. She felt the wind whipping through her, chilling her through the soft silk of her gown. Squinting, she made out a large shape above her blocking out the weak light of the stars.


Shrieking in terror, Hermione reflexively jerked away from the looming figure, her hands grasping for anything to anchor her to reality. They came into contact with a surprisingly warm, soft substance.


Flesh.


Shuddering, she wildly reached for escape. Hermione looked down, and her throat seized. There, in the faint light the world was spread out before her. The green rolling hills of England were miniscule from this vantage, the forests and rivers looked like a setting for children’s dolls. Her heart shrank from the terrifying sight, hot tears spilled from her eyes.


The dragon took me, Hermione’s mind whispered, reluctantly, sluggishly remembering the events of the day. She nervously gripped the surprisingly silky skin of the claw.


Hermione started to feel dizzy again. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on breathing, on the familiar feel of the wind on her skin, on the smooth flesh of the dragon.


Her rational mind returning, she concentrated on the texture of the skin. Bookish brain whirling, she half-hysterically catalogued its characteristics. Not at all reptilian, smooth, firm and hairless… oh, bother. Why do I care? I’m going to be dead in an hour and I am swooning over an overgrown lizard’s skin.


Hermione shivered and hoped that they got to wherever they were going soon, because if she was up here much longer, the suspense was going to kill her before the dragon did.


So, Hermione did the only logical thing. She passed out. Again.


000


Swathed in comfort, Hermione cuddled into the warm silk beneath her cheek and sighed heavily, clinging to sleep with a fuzzy desperation. Moaning slightly, she turned over onto her stomach, her dazed mind slowly registering her surroundings. Her naked skin relished the warm, downy comfort beneath her.


… Naked skin? She never slept naked. Why…


With a gasp, Hermione jerked awake, her body coming to alert as a spurt of adrenaline raced through her. She forced her eyes to focus on the dim shapes around her, illuminated only by a shallow fire pit a few feet away. Drawing the thick, decadent blanket firmly around her, Hermione instinctively curled herself into a small ball, looking frantically for any large shape that could be a dragon.


She supposed she could run and hide… but where? She could hardly see beyond the small circle around the fire, and there was no sign of an exit. Hermione had the impression of immense space, but she couldn’t be sure. She groped experimentally on the ground and felt cold rock, with no dirt or grass to cover it. A cave?


WHUMPWHUMPWHUMP


Half-cocked ideas of escape flew from her mind, as in the deep black outside her little circle; the sound of huge wings beating filled the cavern.


Suddenly, there was a burst of flame, and a whurr of light flew about the cavern, lighting it up in quick, successive segments, until the entire area was ablaze with illumination.


The light reflected and bounced off enormous piles of glittering treasure, making the dragon’s sliver skin glow with a warm radiance. Almost as if he was a vain cat, he posed delicately, flicking his tail over the horde happily.


A dragon with a flair for the dramatic, Hermione thought hysterically as she frantically blinked to adjust to the bright light, how odd.


She stared at it, clutching her blankets to her chest, her knuckles white, and body trembling. Like the mouse staring into the eyes of the cat, Hermione was mesmerized in the ancient dance of predator and prey.


The feline eyes assessed her, burning with fierce intelligence.


Then, with a strangely amused toss of its head, the dragon reared up upon its hind feet and stretched translucent wings to their fullest extent. As Hermione watched, the dragon seemed to vibrate and glow in the firelight, with quicksilver currents running along its skin. A stream of smoke drifted out of its delicate snout, its eyes closed and she could swear it almost smiled.


The smoke coalesced and boiled wildly, sparks arcing through the vast space of the cavern.


Hermione’s tawny eyes went wide, and her breath stopped.


He was about six and a half feet tall, a pagan demi-god come to life. His face was angular, harsh, like his dragon-form, but with a beautiful mobile mouth. He was colored like his dragon form, pale, with alabaster skin that took a gold cast in the firelight and hair as shiny as her mother’s pearl necklace. Unabashedly naked, his sterling cat-eyes watched Hermione avidly, studying her dishabille just as thoroughly as she studied him.


Hermione took him in slowly, staring at him in fascination, almost forgetting to be afraid. Her eyes took on a life of their own, and they drifted down the former dragon’s alabaster abdomen down to his lean hips down to…


Hermione quickly jerked her eyes away. It’s definitely a man, thought Hermione, mortified, definitely.


Flushing a bright crimson, breath quickening, Hermione snuggled down into her mountain of pillows and blankets, trying to escape her embarrassment and fear.


The dr… man… dragon-man-creature sauntered past the shocked Hermione with lethal elegance and shrugged into a black silk robe with platinum embroidered serpents running up and down its length. Completely unconscious of the impropriety of his actions, he lounged in front of the blazing fire on a plush day-bed, never glancing her way, his robe gaping open to show his thick pectorals.


Hermione watched intently as his mesmerizing silver eyes closed in pleasure as the heat bathed his lithe form, his pale hair taking a gold cast in the fire glow.


The combination of the heady warmth of the cave and the aftermath of the most terrifying and shocking thing of her life left Hermione feeling drained. She battled her drooping lids, trying to keep her eyes fixed on the predator casually draped a few meters from her.


As she drifted off, she opened her eyes one last time to find he gaze fixated on her. But Hermione was too tired and drained to care. Let him devour me if he wants.


Too exhausted to fight her curiosity, Hermione murmured, her voice husky with sleep and screaming. “What will become of me?”


It might have been a dream, but she thought she heard a deep voice reply, “I’ll probably eat you in the morning.”


000


Hermione woke for a second time in the strange cave. It was impossible to determine how long she had slept, but the cave no longer seemed as midnight-black as it had been before. There must be some sort of light in here.


Hermione stretched tentatively under the covers, not surprised that her muscles felt like useless hunks of meat. Being tied to a pole for hours and then hanging onto a dragon for dear life were well outside the realm of her normal activities, Hermione thought wryly. With a pang, she realized that she would probably never see her home again, nor her family. Her life would never be normal again.


Grimly shrugging off such depressing thoughts, Hermione groped along the mound of pillows, trying to get enough leverage to life herself out of the soft pile. As she groped, she felt… a warm spot?


He slept here last night, Hermione thought, face beet-red and heart racing, he slept a foot away from me when I was naked! Lord, it’s truly a miracle I survived… relatively unscathed, too.


Hermione lay back and took a few deep breaths. Then, in her usual no-nonsense manner, she opened her eyes and decided that she had done enough dithering for the time being and poked her head up to look around.


She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.


She had never seen so much stuff.


Ornate furniture, pillows, jewels of every size and color imaginable, tapestries, piles of books and scrolls. Tables were scattered about, groaning with the weight of goblets of all size and shape, huge platters, and large wooden chests were tossed open, filled with unimaginable amounts of jewels, precious stones and gold – pouring over the edges and overflowing onto the table’s surface, dripping to the ground below.


Hermione’s mouth dropped open, the wealth here was beyond anything she’d ever dreamt possible.


She got up, legs wobbly and found a rich blue robe with crimson cuffs waiting for her. She put it on slowly, and eagerly looked forward to getting lost in the maze of treasure.


Well. At least she wouldn’t be bored.


000


If there was any sort of organization to the horde, Hermione wasn’t privy to it, but she traipsed on anyway, ignoring her urge to stop and admire a particularly beautiful object, looking for an exit.


Soon after she set out, she found a region of the cave that had a large hole in the ceiling. Well, I suppose that answers the question about how dragons and dragon-men get out of this cave, Hermione thought, Normal humans, not so much. She only hoped that it wasn’t the only exit.


Hermione hadn’t resigned herself to death just yet.


Treasure taunting her from every angle, Hermione soon grew frustrated and hungry on her fruitless search for the exit.


Growling softly to herself, she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck, as if chilled, and with a sudden awareness, she knew.


He’s watching me.


She paused, pretending to admire a set of porcelain figurines of fantastic creatures. She picked up a unicorn with one hand, at once marveling at the gossamer lightness of the china and trying to remember how to get back to the hearth.


She was lost.


She put the statuette down lightly, so as not to crush its fairy-delicacy in her panic.


How do I get back? I could wander around for days and not find my way.


She must have been gone longer than she thought, because she couldn’t even see the hole of sunlight. Actually, Hermione could barely see beyond the faint ring of light her torch was making.


She took a deep steadying breath, squared her shoulders, and started picking her way through the cache.


She had been walking for about twenty minutes, when she stopped and peered at a suit of armor carefully. Haven’t I seen that before? Damn. I’m going in circles.


She sat down on a nearby bench, heart heavy, not noticing or caring about the lushness of the fabric or the comfort of the cushions.


He materialized then, as if he was made from ether.


He held out his hand, large body looming and covered in shadows, and said, “Come.”


Hermione hesitated for a moment, but then placed her small hand in his. For a moment, it felt like a jolt of fire hit her arm, and then a flush started at her face and slowly worker her way down her body. She stood quickly and jerked the limb away.


The dragon turned and started walking.


Hermione, left with no choice, followed.


They had been walking for some time before he said, “There’s no way out unless I take you out.”


Hermione swallowed, tears rising in her eyes, and the dragon looked at her sharply.


He looked far away for a moment, then said, “As long as you are here, you may explore my horde as much as you like. Just don’t move anything.”


Hermione was speechless for a moment, tears drying up, and thought she should speak. “You… you honor me, my lord. Thank you.”


The dragon’s eyes widened at the reply, and glittered in the faint light. He turned around suddenly, and started walking again.


They spent the rest of the journey to the hearth in uncomfortable silence.


000


Most days, the silver dragon, as Hermione had taken to calling him, was absent when Hermione awoke, doing who-knows-what on the surface. Hermione would leisurely get up, bathe in the decadent hot springs she found, and prepare breakfast from the array of food the dragon left on a table close to the fire.


She started cooking for herself at home because she often had insomnia in the middle of the night and would like to fix herself something to eat. She didn’t consider herself extremely proficient, but she was extremely happy that she had insisted, despite her Mother’s mortification at her daughter learning such a common skill. Certainly the dragon couldn’t cook.


She absolutely loved exploring the dragon’s treasure while trying to find an exit. After the first day she was careful to keep her bearings while searching. Hermione didn’t want the dragon to have to come and find her again. It might give him the excuse to eat her.


Besides the usual piles of gold and chests of jewels, there were strange, fascinating objects everywhere- odd deadly weapons with huge, ferociously sharp blades, a gleaming basalt skull, a huge boulder of jade carved into a mountain, maps to the far reaches of lands Hermione had never heard of, and scores of odd, mechanical creations that fascinated as they whirred and spun in elegant choreographed movements.


Hermione had avidly read about mythical treasure-troves in her father’s few books and had heard many tales. Why, a few years ago, a traveling Moor had told her family a story of a mythical cave of wonders somewhere in the Arabian wilderness.


Surely, it must have looked like this. She could spend a lifetime in this fairy-land and never grow bored.


Her life before the dragon took her was both usual and unusual for a woman. She loved her life and her family, but she wanted more, always more. She felt like a bad person, a bad daughter. She already had so much more than most people, how could she be discontent?


But still, her spirit was restless.


She wanted a husband and children, truly, but why was it too much to expect that she should have some feelings for said husband?


She was lucky that her father loved her so. Most women her age already had a few babies and were managing households. She didn’t resent the fact that they had families of their own and were settled. She wanted more than that. She had never been sure what that ‘more’ meant exactly, but she always knew that a deep wellspring of restlessness lay within her, telling her to wait whenever she had been about to accept some boy’s proposal.


Well.


Look how well that turned out.


000


Her routine was only punctuated by the occasional startling infiltration of random objects.


It started with a silver hairbrush inlaid with ivory that appeared at her bedside one day. Delighted, she took it to the springs, washed and brushed her hair thoroughly, and smiled for the rest of the day.


Then, there was a deluge of little things- a matching hand-mirror, a huge embroidery basket, books tucked under her pillows, a blue fur so plush her hand sank into it, and bolts of cloth of every color she could ever think of, woven so fine they felt like butterfly-wings.


After awhile, the objects got more elaborate. Persian carpets to line the living-space, so soft she felt like she was walking on clouds. Chalices made of what looked like unicorn horns and pewter. A jewelry box made out of rock-crystal, bound with platinum and gemstones.


Finally, she was presented with a bed. Not just any bed, but it looked like the bed from a fairy-tale, so big that six men as large as the dragon would fit across it easily. Made of a lustrous wood she couldn’t identify, it was carved with sensual scenes that made her face flame and her belly ache. The mattress was stuffed with something softer than goose-down, and sleeping on it felt like being embraced by a dream.


She could only suspect the dragon because he was the only other creature there, but it seemed so incredible that she could not believe it.


The place must be haunted. It was the most logical assumption.


000


One day, Hermione was cooking a simple beef stew, one of her favorites, from the supplies the dragon had brought her.


Turning around to slice up the bread that went with the meal, she was shocked to see the dragon lazily watching her a few feet away. Startled, Hermione dropped her knife.


Silently, the dragon walked to her, bent and picked up the knife by her feet and placed it on the table with the food. Straightening to his impressive height, he looked at her, looking almost… lost. As if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words to say it.


“W-would you like some?” Hermione found her self saying.


To her surprise the dragon nodded. Hermione ladled a generous portion into a pewter trencher with hands that barely trembled, and handed it to him. She was surprised when he dug in eagerly.


His eyes lit up, childlike in their delight at the taste.


Hermione stood numbly, her pulse doing double time, her face flushing.


Grinning, he sat on his couch and elegantly gorged himself on the rest of what Hermione had planned to be her evening and afternoon meals for the next few days. Fascinated, she watched him pack away an obscene amount of food faster than she had ever seen anyone eat before.


After he demolished the meal, he licked his fingers delicately as Hermione watched, his ruby tongue darting around to catch every drop of juice. She felt a strange heaviness in her belly, and she pressed her thighs together uncomfortably, trying to make the bizarre feeling go away.


“Can you make more?” he asked eagerly.


“Of course,” Hermione replied swiftly, trying not to look at his stunning smile, “but you’ll have to bring me more supplies if you want to eat with me.”


The dragon nodded contentedly, and curled up on his couch. “Tell me a story,” he demanded imperiously, “One about an adventure.”


Hermione, a bit startled, nevertheless complied with relief. Thank goodness he doesn’t smile like that more often. I might start to forget that he isn’t human.


So the strange routine began.


She cooked for him, mended his clothes, told him stories, and tidied up the living space.


It was almost like she was his wife.


Nah.


Anyway, Hermione figured if she made herself useful, he would be more complacent, and wouldn’t eat her.


She wasn’t sure where he put all of that food every day, but then, she wasn’t sure of what he was either. She was alive, she was fed, she had a treasure trove of delights to explore… and the dragon, well, he pretty much ignored her. Which was a good thing, but deuced that she could figure out why.


It might not have unnerved her so much, but for one thing.


She would always fall asleep alone, but wake up with a warm spot where he had been.


000


“What are you called, woman?”


Hermione was startled by this intrusion into their daily routine. She was cooking their evening meal over the hearth in the deepening twilight, wondering idly if she should pay a visit to the hot springs or just fall asleep.


Usually the dragon would usually just stare at her insolently or ignore her as she did her evening chores, he typically never spoke. So she was caught completely off guard by the deep, soothing voice.


“Erhm,” Hermione quickly jerked around to find him less than a foot away. He was dressed haphazardly, as always, this time in a forest green silk robe with delicate gold filigree tracing intricate Celtic patterns up and down his body. The ivory skin of his chest peeked out between the folds of the robe, making Hermione flush.


His cat-like eyes peered into hers. She licked her lips nervously, and his eyes darted to her pink tongue. They flashed a hot steel-grey, and seemed to smolder furiously. He leaned closer, and his lips parted, sharp teeth gleamed…


“Hermione.”


The dragon blinked, taken aback.


“Hermione,” she repeated, “That’s my name.”


“Hermione,” the dragon repeated in his deep voice, drawing out the syllables with relish.


“Yes,” she repeated, still bothered by his large body so close to hers. He towered over her, making her feel small, delicate and helpless.


Not a good feeling when he hadn’t eaten yet.


She stepped away, turning her back to him- ostensibly to get the bread, but secretly trying to escape his disconcerting presence.


She heard a noise behind her, and tensed as tightly as a wound coil, her body stiff with adrenalin. Then she heard the soft rustle of cloth and the squeak of his couch, and the tension drained away from her in a rush, leaving her feeling strangely elated.


She turned with a bright smile to find his enigmatic gaze on her again.


“So,” she said brightly, “Have I ever told you the story about Sir Gawain and the Green Knight? Well, Sir Gawain was a knight in King Arthur’s court and one day…”


The dragon stretched, his muscles bunching and relaxing in turn as he settled in to the sound to Hermione’s soft voice, his low growl of pleasure made her shiver.


000


Hermione began to feel more and more comfortable with the uncommunicative creature. He didn’t talk back much, only when directly addressed, and sometimes not even then. So she played Scheherazade to the beast and told him stories. She told him tales about her life, silly fairy stories she heard as a child, legends of the ancients and stories of high adventure. She had always had a talent with words, so she didn’t mind. She thought he enjoyed it, sitting by the fire, soaking up its heat lazily, listening to a story before bed.


But it was hard to tell. Those half-lidded eyes could just as easily be thinking about how good she would taste.


He showed a keen intelligence when Hermione was able to drag him into a discussion, so she kept trying. He sometimes seemed like he wanted to speak, but something was holding him back.


Every so often, Hermione would forget his nature and chatter to him like he was her friend. But then she would turn and his eerie, beautiful, unblinking eyes would be fixed on her, watching her, waiting for… something.


Imagining what frightened the daylights out of her.


Sometimes, Hermione thought irritably, I wish he would just hurry up and eat me.


000


Flames rushed over the barren land, spreading quickly through the parched grasses of the fields.


Hermione wandered through her father’s lands, terrified. Where was everyone?


She sprinted towards the manor, and then stopped, her feet rooted to the ground in shock.


A dragon, his mouth rimmed with dark blood, was destroying her home.


A silver dragon.


Her dragon.


“Stop it!”


The dragon looked at her, then.


Empty eyes.


Inhuman.


Hermione fell to her knees, sobbing, paralyzed as the dragon turned away, uncaring, as it demonically tore into the house, ripping her home, her life, to shreds…


“Stop!” Hermione screamed until her throat was raw, wailing as her heart was breaking.


STOP!!!!


Hermione came to awareness slowly, and even then she wasn’t positively sure she wasn’t still dreaming. But this dream was much, much less terrifying.


In this dream, she wasn’t alone- there was someone holding her, softly whispering that it was only a dream, and that night fears pass.


“Stop this, hush.”


Murmuring quiet nonsense into her curls, the dragon ran soothing hands up and down her naked skin. Hermione clung to him, still dazed, turning her sweat-chilled body into his, and sighed at the masculine heat radiating off of his smooth skin.


Comforted immeasurably, Hermione once again fell into slumber, lulled into the land of dreams by the gentle hands of her captor.


000


Life went on as usual, and if Hermione stared at the dragon a little too long when she gave him his meal, or tried to stay awake as long as possible to feel him slip into bed next to her, it seemed to be of no consequence to the creature.


So when Hermione woke about two weeks later with no sign of her fearsome companion, she wasn’t surprised.


Shrugging, she slipped on the fresh purple brocade robe that was waiting for her and poured a cup of water from the crystal pitcher by the side of her bed. While sipping daintily, she gathered her things for a trip to the hot springs.


Last time I was there, there was the most wonderful smelling lilac soap, Hermione thought idly as she picked her way slowly around the huge piles of extraordinary objects, I wonder if there are invisible servants here, like in the fairy stories? Oh! Is that an Egyptian sarcophagus? I’ll have to remember where that is and investigate later. Living in a treasure-trove is marvelously fun!


Halfway there, she basked in the sun-spot momentarily, enjoying the warmth on her body.


Hearing the distinct beating of wings, Hermione turned her face to the opening, her eyes straining to see the unmistakable wink of silver in the sunlight.


“Best go start breakfast,” Hermione sighed, “Bathing can wait until the beast has had his belly filled.” Her lips quirked, “Not that he cares how I look anyway.”


She stood a moment more, until her eyes caught the graceful loops and swirls of dragon-flight. She started for the fire-pit, but something strange caught her eye.


Stopping, her instincts screaming, Hermione squinted at the bright blue sky. Something was off about the dragon, something…


“Black!” Hermione gasped, “The dragon is black!”


Horrified, Hermione frantically searched for a place to hide in the piles of treasure. Spotting the sarcophagus she was admiring earlier, she sprinted for it, hoping it was open and that there wasn’t a mummy in it.


Not that I have many options, Hermione thought grimly, I suppose I’d rather cozy up to a dead person than die myself.


Luckily, the golden lid to the sarcophagus was angled just enough that a small human could fit into the hole it created if they didn’t like breathing. With no hesitation at the creepy things that could be inside, Hermione wiggled in, her robe catching and tearing on the lapis inlay on the way in.


Her hips snagged, and she desperately scrabbled for some leverage to push herself in. Gripping the pharaoh’s snake-crown, she pushed down hard, and wiggled her legs frantically.


With a pop!, her arse landed hard in the coffin, sending a sharp pain up her back and down her legs. Gritting her teeth, she quickly slid in the rest of the way, and made sure she wasn’t visible to the outside.


Well. No mummy. That’s a plus. Although it might have cushioned my landing a bit. But there was something rotting in here. Hermione gagged. Recently.


Anxiously, she heard the loud sounds of giant wings flapping in the cave, and felt the reverberations in her skull as the black dragon landed with a graceful THUNK.


He must be transforming. Maybe when he sees that the silver dragon isn’t here, he’ll leave.


“I can smell you little human!”


Great.


She should have taken that bath after all.


She tried to calm her breathing, and make herself a small as possible, but the fear coursing through her system was making her hyperventilate. She knew that she wasn’t making a lot of noise, but her inhalations sounded as loud as trumpets in the still, tense air.


She heard him move around the room, muttering quietly to himself, and as he came to her, she had the breathless, insane hope that he wouldn’t find her…


“Ah-ha!”


The cover of the coffin was unceremoniously ripped off, as if it weighed less than one of Hermione’s pillows.


Hermione caught her breath.


He was gorgeous.


He had a perfectly sculpted face, high cheekbones, a strong jaw, a straight thin nose. His body was perfectly proportioned. The silver dragon was taller and more powerfully built, but this dragon had corded, lean muscle mass and they flexed in a mesmerizing dance under his polished ebony skin with every graceful movement.


And his eyes. His eyes were a molten gold, slanted exotically at the corners, with straight black brows slashing upwards on his face, making him look frighteningly fey.


A painting come to life, Hermione mused, fascinated. But he was almost too good looking, if there was such a thing. Hermione preferred the sharp, feral masculinity of her dragon, if only because he looked more like a man should, and less like the otherworldly creature he was.


She knew she must look a fright; her hair tangled and mussed, her color high and her robes disheveled and torn. Then again, these dragons didn’t seem to think much of modesty, so she might fit right in.


“Well, well. I see Draco has outdone himself, as usual.” The dragon grinned and offered his hand to pull her out of the casket.


When she was standing, his onyx eyes scrutinized her boldly, running over her from head to toe. Hermione flushed and looked at her feet.


“I had heard he had taken a Maiden, but Ginevra didn’t believe me.” He smiled gaily, “Wait until she hears about this!”


Seemingly satisfied with his assessment of her, the black dragon looked around jealously. “I always did love this horde. Do you think he’ll notice if I nab that beautiful little trinket over there? I do so love amber and emeralds, and it would match Ginevra’s eyes.”


Hermione, taken aback, peered at the ‘trinket’ in disbelief. It was a monstrous necklace that would cover a woman’s neck and chest, inlaid with row upon row of highly polished emeralds and bright amber. She said the first think that came to mind. “I think so. He always knows where everything is. Quite obsessive about it, really.”


“Pity.” He sighed dramatically and gestured to a group of mismatched furniture. “My name is Blaise. Sit and have a chat?”


“So,” the dark dragon purred as he sat on a plump ottoman, “Draco has taken a beautiful maiden. About time. But he always was a picky one about his treasures.”


“Draco?” Hermione said curiously as she sat on a gigantic Sultan’s throne.


“Uh, the dragon you’ve been living with for what smells like months?”


“Oh.” Hermione was stunned that her dragon had a name. She shouldn’t be, she supposed, but he had always seemed like such a wild creature, not civilized enough to be raised by parents who would name him.


“Do you know nothing about him?” Blaise asked his head cocked slightly.


Hermione shook her head, “He doesn’t speak much.”


He threw back his head and laughed uninhibitedly, startling Hermione.


After another few low chuckles, he finally seemed to get himself under control. “No, my dear maiden, he’s not known for speaking much. Growling, perhaps, but not speaking.”


Hermione sensed an opportunity in this strange creature. Here was a person who actually knew the man she lived with. As Hermione was essentially a practical girl at heart, she seized her courage and asked the question that was welling in her soul.


“Could you tell me more about him?”


Blaise looked at her for a moment before replying. “Well, Draco’s mum died when he was quite young, and his father mourned her for a long time, and still is, as far as I know. They spent most of their time in Dragon-Form while Draco was growing up. I’m not surprised that he hardly knows how to interact with a human.”


“Didn’t he interact with the other, uh, dragons?”


“Yes, but you see Draco is special in our world. There aren’t many silver dragons left, and until he was old enough to defend himself, he was kept in a safe haven to hide him.”


“Hide him?”


“From the slayers.”


“Oh.”


Hermione had heard about Dragon Slayers, of course. Who hadn’t heard of Harold Potter and his heroism against the Green Menace of York? Or how he saved the village of Stratford-Upon-Avon single-handedly from the Blue Destroyer? There was talk about getting him to come and save her village, but she supposed that he was too famous to come to her lonely corner of England.


How very different her life would have been if he had…


“… but by then the damage had already been done. He was completely without social skills and more dragon than human most of the time.”


“Erhm,” Hermione said, a bit hesitantly, “I don’t meant sound rude, but I was wondering… what exactly are you? Are you magical?”


The dark dragon smiled, “It’s alright my dear, and it’s only natural to…”


Suddenly, his smile fell away. He stiffened, looked at the sky, and grimaced.


“Shit.”


The great silver dragon dove into the cave, landing hard. His mouth spewed great blue flames, and his eyes were feral.


Hermione had thought he looked angry the day he had captured her, but she was wrong. Compared to this, he looked like he had been having the most joyful of frolics that day.


He turned his head and saw Blaise, and exploded in rage.


Hermione grimaced and covered her ears at his shrieks, but she moved fast, acting almost without thought.


“Draco!” She screamed loudly, trying to get his attention before there was a full-fledged dragon fight on her doorstep.


He hissed in warning, the diamond wreath around his head puffed out menacingly as he stared at Blaise sitting indolently amongst his treasures.


“He didn’t mean any harm,” Hermione said soothingly, “He was curious. But he should have asked your permission. He was wrong and will apologize.”


Draco reared back slightly, and looked at her for a long while. Finally he gave a short nod.


Blaise sat there, watching in fascination.


“Show him!” she hissed.


Blaise shot her a look, eyes wide with wonder before he knelt on the ground with his neck exposed.


“I am sorry to intrude on your domain. It will not happen again.”


Eyes still narrow, the silver dragon stared at Blaise for a long, tense moment. Finally, he sniffed in disgust, and twisted his head away. The silver smoke Hermione had come to recognize as a forerunner of his transformation poured out of his nostrils.


She ran and grabbed one of his favorite robes hanging carelessly on an ornate silver rack, and gave it to him hurriedly as he transformed. Knowing him, he would forget all about it and start yelling at Blaise naked.


Shrugging it on distractedly, the silver dragon kept his narrow focus on the intruder.


“Get out.”


“Draco, aren’t you going to introduce me to your maiden?”


“No.”


“Surely we’ve been friends long enough to deserve an introduction.”


“No.”


Blaise pouted, a strange expression on such a beautiful creature, “But Ginevra will be so disappointed.”


“She’ll live.”


“But…”


“Just leave!”


“All right,” Blaise rolled his eyes and then smiled wickedly, “I’ll come back when there isn’t so much sexual tension.”


Hermione’s eyes widened and Blaise laughed as dark smoke curled around him.


“Ciao!”


000


Draco watched Blaise leave, eyes intent. When he was out of range of whatever sense he used to monitor him, he imperceptibly relaxed.


Hermione stood next to him uncomfortably, not sure of what to say. She hoped he didn’t blame her for this whole debacle. She straightened her spine, ready to defend her actions.


He looked at her from the corner of his eyes and smirked slightly.


“Breakfast?”


Hermione breathed a small sigh of relief and replied, “I was just about to start.”


As Hermione bustled around the hearth, her logical mind whirling about this morning’s events. She knew that what Blaise said was important, but knew that she needed some deep thought to figure out what it meant.


She glanced up to see the dragon lying in the sunbeam, smiling slightly.


Draco, she thought, His name is Draco.


000

A/N: Sorry this took so long. As I am in medical school, and just got married last month, writing took the backseat for awhile. Also, I have not had access to a computer until now, so it was a pretty rough time. Can anyone say internet withdrawal? As always thanks to my beta Lorett for wading through my many errors. Also, I wanted to thank the folks on LJ for giving my creativity a kick in the butt! Many of the beautiful treasures used here were inspired by their ideas. Thanks especially to dmacabre, wildkitty27, and deemichelle for their help!