Hostage of War

A/N: A huge thank you to Softobsidian74 for alpha reading and feedback and to Sempra, for the excellent beta and all the hard work she put into this fic.

Conventus


He woke up to an aching back and a heavy leg draped over his knees. For a moment, Draco had no idea what had woken him, but then he saw the flames of the Floo dying down and a small parchment on the stone slab in front of the hearth.

Groggily he disentangled his body from Hermione’s sleep-heavy arms and legs and padded over to pick up the message. The plan of not sleeping had obviously not been successful.

Wake up!

The parchment stated in tall, bold letters.

And a little smaller underneath;

Good morning, son.

It was time.

He moved over to the bed and picked up his clothes and robes from where he had discarded them on the floor.

After a second of thought, he decided to forego his robes entirely and wear his cloak directly over his trousers and shirt. He might need to be able to move freely later on.

When he could no longer postpone waking her he reached out to shake her shoulder.

“Hey,” he said quietly, not really loud enough to wake her.

Hermione moved anyhow, looking bleary eyed and rumpled with her sleep-tousled hair and lines from creases in the bed linen marring her cheeks.

“Hey.”

He didn’t say anything for a while and she sat up, holding the fur bed spread to her body.

“It is time, isn’t it?”

He nodded and she stood slowly, not letting go of the bed spread. She looked down at something on the floor and then turned to Draco.

“Even if we take the risk and transfigure my night gown and house robe into something, it won’t be warm enough or even be enough material for anything decent.”

His forehead wrinkled.

“You could borrow my robes; I decided not to wear them today. Or... Wait a minute.”

He quickly walked to a large wooden chest at the foot of the bed and pushed the lid up.

She watched him disappearing halfway into the chest, rummaging around Merlin-knows-what.

“There we go!” Came his muffled exclamation from the coffer.

He emerged with what looked like a shapeless piece of blue linen and another darker, thicker one.

He threw it in her general direction, the garments, if that’s indeed what they were, landing on the bed in a messy pile.

“It’s a bit old-fashioned but it should keep you warm.”

When Hermione looked at the robes without comprehension, he encouraged her impatiently.

“Come on! The lighter one first, the darker one on top. Chop-chop!”

“Turn around.”

“What?”

“Turn around. Last night doesn’t change a thing. We’ve got broad daylight now and you have to turn around.”

Draco rolled his eyes and turned to face the table.

“I really think we have more important things to worry about then your modesty.”

“Says the man who woke me up after dressing!”

“Touché.”

There was some rustling of fabric and a few muttered words of frustration as she appeared to struggle into the unfamiliar clothes.

“Okay, you can turn back now.”

She was a vision of flowing blue robes and wild chestnut hair. The undertunic and sleeveless dress on top looked softer and more feminine on her than any of the flittery organza robes his mother had insisted upon.

He swallowed.

“Looks like something my great-aunt Cassiopeia might wear.” Although she will never make those robes look that good. “You will fit right in. Fashion does change, but not all that much. Nobody will notice that they’re a few hundred years old.”

He tried to sound cheerful and teasing.

Hermione’s eyes grew very large.

“Are you trying to tell me that these robes are from the 11th century?”

Draco shrugged.

“Probably not.”

Hermione relaxed.

“Oh. Good.”

She would have been horribly afraid to rip something that precious.

“Probably 12th century. After that, the family had moved out of here and lived at the manor.”

“What?” She screeched.

“Granger. You are a witch. Mending charms, conservation charms, anti-moth- charms... Stop fussing, we have to get going.”

Hermione let go of the hem of her sleeve and straightened.

“Nice to hear that you think I am a witch,” she mumbled but he could see fear behind her brave facade.

She walked over to him and put a hand on his arm so he could Apparate both of them out of the building.

Before he could turn on the spot, he was interrupted.

“Draco?”

He looked at her anxious face.

“It was not all that bad being a hostage of your family. Thank you.”

He smiled a bit.

“It was not all that bad having you as a hostage.”

To hell with broad daylight.

He leaned down and kissed her before she could object and only when they were both breathless and time was pressing, he let go of her mouth and vanished both of them from the homely room where his ancestors had set up home so long ago.


***


They held onto each other for several moments longer than necessary to regain their bearings after Apparating.

Draco had concentrated on the circle of standing stones in the isolation of the Aberdeenshire countryside. The anti-Apparition wards had kept them away from the immediate location as expected.

Open fields lay beautifully in the waning afternoon light.

No tree, shrub or building obscured the view in any way.

The werewolf must have been able to smell them from miles away. There was only a short, angry growl a split second before he pounced on the pair and made them fall to the muddy ground.

Claw-like hands with broken fingernails tore and scratched erratically at skin and clothes, trying to clear the way to sink teeth into flesh.

Breath, rancid with the odour of foul meat and congealed blood hit Draco’s face. His wand was trapped between his and the werewolf’s body. Determined not to let the beast win easily, Draco kept struggling against the weight on top of him staring into the blood-shot, glassy eyes above him.

The wolf opened his fangs wide and threw his head back to gain momentum for the bite.

Out of pure instinct, Draco closed his eyes and waited for the pain.

It never came.

The weight was still on him like a sack of potatoes, but the body was limp and still.

“That’s a life-debt repaid very quickly.”

Hermione helped to roll the dead wolf off of Draco and extended a hand to help him stand.

“Let’s try not to make this a habit.”

Draco kept her hand in his and gestured with his left toward a farm outbuilding maybe fifty metres away.

“Run.”

She gathered her robes and ran at his side, being slightly pulled along.

“Do you think there are more?”

Her voice was out of breath when they finally took shelter behind the wall of the farm shed.

“Without any doubt.” He carefully looked around the corner of the shed. No werewolves so far. “They are probably patrolling around the wards.”

Hermione bent down and started gathering a few items off the ground. Squatting down, she let some pebbles fall into the triangle of her skirt between her legs. She concentrated hard, biting her lip ferociously while waving her wand over the small pieces of stone.

A few moments later she handed Draco several small silver daggers.

Small enough to carry around comfortably, they were still big enough to do damage.

“This will not kill them, will it?” He asked, doubt evident in his voice.

“No, it’s not real silver, just transfigured metal; it does not have all the properties of silver. But it will hurt like hell and slow them down.”

“How good are you at throwing these?”

She blinked up at him.

“I have no idea. I will have to stab them, I reckon.”

The look in his eyes was unreadable.

“Try not to let them get close enough for stabbing in the first place.”

Her head snapped up and he was surprised to see a startled look on her face.

“Yes.” She swallowed visibly. “Yes, I will do my best.”

“Okay Granger.” He took her hand into his own. “We will run now. Have your wand ready and be vigilant.”

Her lips twitched.

“At all times, yes.”

He was a bit annoyed at her attempt at humour at this time but decided to ignore it.

“Come on, then. Let’s save the world.”

That’s what you usually do.

They ran.

He could feel her smaller hand in his and the loose earth of the field under his feet. Idly his mind supplied that it was interesting how his own harsh breathing and the wind drowned out any other sound that could alert him to an approaching werewolf. He tried to cast glances left and right but was afraid to miss rocks or any other obstacle that might be in the way of their run.

He could already see the shimmering dome of Muggle-repellent charms and notice me not spells.

Any tourist deciding to make his way to the Aquhorthies standing stones would suddenly change his mind and decide that the magnificent steles of pink granite were not as interesting as they had previously thought.

Through the spells he could see the wavering, dark shapes of the assembled Death Eaters.

A black, living mass filling the circle.

The absurdity of the situation hit him.

They were running from werewolves to the questionable safety of a summons of the Dark Lord.

He had not felt the pain of his Master calling him earlier, which told him that he was probably already regarded as a traitor.

Running from the lone wolf into the den of the pack.

A shout or rather a angry half-bark made it through the background noise of his own breathing, blood rushing through his ears, wind and his feet hitting the ground , the impact vibrating and resonating through his body.

He threw a sweeping curse over his shoulder in the general direction of the sound and was satisfied to hear a surprised yelp and the sound of a body hitting the ground.

Hermione behind him shouted something and another pained cry told him that she had taken out another werewolf guard. One very close to him and he still had not noticed.

The stone circle was much closer now, but his whole body was hurting. His lungs did not seem to be able to take in enough air to sustain him. One of his next steps would turn into a stumble, taking him down and Hermione with him.

One of the tall steles was very large and very near now. In a few seconds he would be close enough to touch the stone and break through the protective charms.

The dark forms within the circle had already taken their places in the formal circle. The inner circle literally taking up the front row, then several rings of Death Eaters of descending rank.

They would have to make it through at least 5 rows of human bodies.

He could already feel the ripple of magic radiating from the wards when he heard the gasp behind him.

It was quite a soft and quick sound, but so full of astonished hurt that it made his stomach drop.

Draco turned around and at the same time took a step in the direction they had come from, only to collide with the falling body of Hermione Granger.

No!

Not now, not when they were so close!

His heart felt torn from his chest.

Not ever.

Please.

Hermione was heavy in his arms, held upright by leaning against him. He could not cradle her and fight the attacker at once.

He could see that the werewolf had blue eyes.

Too close.

The wolf leapt.

The colliding body drove both of them into the stele a metre behind them. His skull gave a worrying sound and for a second, Draco only saw black blotches in between bright stars.

And then there was absence of claws on his neck and even the girl in his arms seemed much easier to hold up.

An anguished howl rang through the twilight. He could feel Hermione clutching his robes with her full weight, making his shoulder hurt where the fabric bit into him. When his vision cleared, he could see the werewolf twisting and turning on the ground, screaming in agony. The handle of a short silver dagger protruded from his abdomen. The werewolf’s hands were clawing at the sharp object only to withdraw again and again when the transfigured silver burned him.

He leaned against the stone behind him and looked into the drawn and pale face of the witch in his arms. Her skin was ashen and he could see a fine sheen of sweat forming.

“Can you walk?”

Speaking was obviously difficult so she merely inclined her head in a shaky nod.

“We really have to stop with the life debts.”

Her lips curled ever so minutely.

“Okay,” she breathed.

Draco pressed his lips to hers for one shocking moment and then flung both of them around the corner of the stone and through the wards.

Into the crowd of people that deemed them traitors.

After a few seconds of stunned confusion, the shouting and pushing and grappling for wands started.

Draco pulled and pushed Hermione past dumbfounded Death Eaters, who were not quick enough in their response to the unexpected intrusion.

He could already see the empty space in the middle of the circle in between the gap of two black-clad shoulders.

The hex hit him from the side and sliced through his personal shields. With his last shred of strength and willpower, he pushed Hermione through the gap and saw her stumble onto the grass where the Dark Lord was stood.

Then everything went black.

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