Merlin's Embrace

Title: Merlin’s Embrace

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling. I also do not own ‘The Mists of Avalon’ by Marion Zimmer Bradley, and ‘The History of the Kings of Britain’ by Geoffrey of Monmouth. Oh, and I think I was channeling Indiana Jones at the end there- I don’t own that either, George Lucas and Steven Speilberg do.

Summary: By a strange twist of fate, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy are induced to work together to find a fantastical treasure. Will they succeed, even as they are being perused by Hermione’s evil partner?

Authors Notes: Post-HBP humor is possible! *cue maniacal laughter* Bwahahahaha!! Um, I sort of stretched one of the requests, but I hope that LillithJ doesn’t mind. And forgive me for the liberty I take with dear old Geoffrey. That Merlin passage was so cracked I couldn’t resist taking it and using it for my own evil purposes. As always, thanks to my wonderful beta (name withheld for the moment- it might give me away!) who does such a wonderful job with all of my fiction.

000


“…One shall come in armour, and shall ride upon a flying serpent. He shall sit on his back with his naked body, and cast his right hand upon his tail. With his cry shall the seas be moved, and he shall strike terror into the second. The second shall then enter confederacy with the lion…”

-The Prophesy of Merlin by Geoffrey of Monmouth


000


Draco Malfoy was broke.


He sat sprawled out in front of the fireplace in the study of Malfoy Manor early one morning, still fully dressed from the night before. He nursed a glass of firewhiskey and contemplated his inevitable fate.


He was poor.


He would rather the Ministry had killed him.


After his Sixth Year, Draco made the wise decision to go into hiding in France with his relatives. After the Prodigal Harry Potter predictably killed Voldemort, the Wizarding population of England finally united and went to work on putting their world back together by eliminating their problems.


Draco was one of those problems.


Although he hadn’t minded leaving his cat-loving aunt, he did mind the large Auror who shoved him in Azkaban without a by-your-leave. He had rotted there for two excruciatingly long months until his trial yesterday. As he was about to be sentenced as one of the Dark Lord’s followers, even with all of the evidence to the contrary, wouldn’t you know that the Boy-Who-Freaking-Lived-Again-and-Again himself strode through the door, as if his very presence could swing the tribunal’s decision to Draco’s favor.


Fortunately for Draco, it did.


Unfortunately, it meant that he now owed Harry Bloody Potter a huge fucking favor.


That, however, was the least of his worries at the moment. The tribunal was able to accept Potty’s explanation that Draco was coerced into plotting the attack on Hogwarts that terrible night, but that didn’t mean that he was to get off scot-free. Instead, in their infinite wisdom, they decided to punish him in a much more dastardly manner.


They froze his funds for twenty years- essentially leaving him as poor as a Weasley in the meantime.


Draco slumped a little more in his chair, and rubbed his hands wearily over the day-old stubble on his jaw. The Wizengamot’s exact sentence was, “For misdeeds unbecoming to a wizard of your station, all of your assets will be frozen for twenty years. If, upon further review, we have found you to be exemplary in your conduct, they may be reinstated.”


Which meant nothing short of killing another Dark Lord would get the tribunal to unfreeze his funds. Lovely.


His mother had fainted at the trial, and his Aunt Andromeda had promised to take care of her until he could get the situation under control. For all he knew, his father had uncharacteristically fainted as well when he had found out how low the Malfoy name had fallen (Although it’s not proven that a Malfoy would actually allow himself to lie on the slimy stone floor of Azkaban).


Draco couldn’t blame him. The only thing that he had to his name, essentially, was an old, moldering house that would soon go to ruin without money to keep it up, and a bunch of house elves that refused to leave. He would be drawn and quartered before he sold the house that had been in his family for ten centuries, but he didn’t know how to raise the sort of money he would need for its upkeep either.


He might have asked his friends for help, if his pride could stand it, but whatever friends he had that weren’t residing in Azkaban had given him the cut after the sentence was past. Shallow, fickle bastards, Draco thought, as he viciously dug his fingernails into his palms, I’ll show them. I’ll dig myself out of this shit and nail their heads to the wall.


As he was contemplating the merits of slicing versus impaling, a small, ragged house elf appeared at his elbow. “Master Draco, there be a Miss Hermione Granger at the door. Shall I be showing her in?”


“What?”


The elf cleared its throat and began again. “Erhm, there be a Miss Hermione Grang…”


“Yes, yes. I heard you the first time. What does she want, you infernal creature?”


It squealed and trembled in utter terror. In a shaking voice, it hesitantly replied, “She wants… she wants to be speakings to you, Master Draco.”


Draco sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, as all of his earlier anger drained away to be replaced with bone-numbing fatigue. Granger? Here? He didn’t need her snotty, gloating presence in the one place where he could brood in peace.


He had always felt Granger was an irritating oddity in his life. She was a Mudblood, a creature he had been taught to ignore from birth that refused to be ignored. She was smart, strong, and thoroughly infuriating, and he didn’t feel like dealing with her right now.


“Show her away.”


The elf gulped, “Master… we be tryings this, but she wouldn’t have it. She… she threatened to give us clothes!”


Draco clenched his teeth in frustration, “Fine. Show her in and bring a tea service. I’ll see what she bloody wants then throw her out on her arse!”


The Elf gave a short bow and winked out of existence. Draco hurriedly applied a freshening charm to his appearance and gave his clothes a quick Scourgify. It wouldn’t do to look like a pauper begging on the streets even if he was one. Technically.


A few minutes later, a dashingly disheveled Draco Malfoy met Hermione Granger for the first time in three years. His first thought was that she had somehow beaten her hair into submission. Her small frame was no longer overwhelmed by her huge mass of curls. Instead of a frizzy mess, her dark, wild tresses flowed down her back. She was skinnier than he remembered, but still curvaceous enough to be pleasing. Her face had lost its baby fat, revealing high, haughty cheekbones and a stubborn jaw. His eyes leisurely took in the long neck and full lips, and then finally met her eyes.


They were glaring at him.


Draco smirked.


“Granger.”


“Malfoy.”


They stood, staring at each other, probing for weaknesses, for an imprecise length of time, minds whirling.


When Draco tore his eyes away, he noticed a steaming pot of tea on the table. As it seemed that she wasn’t going anywhere, he might as well get the torture over with. Draco gestured to a settee across from his tall, wing-backed leather chair. “Sit.”


As Hermione sat and gracefully poured a cup of tea, he noticed that she was clad in designer robes. They were modest and simple, but he knew that they had to cost a fortune. He felt a swift stab of hatred.


The Mudblood bitch doesn’t deserve it…


“I need your help.”


Draco, brought out of his sadistic musings by this unlikely statement, blinked in shock. “I am having tea with the Queen of Mudbloods. The surreal nature of this strange event must have altered the state of the universe, because I thought I just heard you say you needed my help.”


Granger took a sip of her tea and glared at him. “You heard correctly.”


“Call me insane, but that is possibly the most preposterous thing I have ever heard. As such, I can give you my answer now: no.”


Granger took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few moments. Her lips moved slightly, and her hands tightened on her teacup. However, when she opened them, she was again calm and collected. “Malfoy, I need your help to find Merlin’s treasure.”


“I’m sure you do. And Atlantis too.”


“I’m serious Malfoy!”


Draco looked at her askance, “Merlin has been dead since the Sixth Century AD. Since then, everyone from Elgbert the Wise to Albus Dumbledore has tried to find Merlin’s supposed treasure. Moreover, they all failed. Miserably. Why do you think you are any different?”


“Because I have something they didn’t.”


“Incredibly bushy hair?”


“No! Malfoy don’t be so rude. I am Muggleborn.”


“So? What does dirty blood have to do with anything?”


Hermione sighed heavily and put down her teacup. “Muggles have extensive literature about that time period as well. Mostly, it is centered upon the Muggle king that Merlin served, King Arthur. I know all of those stories as well as the Wizarding ones. They… complement and complete each other.”


“Alright.” Draco leaned back in his chair, face impassive. “I am supposed to believe that there is a fantastical treasure that no one has found yet because Merlin hid the clues in the Muggle world?”


“Yes.”


“And no one in fourteen centuries has thought of this.”


“I don’t believe so.”


“You don’t believe so…” Draco snorted and looked skeptical, but inwardly his mind was racing. Granger was obviously cracked. Yet… if there was the slightest chance she was right, this could be the miracle he was hoping for. All he needed was to find that treasure and his money would be back faster than the Weasel ate chocolate pie. “Say I believe you. Why the hell do you need me?”


“Erhm… I need some books in your library.”


Draco blinked, “Come again?”


“My partner and I found a reference to an obscure text written by one of your ancestors, who was one of the underwizards to Merlin. Unfortunately, if it does exist, we couldn’t find it anywhere else.”


“Why should I help you?”


As Draco watched in fascination, Hermione cool composure seemed to crack. Her eyes became unfocused, her hands twitched, and her jaw clenched and unclenched repeatedly. “I don’t resort to this often, but Malfoy... I am begging you. I am so close I can smell success. Taste it. Think of the knowledge that we could recover- the wisdom of Merlin finally unearthed.”


“Hold it Granger. That doesn’t sounds like a treasure to me.”


That seemed to snap Hermione back to her senses, as her dark eyes focused to glare at him. “You wouldn’t think so. But I’m sure there will be other knickknacks about that would capture the interest of such a menial mind as yours.”


“So… Again, I do not quite understand your point. Why would I want to help you?”


“Doesn’t the knowledge make it worth it to you?”


“Uh… no.”


“What about international fame and everlasting renown?”


“Getting closer.”


“What about the chance to free up your funds?”


Draco paused with his teacup halfway to his mouth. “How did you know about that?”


“Malfoy, everyone knows about that.”


“What about Potty and the Weasel? Why aren’t they tripping over themselves to go with you on this daring do-gooder adventure?”


Hermione shifted uncomfortably and looked out the window of Draco’s study. “They are busy running the government. I have never been as interested in being an Auror as those two. I would rather research- and because of that research I think I have found something important.”


“You said you had a partner. Where is this partner now?”


“We… had a falling out.”


“So why would you come to me?”


“I have searched every other avenue, every other course of action open to me. Do you really think that if I had any other recourse I would come to you? My most persistent schoolyard tormentor? Please, Malfoy, give me some credit.”


Draco smiled. “Alright, Granger, I’m in. But only under certain conditions…”


000


The Malfoy library held one of the largest private collections of privately owned volumes in the world. Centuries of collecting and hording information had paid off with a treasure trove of knowledge- only available to the Malfoy family, of course.


Draco used to come here often as a child and play quietly as his parents read by the hearth. He clamped down on his biting regret that his family would never know the same peace, the same comfort… all because he was too weak…


“… Malfoy? Are you even listening to me?”


Draco looked down at her, and bit back a snide comment about her not having anything worthy to say.


He did need the money, after all.


“Malfoy, where are the records of your ancestors?”


“Over here.”


Cloak swirling, his tall, elegant frame led them through the maze of shelves, cupboards and glass cabinets. His bright hair seemed to light the dimness, and Hermione, despite herself, felt a bit twitchy because of the dark atmosphere.


Suddenly, Draco stopped. “Here,” he said, opening a cabinet, “This is what you want.”


Hermione looked at the tall stack of books and sighed wearily. “Thanks Malfoy.”


They adjourned to the study, where they worked side by side at a long table. Draco grew bored with the antiquated language of the documents and decided to amuse himself by inspecting Granger.


As he leaned back to take in her form, he noted that she had filled out very decently. Her robs accentuated her shapely form, hugging her curving hips and waist, and almost flaunting her high, round breasts.


If she wasn’t a Mudblood and incredibly annoying, he definitely would have pursued her if there wasn’t this fucking money issue in the way.


Leaning over slightly, he wondered if he could see…


“Stop looking down my blouse, Malfoy.”


Draco huffed sullenly. “Nothing there to see anyway.”


As he contented himself to stare at the way the shape of her neck gracefully accentuated her shoulders, he realized she was talking to him.


“…there is a famous history in Muggle literature written by Geoffrey of Monmouth. He claims to get his information from an ‘old text.’ This information is discredited by Muggle historians, who believe that he either made up his information or simply wrote down folklore.”


Draco raised a brow, “So?”


“So, Malfoy, I think Merlin may have written the original.”


“Oh. Alright then, carry on.”


Hermione sent him a glare, but continued anyway. “It tells of a prophesy given by Merlin himself to a king that preceded Arthur. Most of it is rubbish, and I don’t usually hold with that foretelling nonsense. But what if it was written by Merlin as a guide?”


“You’re completely nutters, you know.”


“Perhaps,” Hermione huffed, but then she smirked, her eyes twinkling, “But you know what that makes you for following a madwoman? A complete moron.” She thrust a large book into his hands, “Here, educate yourself for once. Read it while I look for the book I need.”


Draco looked at the heavy tome with disinterest, but figured reading it was better than contemplating how poor he was now. With a shrug, he carefully flipped it open to the marked page. As he read, his eyebrows climbed higher and higher and his respect for Granger’s intelligence grew lower and lower.


“Have you actually read this nonsense? The author was on those muggle drugs.”


Hermione sighed and kept skimming her book, “Yes I have read it Malfoy, and I believe it to be deliberately obscure to all but a witch or a wizard.”


“Well, I’m a wizard, and I think it is a load of shit written by a lunatic who obviously had a suppressed homo-erotic fixation on lions, serpents, dragons and their riding on one another. It doesn’t tell you anything about this supposed treasure or where it is.”


“I don’t think it is supposed to- the treasure would be buried with him in his tomb, and all we need are the clues to get there.”


“The tomb was in the middle of the forest somewhere. Only that Nimue bint knew where it was, if I remember correctly.”


“The clues say otherwise,” Hermione tore her attention from the tome she was perusing to fix him with a glower, “His burial was planned- and Merlin left enough evidence in the Wizarding world to tantalize wizards for generations about the location of his tomb- but he left the most valuable clues in the Muggle world.”


“So… what did you need from me again?”


“Ah! I think I found it. Shut up for a moment, Malfoy.”


Draco sidled closer to her, trying to see the cause for her excitement.


Hermione muttered to herself, “Finally! Why didn’t I think of that before? It’s so obvious…”


To Draco, she stated, “…We need an object of incredible magical power to get into the tomb… a key, if you will.”


“Alright.” Draco said, looking incredibly skeptical, “Where is said key, and why hasn’t it been found yet? It has been over fourteen hundred years, in case you haven’t noticed.”


“Because it is hidden in plain sight, idiot.”


“Oh, sorry for not noticing that subtle point. And where exactly would one hide an artifact of Merlin’s in plain sight?”


Hermione raised an eyebrow.


“Oh, no. You’re kidding me. I am not going there.”


000


“Tell me again why we came here?”


“To find a priceless treasure that will save you from the horrific prospect of actually having to find honest work?”


“Right.”


Draco and Hermione walked in relative silence at the edge of a tiny village, punctuated only by the crunching of their thick boots in the snow and Draco’s whining. As planned, both of them dressed in heavy, nondescript winter clothing for the purpose of blending in. Draco actually thought Hermione looked rather cute, for a Mudblood, dressed in her downy parka, snug knit cap and muffler. As for himself, he dressed as plainly as possible. It would not do for a Malfoy to be seen… there.


“You realize that money is my only incentive for stepping foot in this foul place.”


“Oh, please- your ancestors once lived here!”


Draco winced. “Yes. But that was before… this.”


The Isle of Avalon was once a mystical place. Shrouded amidst the shadow of the Glastonbury Tor, a Wizarding community had existed in this place as far back as memory allowed. A haven for the witches and wizards of Great Britain in the Middle Ages, it was renowned as the birthplace of some of the most famous wizards and witches of all time. Merlin. Morgan le Fey. Nimue. Taliesin. Faust.


Even the Muggles could somehow sense the magic of this place. Many of them in the village still clung to the old ways, remembered the customs of the Wizards that had one walked amongst them unhindered.


Now, the famed Isle was something different altogether.


Early in the Eighteenth Century, wizards and witches started to travel. They came from around the globe to see the famed Isle.


Obviously, the residents noticed this.


Avalon, at that point, could have branched in two directions. One: they could try to suppress the tourists and keep the peaceful town as it was. Two: milk it for all it was worth.


Avalon chose money.


In a matter of a few years, the serene refuge of Merlin was unrecognizable. One end of the Wizarding portion of the village was filled with magical rides, thrills and games. The other was crammed full of shops selling everything from mediocre fashion to bogus maps leading to Merlin’s treasure horde.


And of course, there were the fortune tellers.


Lining the path to the top of the Tor were hundreds of ‘oracles’ and ‘mystics,’ claiming to have the keys to the future. And, for a very reasonable fee, they would use all of the powers of prophesy gifted to them by Merlin himself to predict the future for their customers.


Hermione and Draco walked to the edge of the Muggle village closest to the Tor. There was a ruined medieval wall lining the edge of the town, and Hermione sidled close to it, drawing out her wand. She tapped a small, crumbling brick twice, and the wall slowly opened.


Draco seemed to be hyperventilating.


“Breathe, Malfoy. It’s only a little public humiliation.”


Draco sneered at her as he stepped towards the opening. “That is easy for you to say. You don’t have any stake in Society.”


Hermione bared her teeth at him as they walked the gaudily painted streets, “True. Now smile Malfoy- you are supposed to be my date, remember?”


“In your dreams, Mudblood.”


Hermione cracked a bitter, too-wide smile. In a loud voice she cooed, “Oh Sweetums! That sounds like a Woooonderful idea! Let’s go on the Wicked Spinning Serpent, I know that’s your favorite!”


As Draco gave her a horrified look, she forcefully grabbed his hand and dragged his resisting body to the lurid sign depicting a very dizzy cobra.


Ten minutes later, a very pale Draco and a flushed Hermione emerged from the building.


Draco, on shaky limbs, walked very slowly towards a small café. It might even have been respectable, if it wasn’t painted a blinding bright pink.


As they went inside the cheerful restaurant, the searing warmth of the room hit Draco sideways, the change in air temperature causing his stomach to roil. He sat quickly at the nearest available table, and put his head in his hands.


Hermione sat across from him and smirked.


Unwinding her long, burgundy muffler, she signaled to someone outside Draco’s field of vision.


“Hullo!” cried a cheery male voice. “Welcome to The Mists of Avalon! How may I help you?”


Hermione gave him a gracious smile. “Yes. My friend here had a bit of a bad reaction to a ride, you see. Do you have any drinks that calm weak stomachs?” Hermione’s eyes twinkled evilly as she glanced at Draco. “I’ll just see a menu, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”


The man’s deep, disembodied voice sounded from somewhere over Draco’s left shoulder. “Of course, miss. I’ll get him one of our teas.”


Hermione’s eyes squinted thoughtfully at the man. “Sir, I must say… I love your costume!”


At this, Draco stiffened. Costume? Oh, no. Please tell me we aren’t in one of those…


Turning around slowly, Draco noticed what he, in his preoccupation with his ill stomach had overlooked before. Everyone in the restaurant was either a child under the age of ten, or was a parent of said child. Draco closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked at their waiter.


He was dressed as a Dragon.


In a strangely lucid moment, Draco wondered if he was supposed to represent the bastard offspring between a Hungarian Horntail and a Chinese Fireball. Clearly, he had stepped into hell.


As soon as the cracked server left with Hermione’s order, Draco turned to her and hissed, “We are leaving! I will not be seen in this place.”


Hermione leaned back in her chair and smiled smugly. “I already ordered my lunch. You are the one who picked this restaurant, anyway.”


“I was not under any condition to do so. And I was obviously under the influence of a spell, as I do not have a weak stomach!”


“Oh, I don’t know. About halfway through that ride, your face turned quite the interesting shade of green.”


“Clearly, it was your imagination. Now, we are leaving this horrific Bisney World hellhole, and going somewhere normal. I will not be molested by a lunatic in a costume.”


“Fine.” Hermione rose jerkily and re-wrapped herself in her heavy winter apparel. “I don’t see what the problem is. Hey! I have a great idea.”


Draco slanted a glance at her from the corner of his eyes as he straightened his jacket.


Hermione chuckled low and long, the laughter brightening her eyes to deep amber. “You could work here! With a name like Draco I’m sure you would get hired immediately!”


“We are leaving!”


000


“Come on, Malfoy, it was only a joke.”


Malfoy stalked down the avenue of Charlatans without even hearing their catcalls. How dare she? How dare she make fun of his situation? She didn’t know what this was like! That… that Mudblood had no idea of his degradation. He had failed his ancestors, his class, his family… everyone!


He would go down in history as the laughingstock of the Malfoys.


He had lost their great fortune, their position in society, and would most likely lose their home.


And the shame was unbearable.


A small voice in the back of his head whispered that it was ultimately his father’s fault that their family name was polluted, but he ignored it. His guilt would not be assuaged by laying the blame on another.


Draco’s lips twitched into a small, mirthless smile. Now isn’t the best time to be taking personal responsibility for the first time in my life. Thanks conscience, for waking up when I need you the least.


He watched Granger take carefully measured steps through the new-fallen snow as they walked down the busy street. It wasn’t really her fault, he supposed grudgingly. She was just the catalyst that ignited his guilt. She had never lived in a society as restricted as his, never had to eat, breathe, and sleep duty.


In a way, he had always envied her that.


Merlin… When had he stopped thinking of her as just another Mudblood and started thinking of her a woman?


Suddenly, he felt a small but firm hand grasp his sleeve. Swiftly reaching for his wand, he looked into his opponent’s eyes. Black, onyx pools stared hypnotically into his.


Draco froze.


Wand forgotten, he stared at the small old woman, transfixed. She smiled at his stunned expression, and spoke in a low, husky voice, “She was a woman to you when she touched you with her anger, with her compassion. She will be a woman to you again and again.”


Still immobilized, she touched Draco’s brow with one wizened finger. He felt a small jolt, as if he had been hit with a curse. She grinned widely, showing a gaping mouth with one black tooth. Draco’s mind drew back in horror, but his body was still under her sway.


“The Serpent has come, in confederacy with the Lion. Beware the second Serpent as he lies in wait, under the calm, grey sea. Only the courage of the beast will gain the advantage.”


The old woman lifted her hand from his jacket, and turned slowly to walk back to her booth, leaving behind an extremely confused Draco.


“… Draco? Draco, are you alright?”


Draco turned to Hermione to find her watching him with large, worried eyes. She rushed to him and it looked as if she was going to take his hand, but stopped herself from actually touching him. “It was like you were in a trance- you weren’t responding to anything I said. What did that old woman say to you?”


“Nothing.” Draco shook his head slightly to clear it. “Just gibberish.”


000


“Here we are!”


“Finally!” Draco panted, “You would think that the ancients would want their bloody temples within easy walking distance. We could have Apparated up here you know.”


“Yes, but wasn’t the exercise wonderful?”


“Perhaps to a peasant, but I am not used to such manual strain.”


Hermione smirked. “Oh, you poor delicate thing. Why don’t you go home to Mummy and let the grownups do all of the real work.”


Draco glared at her, but said nothing.


The temple of Avalon was perched high upon the Glastonbury Tor. A pain to keep from the Muggles, but incredibly important for historical purposes, the temple was equipped with the most advanced Muggle befuddlement and misdirection wards.


As Hermione and Draco approached, there were only two other tourist groups visiting the temple. Not a large edifice, it was impressive nonetheless. Hewn out of rough stone, it exuded powerful magical currents. There were no silly rides here, no games or stores. There was something sacred about the building that people sensed, and did not disturb.


Draco felt the magic pull him, caress him, and soothe him. As if in a trance, his feet carried him into the building.


Inside, there was a simple stone altar inside a circle of tall standing stones. The angle of the cold winter sun was such that it almost directly hit the center of the altar, giving the room a charged, vibrant feel.


There were others in the room, so Hermione and Draco did not speak. Instead, they wandered, looking at the ancient petroglyphs of people long dead.


Hermione stopped suddenly, and then spoke quietly, in a low voice that didn’t carry. “We need to wait for all of the tourists to leave before we can accomplish what we need to do.”


“Which is?”


“Weren’t you listening when I explained your ancestor’s records at Malfoy Manor?”


Draco thought of his preoccupation that day, and smiled wickedly at her. Giving her body a slow once over with his eyes, he spoke lowly, “No, I can honestly say I didn’t.”


Hermione rolled her eyes, “Honestly Malfoy!”


Draco just shrugged, unconcerned.


“Your ancestor’s records were incomplete, but with the information that I have already gained, I think I can figure out what we need to do. They provided the location, and the Muggle records will provide the means.”


Draco snorted. “Yes, I’m sure. And I will soon become fantastically wealthy again, and you will somehow become a real woman.”


“Don’t be rude!” Hermione’s lips compressed tightly in a stern line of disapproval, “This will work. I know it.”


Draco raised a platinum brow, but wisely stayed silent.


Soon, the two groups of tourists were marching down the Tor back towards the village.


Hermione quickly turned to Draco and gestured for him to follow her to the altar.


“Alright Malfoy, it seems that we have a small window of opportunity for this to work. Let’s get on with it shall we?”


Draco cocked his head to the side and looked at her as if she was daft. “May I ask what exactly ‘it’ is?”


Hermione raised one slender arm and pointed towards the petroglyph she had been inspecting so intently.


Etched into the stone was an ancient rendering of a lion and a serpent. Yet they were not locked into eternal combat, as Draco expected.


They were embracing.


In a pool of light, the serpent twined around the lion protectively, and they stood enthralled with each other forever.


“Come here, you stupid man!”


Hermione snagged his shirt, and tugged him towards her, into the sunlight that was now directly upon the altar.


Framed in radiance, Draco noticed that her dark hair glistened with highlights of cherry and mahogany. Her skin glowed a pale peach, and her dark eyes gleamed with an inner fire of their own.


Lost in his musings, he barely noticed when Hermione’s soft arms wound around him.


He had missed the sensation of touch. He had not known how long it had been since he had any form of simple human contact until this moment. She seemed so small and fragile next to his larger body, and a sudden surge of protectiveness washed through him as she cuddled her head into the muscles of his chest. Her scent engulfed him, surrounded him, and intoxicated him.


Draco’s arms, of their own violation, clasped her close to his body, sheltering her, protecting her.


As they stood in the ancient temple, enemies locked in a fierce embrace, the magical currents around the temple began to stir, to coalesce. Eyes tightly shut, the two felt these magical currents run through their bodies, as like lightening rods they called the bolts of magical energy to them, through them.


Waiting out the storm, the two held each other close.


When the magical maelstrom cleared, the room returned to its original state, except for one thing.


Upon the altar lay two dowsing rods.


Hermione, still within their tight embrace, was the first to notice them.


Her eyes widened, and she looked at Draco in shock. “It… worked. Merlin, it worked!”


Impulsively, her small hands cupped Draco’s shocked face and her lips caressed his for the briefest instant.


Screaming in joy, she danced to the altar to collect the dowsing rods, leaving a stunned Draco behind.


000


As they left the temple, they were almost amiable. Sharing their triumph, Hermione was chattering about their next step, and Draco was smiling and teasing her about her know-it-all ways.


Clutching the rods to her chest, Hermione grinned up at Draco, “I need to consult a few books, but I am almost certain as to our next step.”


“You do that, Granger.” Draco surveyed the frosted landscape with content eyes. This crazed scheme might actually work. He might be able to salvage his family’s honor…


Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a shadow move in the forest.


“Diffindo!”


Intense pain shot through his right side, as the curse brushed him.


He screamed in agony, slipping upon the ice and jarring his wand loose.


Hermione’s face was frozen in a caricature of horror as he fell. As he hit the ground with a harsh smack, she was suddenly galvanized into action. Shoving the dowsing rods securely into her coat, she whipped out her wand to face the intruder.


Stepping in front of Draco’s prone form confidently, she assumed a dueling stance. Into the thin air she shouted, “Show yourself, coward! Face me!”


“I think not, Miss Granger.”


Draco saw, through pained eyes, that Hermione noticeably paled at the sound of that cool, silky voice. Nevertheless, she did not tremble, she did not falter as the unknown man hurled a curse at her.


“Protego!”


As she struggled to hold the shield under the weight of the heavy curse, Hermione glanced back at Draco and yelled, “Get your wand and get us out of here!”


Suddenly, the shield failed.


Caught off guard, Hermione threw herself onto the hard ice just as a curse was launched in the vicinity of where her head used to be. She clenched her teeth against the pain, and glared at their attacker.


“Blaise! Please, stop this!”


Draco looked at her in shock, before he grabbed her by the waist and Apparated, holding onto her so tightly it seemed that they were one flesh.


As they lay panting on the cool marble floor of the foyer of Malfoy Manor, Draco and Hermione took a moment to assess their injuries.


Satisfied that all of his limbs were intact, Draco leveled Hermione with a death glare.


“Is there something you forgot to tell me Granger?”


000