Prompt 6 - Mecca - A Wizard's Pilgrimage - ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikespetslayer - Ha
Aug. 17th, 2006 07:43 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tamingthemuseOMG, I'm early this week (posting before Saturday)!
Title: A Wizard's Pilgrimage
Author:spikespetslayer
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Warnings: Betrayal, lies, religious references
Summary: Five years after the Final Battle, Hermione is still chasing Deatheaters, and one Draco Malfoy, to the ends of the earth and back.
A Wizard’s Pilgrimage
Underneath the burka, Hermione was dying. She never realized that the Saudi Peninsula was so damned hot, especially in the early part of September; her job wasn’t to question the assignment, only to fulfill it. Still, why she had to wear this damn cover-up she would never understand. After all, she wasn’t Muslim, she was a British citizen.
They had given her the excuse about pilgrimages and Ramadan and undercover secrecy, but she knew it for what it was. They didn’t want her to get caught up in the politics that were rife in the streets. Right now, a Caucasian woman, no matter her citizenship, was liable to be accosted and taken hostage because of the color of her skin.
So she wore the burka and changed her skin color every morning. She only went out with her partner who also dressed in a burka despite his sex. She kept to the dietary laws and dropped to her knees at the behest of the muezzin, and she waited to find the fugitive who was supposedly making the pilgrimage to Mecca like all those others staying in this Allah-forsaken desert in the middle of the hottest September in history.
In the huge crowd she happened to catch a glimpse of white blond hair and a black cloak and she pulled excitedly on Harry's arm. “I think I see him.”
Harry turned to look through the lace of his eyehole in the direction she had indicated. “It looks like the back of him. Think that you can get him to turn around?”
Hermione shrugged and set her will, eyes narrowed and concentrating hard. She was good at compulsions, hence her assignment for this retrieval; somehow she had developed a natural talent for making people do whatever she wanted them to, even those accomplished with Occlumens and Legilemens. She could even make Snape dance like a ballerina, much to his dismay.
Jerking like a puppet on a string, he turned and looked directly at her. She knew that he couldn’t see her or tell who she was, but she was glad she was wearing the burka after all, if only to hide her face from Draco Malfoy.
Harry gasped and pulled at her arm. “Hermione, we have to get out of here. He’s coming this way!”
She was pinned in place by the steel of his stare as he moved quickly through the throng, pushing his way to her side. Harry hadn’t deserted her but was standing a way off, ready to come to her assistance if she required it but allowing her to make the call. She waited by the vendor’s booth for Malfoy to make his move, but as he drew closer to her she realized that he was just traveling in her general direction. He didn’t know where she was, only that she was there somewhere. He also knew better than to accost a woman in the middle of the market; such an offense could be punished with death and if Malfoy was anything, he was supreme in his need for self-preservation.
He stopped only inches from her, his eyes narrowed and searching for the soft touch that had brushed against his mind. She could smell his aftershave and see the light stubble caressing his lightly tanned skin. The muscles clenched and unclenched in his jawbone as he looked around until finally he turned away from her. She casually moved further away from the stall until she was nearly to Harry's position around the side.
Spinning on his heel, he headed toward his hotel. She exhaled, unaware that she’d been holding her breath until the burning in her lungs was second nature.
Hermione squealed when Harry grabbed her forearm. “It was him,” he stated flatly, and Hermione gave him a stiff nod.
“It was him. We’ll get him tonight.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dressed in unfamiliar European clothes, she made her way to his room without Harry as a backup. She didn’t need Harry to question her loyalties or motives; this was her arrest and he wasn’t going to bugger it up like he had in the United States. No, this time she would bag her man, one way or the other.
Room 666—how fitting, for the man who had bedeviled her and made her life a living hell since she was eleven years old. She tapped on the door with her fingernails, sounding much like a cat scratching. The charms that she’d used would be wearing off soon and she could get down to arresting him eventually; until then she would listen to his prattle and do whatever he called the girls to his room to do. She had asked and received giggles and veiled comments in reply.
He opened the door, looking as stunning as he always had. He still had white blond hair, worn slightly longer now than at Hogwarts, no change in the steely blue-gray eyes that seemed to see through her to her soul. She wondered if he could actually see through the charms when he reached out to pull her inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
She looked at him with wide eyes, charmed blue for the moment. He looked down at her from his impressive height, nearly a head taller than her, and almost sneered in her face. “What would you know? They have a new one. Bully for me, I suppose. Did they tell you what I require?”
She mutely shook her head and he sighed, running his hand through his hair. She looked at the bare left arm, white and pure without a hint of the Dark Mark. “All I want you to do is listen. Listen, be attentive, and call me Draco. Can you do that?”
She nodded and he took her arm gently, leading her to the couch. Looking around the room, she noticed that it was an exact replica to the Slytherin common room at Hogwarts, which shocked her to the core. Five years had flown by and he was still living in the past? This wasn’t right—this wasn’t the picture that she’d painted of Draco Malfoy in her mind.
He sat her down on the couch and put his head in her lap, closing his eyes. She couldn’t even imagine what he was doing until he started to speak to her, then the words that came out of his mouth numbed her throat and silenced her more effectively than a charm.
“Merlin, Hermione, you will never know how much I miss school. I know we never got along in school, but I did what I had to do to protect anyone that I cared about from my father, and that included you. Surprising, huh? I never told you how I felt because it would have endangered you, more than you know. Even with Occlumens, my father always knew how to get my secrets out of me—guess it was the well-placed Cruciatus curse that did it, or maybe it was just the fact that he knew me better than I knew myself. That’s why I always called you mudblood and slag, because I knew that if he ever found out that I had any feelings for you at all your life would be forfeit.”
He shifted in her lap and she found her hand close to his head. Her fingers drifted to his hair and sifted through the white silken strands and he sighed contentedly. “I dream of you all the time, do you know that? I dream that you’re following me, looking for me. I thought that I saw you once in San Francisco but it was only that berk Potter trying to capture me and take me back to my father. He told me that you had married the Weasel. Said you would never even think of having a relationship with a Deatheater, even though I never took the Dark Mark and refused to join the ranks.” He grabbed her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. “I still got away from him, no matter how much what he said hurt me. That was the only time I’ve ever cried over you, though.”
Hermione could feel the charms weakening. Her hair was lengthening and frizzing up and turning back to her original color. She knew that her eyes had to be back to the muddy brown they’d always been and prayed that he wouldn’t open his eyes to see her.
Glancing down at him, she was glad to see his eyes still closed. She wondered though, why would Harry lie to him? Harry knew how she felt—they had cried into their cups enough over their lost crushes. More important, why did Draco think that Harry was there to take him back to Lucius? This interview was raising more questions than it answered and she didn’t like that type of interview at all.
Stilling her mind, she went back to listening to the ramblings of a fugitive.
He still held onto her hand, now pressed against the smooth skin of his cheek. “I’ve been such a fool, Hermione. Such a fool to think that I could ever forget you. Every time that I close my eyes, I see you at the Yule ball in that dress, your hair done up and your eyes sparkling. You actually looked happy. I used to wish you would smile at me like that. I used to wish…oh, but that’s not important now, is it? Wishes can’t come true, no matter how hard you try.”
He turned on his side and faced away from her, staring at the fire that gave off no heat. “I’ve apologized to you every night, to every whore that they’ve sent to my room, and I still feel empty. I thought that if I did, I would feel some peace at some point, but peace escapes me like I elude the Aurors. I guess that this is it, then. I’m heading back to England and turning myself over to the Ministry so they can either punish me or return me to the bosom of my family, so to speak.”
“Draco, no!” She spoke without thinking, breathless and horrified, and something in her tone made him look up at her suddenly. Shrugging, he turned back to the fire and stared into its depths.
“Now I even think that I see you in the girls that they send. Sad, isn’t it?”
“Only if it isn’t real,” Hermione said. “But I’m real, aren’t I? You feel my leg under your head, feel my hand on your side, and you still don’t believe that I’m here?”
He sat up suddenly and grabbed for her wrists. She let him take hold of her, happy to see passion instead of resignation in his face. Draco squinted and brought his face close to hers, so close she could smell the oranges he’d eaten after supper. “You’re real,” he breathed, and his words danced across her skin with a whisper of air.
“Very real, I assure you.”
His thumbs caressed the inner parts of her wrists and she wanted to jerk her arms away but left them in his grasp. “Why are you here?” he finally asked.
“I’m an Auror. You were my assignment.” She shrugged. “I’m supposed to take you back to the Ministry, but now there are too many questions in my mind to do it without answers.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he sat back on his heels, surveying her where she sat at the corner of the couch. “What questions?”
She stood and began to pace—she thought much clearer when she paced. “Why Harry would tell you that I married a Weasley, why you would think that we would take you back to your father, why he would lie to you about…why he said that about me in San Francisco. Why you would feel the need to apologize to me for anything. Why you pretend that…well, that doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
“You never received the diary or the letters, did you?”
His quiet question made her stop pacing and turn to look at him. “What diary? What letters?”
Draco’s fists clenched and relaxed on his knees. He took a deep breath and motioned her to a seat, waiting patiently for her to get comfortable. She tucked her legs underneath her and smoothed her dress before turning to look at him. His face was relaxed and open and he almost looked happy, even through his anger.
Without looking at her, he started to speak. “When I left England, I sent you a diary from my years at Hogwarts. It was thick enough to contain all six years that I was there, from the beginning to the moment that I…that Snape killed Dumbledore. I carried it with me at all times, jotting down things that I thought were important enough to remember and…other things. Dreams. Fantasies. Private things. I owled it to you right after we ran, hoping that you would read it and understand.”
He turned to look at her and his eyes were glistening, with what emotion she couldn’t tell. “I also sent you letters. Nothing about where we were hiding, but…just little things. Things that reminded me of you, what I’d lost when I had done…when I had completed the mission that Voldemort had set out for me.”
“Getting the Deatheaters into the school.”
“Yes. Protecting my mother. Saving us both.”
“You and your mother?”
He clenched his jaw and she could feel the anger burning on the air. “No, you and me.”
“Me? Why would you try and save me?” she squeaked.
He lunged at her and pinned her beneath his lanky yet muscular form. “Why wouldn’t I try and save you? You were my reason for…you were what held me together. Kept me sane. Kept me from slitting my wrists. Didn’t Myrtle ever talk to you? She promised that she would.”
His face was so close to hers that she could see the blue specks that danced in his eyes. She didn’t know he had any blue in his eyes before. “Nobody said a word. Not Myrtle, not Harry, nobody in the Ministry. Never a word about you or anything about you having any feelings besides…the usual.”
He sat back again suddenly and she felt bereft. He looked crushed. “No, I don’t suppose they would, now would they? Keep Granger on her path of single-minded need for capture and arrest—that’s what you do best, according to the Daily Prophet. Capture and arrest Deatheaters.”
He stood swiftly and caught her arm, dragging her off the couch and over to the door before she could speak. “Maybe you need to go ask Potter about the diary and letters. I’ll wait right here.”
“How do I know you won’t be gone?” she asked breathlessly, and was surprised to see him throw his head back and laugh.
“Do you really think that I can leave now, Hermione? Go. Ask Harry, then come back to me.”
He shoved her out of the door and into the hallway before she could ask any more questions.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione tapped on Harry's door and he opened it quickly, pulling her inside. “You shouldn’t be in the hall without your burka, Hermione. Remember, Mecca is a holy city for the Muslims and outsiders are not allowed.”
Hermione tried to look properly castigated. “I forgot, Harry. I’ll borrow yours when I leave. I’m getting ready to go to Malfoy's room and arrest him. Is there anything that I should know before I go?”
“I’ll go do it, Hermione,” he said hastily. She could see the beads of sweat that suddenly popped out on his forehead and the way his eyes shifted away from her all of a sudden.
“No, Harry, he’s my arrest. You’re not going to screw this up for me again like you did in San Francisco. Now I’ll ask again—is there anything that I should know before I go? Anything that was said the last time we were tracking him when you lost him? Anything the Ministry might be hiding from me?”
Harry licked his lips and stammered, “N-no, Hermione, there’s nothing.”
She had never done so before, but she did so now. She pulled her wand out of her thigh-holster and held it beneath his chin, eyes narrow and lips set in a thin line. “Why do I not believe you, Harry? There is something, isn’t there?”
“H-Hermione, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are you holding me at wand-point?”
Her head was spinning with the suspicion of deception from her oldest living friend and instead of trusting him to tell her the truth, she decided that more drastic measures should be taken. “Legilemens!” she shouted, and Harry fell to the floor with the force of her spell. He couldn’t twist his way out of it, however, and she was able to see into his memories—and was horrified by what she saw.
Images of him beating Malfoy to a bloody pulp in a hotel room in San Francisco, taunting him and telling him to run before they turned him over to Lucius for punishment…
Images of a diary as thick as Hogwarts: A History, filled with her name and thoughts of her…
Images of letters that had been intercepted and plots to keep her from Draco indefinitely…
She backed away from Harry and broke the connection between them, betrayal clearly written on her features. “You hid all that from me? His feelings, his diary, his letters? Why, Harry?”
Harry got to his feet and screamed into her face. “He’s a criminal, Hermione! He—he killed Dumbledore! Hurt you for years! You don’t belong with him, you belong with me! You’re mine!”
She backed away from him, wand still at the ready. “Accio diary! Accio letters!” They whirled out of the bedroom from their hiding place and into her waiting hands. She gave Harry the saddest look he’d ever seen on her face. “I could never belong to you, Harry. I thought we were friends. I thought I could trust you. I thought you trusted me. I was wrong all the way around, wasn’t I?” Backing to the door, she shook her head. “Partners should trust each other, shouldn’t they? I’m asking for reassignment when I get back to England. Don’t contact me again.”
Harry fell to his knees. “I was trying to protect you, Hermione. Don’t do this. I beg you, don’t do this.”
She shook her head, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. “I will do what I must, Harry. If it means arresting him, then so be it. But if it means that…well, I suppose that you know, since you’ve read the letters and I haven’t. Goodbye Harry.”
Her name was the last word she heard from him before she closed the door behind her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She packed quickly and shrunk her things to pocket size before she headed back to room 666. The diary and letters were safe in her trunk, locked behind binding spells that only she could break. The door opened as she knocked and she pushed it wider, holding her breath as she saw the room looked like any other hotel room done up in cream and white.
She closed the door behind her and walked from the sitting room to the open bedroom door to find Draco Malfoy sitting on the bed, waiting for her patiently. He looked up at her with expectant eyes and she sat down on the bed next to him.
Before he could speak, she held up her hand. “I haven’t read the letters yet, or the diary. I did take a peek into Harry's mind, and most everything that he told you in San Francisco was a lie. I never married a Weasley, because Ron died in the last battle. Lucius is dead too. Narcissa is still in St. Mungo’s on the incurable ward.” She watched his shoulders sag and tucked her arm around him. “I also know that he beat you to within an inch of your life and let you go. That surprised me. I never thought of Harry as being particularly violent.”
She stood and surveyed the room. “Where are your things?”
“Packed. Waiting for you.” He pulled his trunk out of his pocket to show her. “Why? Are we going back to England?”
“Can you still apparate?”
Draco nodded. “Where are we going, then?”
“Someplace cooler than Saudi Arabia,” she said airily, then held out her hand. “Do you trust me?” she asked.
Draco nodded. “I always have, Hermione.”
“We’ll go to my cottage, then. It’s Unplottable, and I have several very strong wards around it that are keyed to me alone. Maybe I can catch up on my reading and you can stop running for a while, huh?”
He caught her hand in his and she marveled at how well they fit together. “I would like to stop running. Are you sure?”
Hermione smiled up at him. “Well, not completely until I read what you wrote, but sure enough for now.” She brushed her hand across his cheek and frowned. “Why did you come to Mecca of all places, Draco?”
He pressed her hand to his face, then turned his head to kiss the palm reverently. “There’s a superstition that if you go to Mecca with a specific wish in your heart it will come true. Some wish for riches, some for spiritual guidance.”
“What did you wish for?”
“I wished for you.”
Title: A Wizard's Pilgrimage
Author:
spikespetslayerFandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Warnings: Betrayal, lies, religious references
Summary: Five years after the Final Battle, Hermione is still chasing Deatheaters, and one Draco Malfoy, to the ends of the earth and back.
A Wizard’s Pilgrimage
Underneath the burka, Hermione was dying. She never realized that the Saudi Peninsula was so damned hot, especially in the early part of September; her job wasn’t to question the assignment, only to fulfill it. Still, why she had to wear this damn cover-up she would never understand. After all, she wasn’t Muslim, she was a British citizen.
They had given her the excuse about pilgrimages and Ramadan and undercover secrecy, but she knew it for what it was. They didn’t want her to get caught up in the politics that were rife in the streets. Right now, a Caucasian woman, no matter her citizenship, was liable to be accosted and taken hostage because of the color of her skin.
So she wore the burka and changed her skin color every morning. She only went out with her partner who also dressed in a burka despite his sex. She kept to the dietary laws and dropped to her knees at the behest of the muezzin, and she waited to find the fugitive who was supposedly making the pilgrimage to Mecca like all those others staying in this Allah-forsaken desert in the middle of the hottest September in history.
In the huge crowd she happened to catch a glimpse of white blond hair and a black cloak and she pulled excitedly on Harry's arm. “I think I see him.”
Harry turned to look through the lace of his eyehole in the direction she had indicated. “It looks like the back of him. Think that you can get him to turn around?”
Hermione shrugged and set her will, eyes narrowed and concentrating hard. She was good at compulsions, hence her assignment for this retrieval; somehow she had developed a natural talent for making people do whatever she wanted them to, even those accomplished with Occlumens and Legilemens. She could even make Snape dance like a ballerina, much to his dismay.
Jerking like a puppet on a string, he turned and looked directly at her. She knew that he couldn’t see her or tell who she was, but she was glad she was wearing the burka after all, if only to hide her face from Draco Malfoy.
Harry gasped and pulled at her arm. “Hermione, we have to get out of here. He’s coming this way!”
She was pinned in place by the steel of his stare as he moved quickly through the throng, pushing his way to her side. Harry hadn’t deserted her but was standing a way off, ready to come to her assistance if she required it but allowing her to make the call. She waited by the vendor’s booth for Malfoy to make his move, but as he drew closer to her she realized that he was just traveling in her general direction. He didn’t know where she was, only that she was there somewhere. He also knew better than to accost a woman in the middle of the market; such an offense could be punished with death and if Malfoy was anything, he was supreme in his need for self-preservation.
He stopped only inches from her, his eyes narrowed and searching for the soft touch that had brushed against his mind. She could smell his aftershave and see the light stubble caressing his lightly tanned skin. The muscles clenched and unclenched in his jawbone as he looked around until finally he turned away from her. She casually moved further away from the stall until she was nearly to Harry's position around the side.
Spinning on his heel, he headed toward his hotel. She exhaled, unaware that she’d been holding her breath until the burning in her lungs was second nature.
Hermione squealed when Harry grabbed her forearm. “It was him,” he stated flatly, and Hermione gave him a stiff nod.
“It was him. We’ll get him tonight.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dressed in unfamiliar European clothes, she made her way to his room without Harry as a backup. She didn’t need Harry to question her loyalties or motives; this was her arrest and he wasn’t going to bugger it up like he had in the United States. No, this time she would bag her man, one way or the other.
Room 666—how fitting, for the man who had bedeviled her and made her life a living hell since she was eleven years old. She tapped on the door with her fingernails, sounding much like a cat scratching. The charms that she’d used would be wearing off soon and she could get down to arresting him eventually; until then she would listen to his prattle and do whatever he called the girls to his room to do. She had asked and received giggles and veiled comments in reply.
He opened the door, looking as stunning as he always had. He still had white blond hair, worn slightly longer now than at Hogwarts, no change in the steely blue-gray eyes that seemed to see through her to her soul. She wondered if he could actually see through the charms when he reached out to pull her inside, closing the door firmly behind her.
She looked at him with wide eyes, charmed blue for the moment. He looked down at her from his impressive height, nearly a head taller than her, and almost sneered in her face. “What would you know? They have a new one. Bully for me, I suppose. Did they tell you what I require?”
She mutely shook her head and he sighed, running his hand through his hair. She looked at the bare left arm, white and pure without a hint of the Dark Mark. “All I want you to do is listen. Listen, be attentive, and call me Draco. Can you do that?”
She nodded and he took her arm gently, leading her to the couch. Looking around the room, she noticed that it was an exact replica to the Slytherin common room at Hogwarts, which shocked her to the core. Five years had flown by and he was still living in the past? This wasn’t right—this wasn’t the picture that she’d painted of Draco Malfoy in her mind.
He sat her down on the couch and put his head in her lap, closing his eyes. She couldn’t even imagine what he was doing until he started to speak to her, then the words that came out of his mouth numbed her throat and silenced her more effectively than a charm.
“Merlin, Hermione, you will never know how much I miss school. I know we never got along in school, but I did what I had to do to protect anyone that I cared about from my father, and that included you. Surprising, huh? I never told you how I felt because it would have endangered you, more than you know. Even with Occlumens, my father always knew how to get my secrets out of me—guess it was the well-placed Cruciatus curse that did it, or maybe it was just the fact that he knew me better than I knew myself. That’s why I always called you mudblood and slag, because I knew that if he ever found out that I had any feelings for you at all your life would be forfeit.”
He shifted in her lap and she found her hand close to his head. Her fingers drifted to his hair and sifted through the white silken strands and he sighed contentedly. “I dream of you all the time, do you know that? I dream that you’re following me, looking for me. I thought that I saw you once in San Francisco but it was only that berk Potter trying to capture me and take me back to my father. He told me that you had married the Weasel. Said you would never even think of having a relationship with a Deatheater, even though I never took the Dark Mark and refused to join the ranks.” He grabbed her hand and pressed his mouth to her palm. “I still got away from him, no matter how much what he said hurt me. That was the only time I’ve ever cried over you, though.”
Hermione could feel the charms weakening. Her hair was lengthening and frizzing up and turning back to her original color. She knew that her eyes had to be back to the muddy brown they’d always been and prayed that he wouldn’t open his eyes to see her.
Glancing down at him, she was glad to see his eyes still closed. She wondered though, why would Harry lie to him? Harry knew how she felt—they had cried into their cups enough over their lost crushes. More important, why did Draco think that Harry was there to take him back to Lucius? This interview was raising more questions than it answered and she didn’t like that type of interview at all.
Stilling her mind, she went back to listening to the ramblings of a fugitive.
He still held onto her hand, now pressed against the smooth skin of his cheek. “I’ve been such a fool, Hermione. Such a fool to think that I could ever forget you. Every time that I close my eyes, I see you at the Yule ball in that dress, your hair done up and your eyes sparkling. You actually looked happy. I used to wish you would smile at me like that. I used to wish…oh, but that’s not important now, is it? Wishes can’t come true, no matter how hard you try.”
He turned on his side and faced away from her, staring at the fire that gave off no heat. “I’ve apologized to you every night, to every whore that they’ve sent to my room, and I still feel empty. I thought that if I did, I would feel some peace at some point, but peace escapes me like I elude the Aurors. I guess that this is it, then. I’m heading back to England and turning myself over to the Ministry so they can either punish me or return me to the bosom of my family, so to speak.”
“Draco, no!” She spoke without thinking, breathless and horrified, and something in her tone made him look up at her suddenly. Shrugging, he turned back to the fire and stared into its depths.
“Now I even think that I see you in the girls that they send. Sad, isn’t it?”
“Only if it isn’t real,” Hermione said. “But I’m real, aren’t I? You feel my leg under your head, feel my hand on your side, and you still don’t believe that I’m here?”
He sat up suddenly and grabbed for her wrists. She let him take hold of her, happy to see passion instead of resignation in his face. Draco squinted and brought his face close to hers, so close she could smell the oranges he’d eaten after supper. “You’re real,” he breathed, and his words danced across her skin with a whisper of air.
“Very real, I assure you.”
His thumbs caressed the inner parts of her wrists and she wanted to jerk her arms away but left them in his grasp. “Why are you here?” he finally asked.
“I’m an Auror. You were my assignment.” She shrugged. “I’m supposed to take you back to the Ministry, but now there are too many questions in my mind to do it without answers.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed dangerously and he sat back on his heels, surveying her where she sat at the corner of the couch. “What questions?”
She stood and began to pace—she thought much clearer when she paced. “Why Harry would tell you that I married a Weasley, why you would think that we would take you back to your father, why he would lie to you about…why he said that about me in San Francisco. Why you would feel the need to apologize to me for anything. Why you pretend that…well, that doesn’t really matter now, does it?”
“You never received the diary or the letters, did you?”
His quiet question made her stop pacing and turn to look at him. “What diary? What letters?”
Draco’s fists clenched and relaxed on his knees. He took a deep breath and motioned her to a seat, waiting patiently for her to get comfortable. She tucked her legs underneath her and smoothed her dress before turning to look at him. His face was relaxed and open and he almost looked happy, even through his anger.
Without looking at her, he started to speak. “When I left England, I sent you a diary from my years at Hogwarts. It was thick enough to contain all six years that I was there, from the beginning to the moment that I…that Snape killed Dumbledore. I carried it with me at all times, jotting down things that I thought were important enough to remember and…other things. Dreams. Fantasies. Private things. I owled it to you right after we ran, hoping that you would read it and understand.”
He turned to look at her and his eyes were glistening, with what emotion she couldn’t tell. “I also sent you letters. Nothing about where we were hiding, but…just little things. Things that reminded me of you, what I’d lost when I had done…when I had completed the mission that Voldemort had set out for me.”
“Getting the Deatheaters into the school.”
“Yes. Protecting my mother. Saving us both.”
“You and your mother?”
He clenched his jaw and she could feel the anger burning on the air. “No, you and me.”
“Me? Why would you try and save me?” she squeaked.
He lunged at her and pinned her beneath his lanky yet muscular form. “Why wouldn’t I try and save you? You were my reason for…you were what held me together. Kept me sane. Kept me from slitting my wrists. Didn’t Myrtle ever talk to you? She promised that she would.”
His face was so close to hers that she could see the blue specks that danced in his eyes. She didn’t know he had any blue in his eyes before. “Nobody said a word. Not Myrtle, not Harry, nobody in the Ministry. Never a word about you or anything about you having any feelings besides…the usual.”
He sat back again suddenly and she felt bereft. He looked crushed. “No, I don’t suppose they would, now would they? Keep Granger on her path of single-minded need for capture and arrest—that’s what you do best, according to the Daily Prophet. Capture and arrest Deatheaters.”
He stood swiftly and caught her arm, dragging her off the couch and over to the door before she could speak. “Maybe you need to go ask Potter about the diary and letters. I’ll wait right here.”
“How do I know you won’t be gone?” she asked breathlessly, and was surprised to see him throw his head back and laugh.
“Do you really think that I can leave now, Hermione? Go. Ask Harry, then come back to me.”
He shoved her out of the door and into the hallway before she could ask any more questions.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione tapped on Harry's door and he opened it quickly, pulling her inside. “You shouldn’t be in the hall without your burka, Hermione. Remember, Mecca is a holy city for the Muslims and outsiders are not allowed.”
Hermione tried to look properly castigated. “I forgot, Harry. I’ll borrow yours when I leave. I’m getting ready to go to Malfoy's room and arrest him. Is there anything that I should know before I go?”
“I’ll go do it, Hermione,” he said hastily. She could see the beads of sweat that suddenly popped out on his forehead and the way his eyes shifted away from her all of a sudden.
“No, Harry, he’s my arrest. You’re not going to screw this up for me again like you did in San Francisco. Now I’ll ask again—is there anything that I should know before I go? Anything that was said the last time we were tracking him when you lost him? Anything the Ministry might be hiding from me?”
Harry licked his lips and stammered, “N-no, Hermione, there’s nothing.”
She had never done so before, but she did so now. She pulled her wand out of her thigh-holster and held it beneath his chin, eyes narrow and lips set in a thin line. “Why do I not believe you, Harry? There is something, isn’t there?”
“H-Hermione, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are you holding me at wand-point?”
Her head was spinning with the suspicion of deception from her oldest living friend and instead of trusting him to tell her the truth, she decided that more drastic measures should be taken. “Legilemens!” she shouted, and Harry fell to the floor with the force of her spell. He couldn’t twist his way out of it, however, and she was able to see into his memories—and was horrified by what she saw.
Images of him beating Malfoy to a bloody pulp in a hotel room in San Francisco, taunting him and telling him to run before they turned him over to Lucius for punishment…
Images of a diary as thick as Hogwarts: A History, filled with her name and thoughts of her…
Images of letters that had been intercepted and plots to keep her from Draco indefinitely…
She backed away from Harry and broke the connection between them, betrayal clearly written on her features. “You hid all that from me? His feelings, his diary, his letters? Why, Harry?”
Harry got to his feet and screamed into her face. “He’s a criminal, Hermione! He—he killed Dumbledore! Hurt you for years! You don’t belong with him, you belong with me! You’re mine!”
She backed away from him, wand still at the ready. “Accio diary! Accio letters!” They whirled out of the bedroom from their hiding place and into her waiting hands. She gave Harry the saddest look he’d ever seen on her face. “I could never belong to you, Harry. I thought we were friends. I thought I could trust you. I thought you trusted me. I was wrong all the way around, wasn’t I?” Backing to the door, she shook her head. “Partners should trust each other, shouldn’t they? I’m asking for reassignment when I get back to England. Don’t contact me again.”
Harry fell to his knees. “I was trying to protect you, Hermione. Don’t do this. I beg you, don’t do this.”
She shook her head, opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. “I will do what I must, Harry. If it means arresting him, then so be it. But if it means that…well, I suppose that you know, since you’ve read the letters and I haven’t. Goodbye Harry.”
Her name was the last word she heard from him before she closed the door behind her.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
She packed quickly and shrunk her things to pocket size before she headed back to room 666. The diary and letters were safe in her trunk, locked behind binding spells that only she could break. The door opened as she knocked and she pushed it wider, holding her breath as she saw the room looked like any other hotel room done up in cream and white.
She closed the door behind her and walked from the sitting room to the open bedroom door to find Draco Malfoy sitting on the bed, waiting for her patiently. He looked up at her with expectant eyes and she sat down on the bed next to him.
Before he could speak, she held up her hand. “I haven’t read the letters yet, or the diary. I did take a peek into Harry's mind, and most everything that he told you in San Francisco was a lie. I never married a Weasley, because Ron died in the last battle. Lucius is dead too. Narcissa is still in St. Mungo’s on the incurable ward.” She watched his shoulders sag and tucked her arm around him. “I also know that he beat you to within an inch of your life and let you go. That surprised me. I never thought of Harry as being particularly violent.”
She stood and surveyed the room. “Where are your things?”
“Packed. Waiting for you.” He pulled his trunk out of his pocket to show her. “Why? Are we going back to England?”
“Can you still apparate?”
Draco nodded. “Where are we going, then?”
“Someplace cooler than Saudi Arabia,” she said airily, then held out her hand. “Do you trust me?” she asked.
Draco nodded. “I always have, Hermione.”
“We’ll go to my cottage, then. It’s Unplottable, and I have several very strong wards around it that are keyed to me alone. Maybe I can catch up on my reading and you can stop running for a while, huh?”
He caught her hand in his and she marveled at how well they fit together. “I would like to stop running. Are you sure?”
Hermione smiled up at him. “Well, not completely until I read what you wrote, but sure enough for now.” She brushed her hand across his cheek and frowned. “Why did you come to Mecca of all places, Draco?”
He pressed her hand to his face, then turned his head to kiss the palm reverently. “There’s a superstition that if you go to Mecca with a specific wish in your heart it will come true. Some wish for riches, some for spiritual guidance.”
“What did you wish for?”
“I wished for you.”
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Date: 2006-08-17 04:10 pm (UTC)Stop dragging me into Draco/Hermione! You're so evol! You write it way too well. Darn you. ~_^
~Nebula
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Date: 2006-08-17 09:40 pm (UTC)*hugs*
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Date: 2006-08-18 12:59 am (UTC)and kind of cool to see Harry as the bad guy too...
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Date: 2006-08-18 02:51 pm (UTC)I wanted to show a different side of all of them...
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Date: 2006-08-18 06:25 pm (UTC)The scary thing is, I can totally see Harry going all bad-ass like that.
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Date: 2006-08-18 06:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-19 02:26 pm (UTC)Great use of the location!
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Date: 2006-08-19 03:55 pm (UTC)Odd, when I think about it, that the HP seemed to initially set Harry up as the morally ambiguous character, and yet I've always felt Hermione had the capacity to remain more neutral in any given circumstance than the other primary characters. You've really illustrated that nicely. As for Draco, well, I've never outgrown my penchant for the tragic anti-hero. Perhaps you're developing him as such?
Will look forward to reading more.
S.
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Date: 2006-08-19 04:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-19 04:50 pm (UTC)As for Hermione...she always wants to see the good in everyone, somewhat of a optimist, that girl...she would be one of the few to give Draco a chance if it ever came down to brass tacks...
And Draco...what to say about him? He has his own agenda, but it seems that it can be a lonely one...and I hate for handsome snarky blonds to be alone...
Thank you for your kind review! I appreciate it!
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Date: 2006-08-19 11:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-19 11:55 pm (UTC)Thanks!
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Date: 2006-08-21 03:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-21 06:10 am (UTC)Stop it! Stop it, darn you! I'm not supposed to like Draco/Hermione! Nooo! You're as bad as Nebula with her Spuffy. It's not fair, I tell thee! NOT FAIR AT ALL.
*cough* Okay, now that all those dramatics are finished: Lovely story. I loved the Mecca backdrop, especially.
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Date: 2006-08-21 01:08 pm (UTC)I think that Harry has to have a dark side somewhere...otherwise he'll never be able to beat Voldemort...
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Date: 2006-08-21 01:10 pm (UTC)Thank you so much!
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Date: 2006-08-21 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-22 08:50 pm (UTC)And the ending is lovely.
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Date: 2006-08-22 11:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 12:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 04:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-07 04:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-16 07:25 pm (UTC)