Transi de Froid

by Incitata
 
 

Chapter 11
Chez Malfoi
 

"In illusion, comfort lies"
Alice. Sisters of Mercy.
Some Girls Wander by Mistake
 

Hermione walked. Her ‘chat’ with Justin was swift, sharp and very uncomfortable; it left her
feeling oddly dissatisfied. She thought it only fair to allow Justin a little dignity so she held back
while he spoke, not even touching on the details of why. Afterwards rather than returning
immediately to the Gryffindor Tower she wandered into the Great Hall and sat against the
wall behind the staff table looking up at the starless ceiling. A scuttle of tiny claws drew her
attention to a small rat whose shining eyes glanced her way before darting into the shadows.
Hermione was wary of rats.

What was Draco doing now? Probably sleeping or relaxing. Hermione was quite sure that
he wasn’t roaming around the castle wondering what she was doing. She sighed. Breaking
up with Justin was one thing but committing herself to Draco was quite another, all sorts of
questions that she preferred to ignore began to resurface. Why had she asked him to keep
everything secret? Why couldn’t she just be honest with her friends? Of course she already
knew the answers. Her friends reacted badly in the first place not because she had lied to
them but because he was who he was.

Draco Malfoy represented things that Harry and Ron could never condone; he’d done things
that they could never forgive. Hermione understood that. It was hard to see past the fact that
he was the son of a Death Eater - ‘Alleged Death Eater,’ her conscience prodded, ‘nothing
has ever been proven…’ But Harry’s word had always been enough for Hermione, the man
was a fervent supporter of someone who wanted to destroy him.

For Ron it was no less personal but Hermione suspected that he also hated Malfoy because
Draco stood for everything he didn’t have, like money and influence. She also thought that they
were much more alike than either realised. Both were enormously proud of their families,
jealous, stubborn, neither of them liked to take life too seriously and she loved them both.

The strange thing was that Hermione would rather lie to her friends than hurt them all over again.
It hadn’t been difficult to work out why they had forgiven her the first time; she was a victim and
deserved their pity. She didn’t think their forgiveness would come so easily a second time…and
sooner or later they would find out.

No matter how tempting it was Hermione couldn’t sit there all night and by the time she stood
she was stiff and cold. She rubbed her shoulders trying to put some life back into her neck as
she traipsed back to the tower.

In the common room a lamp still burned, bright and warm and to Hermione’s surprise, Harry
and Ron sat in the pool it cast over the table. Their heads turned sharply toward the portrait hole
as she entered.

"Did you do it?" asked Harry expectantly moving toward her. Hermione assumed that she must
not look quite as cheerful as she had when she left because he seemed concerned. She sat on
Harry’s chair and leaned heavily on the table with her arms folded.

"No," she replied sinking a bit lower, dimly aware of the papers crumpling beneath her arms.

"No?" asked Ron, "Why not?"

Hermione sat up; "Justin got in first. He dumped me!"

Ron gasped, "How could he? Why’d he want to do a thing like that?"

"The usual, oh it’s not you it’s me, I’m really sorry but your best friends attract too much
untoward attention from Dark Lords and their minions, oh well see you around, Herm!"

"Git!" spat Ron, "What an idiot!"

"He was just looking for excuses." Hermione didn’t know if she could say what she was about
to but she thought she’d better try. She sniffed loudly and tried not to look at Ron, who leaned
close to her, "and there are still rumours … about what happened over Christmas … with
Malfoy. Apparently Justin got a bit sick of being asked if I’d…"

"No!" exclaimed Ron in disbelief.

Harry took a seat opposite and looked questioningly at Hermione. "What exactly did happen
with Malfoy?" he enquired trying to sound casual.

"Harry." Ron warned.

Either Ron was making a supreme effort to be reasonable, or he just didn’t want to know.
Whichever it was Hermione felt uncomfortable. She chewed her thumbnail and dared a glance
at Ron unable to risk looking at Harry whose bright green eyes flashed dangerously or was
that just the reflection of the lamplight off his glasses?

‘Don’t ask that,’ Hermione thought lowering her gaze, ‘Please don’t make me answer that
question.’

"It’s just the rumours…" Harry continued trying to catch Hermione’s eye.

"Nobody’s interested!" Ron turned to Hermione, "No-one who knows you cares about that,
it’s rubbish. It wasn’t your fault, Hermione. I know I behaved like a prat over it, but it doesn’t
matter…"

‘How can you defend me? You don’t know what I’ve done, what I’m doing…’ What would
she have said to Harry if Ron hadn’t rescued her?

With a great sob Hermione slumped down on to the table, she couldn’t help but cry. What had
it taken Ron to say that? He’d been talking to her for barely a day and when she thought how
much it must hurt him to even think … and her friends thought that she was upset over Justin.

She was a liar, a betrayer of friendships, unfaithful, deceitful. When Hermione was with Draco
none of that seemed to matter but now that she was alone … she just couldn’t tell them, she had
to let them think it was all about Justin, at least until she was strong enough to lose them.

When she felt kind hands patting her trembling shoulders, voices whispering words of comfort
she truly hated herself, she was despicable and didn’t deserve friends as good as these, she didn’t
really deserve any friends at all.

As Hermione raised her head and looked down at the table, she picked up one of the sheets of
parchment she had lain on. "Oh," she said weakly, looking at the smeared and running inks. "I’ve
made your plans all wet!"

"They were fairly wet anyway," said Harry taking the paper and dropping it on the floor, "We
can redraw them."

"Yeah, help us come up with a new strategy," said Ron reaching out to smooth her hair away
from her eyes, "forget it’s Quidditch and pretend it’s a timetable or something and don’t forget
that it will help get a bit of revenge on our least favourite houses!"

"Hous-es?" asked Harry.

"Slytherin and Hufflepuff," explained Ron, "Home to the two biggest bastards Hogwarts has
seen since … well since forever."

Hermione wanted to throw her arms round the pair of them but she just sat looking down at
her hands not bothering to wipe away her tears. If only she could make them understand, Harry,
Ron and Draco.

"Hermione," said Ron softly as the trio parted on the stairs to the dormitories, "If you change
your mind, tell me."

"About what?" she asked then she realised, boyfriends. "Oh!" Hermione threw her arms
around Ron and burst into tears again. She dashed up the stairs leaving a bewildered Weasley
staring after her.

~0~

For Hermione and Draco Arithmancy had become something of a battleground, heated debate
became the closest they came to public acknowledgement of their involvement as each tried to
outdo the other in a flowing exchange of words and theories that delighted Professor Vector.

"I don’t know when I last heard such an eloquent defence of Paracelsus, Mr Malfoy," said the
teacher, hands clasped together in glee. "But won’t you agree that Miss Granger has a point with
regard to the role of time and number in the formation of homunculi? Though a notable alchemist,
his claims have been refuted."

"I concede no such thing, Dee’s more recent work does not entirely condemn, it merely suggests
that particular hypothesis endures only due to lack of understanding of the true value of…" and so
it went on.

It both surprised and pleased Hermione to find that Draco was very much her intellectual equal
and that what came over as contempt and disinterest was merely the manifestation of a lack of
motivation. She’d never thought that he was stupid; the fact that Draco scored only slightly less
than she each year told her that but he now revealed a prodigious knowledge of magic that so
far Hermione had barely touched upon. Even if his interests did lean slightly towards the dark it
made a change to be able to talk with someone who didn’t yawn the moment the word textbook
or library was uttered. But what really startled Hermione was that when Draco chose to apply
himself he was truly brilliant. She wondered why he hadn’t bothered before but perhaps in his
mind competing with a Mudblood wasn’t motivating enough but competing with a lover…?

Other lessons were not so enjoyable. Draco gave Hermione new reasons to dread Potions.
It amused him to pick on Ron and Harry then sit back and watch Hermione struggle as he
tested her divided loyalties. She couldn’t attack him and couldn’t defend him and he knew
it. She was left with no choice but to leave Harry and Ron to cope with the taunts. Hermione
begged Draco to stop but he simply shook his head and replied, "You brought it on yourself.
When you concede to acknowledge me I will stop, not before."

Hermione found herself unable to argue with that.

~0~

Drrrrm, Drrrrm, Drrrrm.

Drrrrm, Drrrrm, Drrrrm.

"Will you stop doing that!" Hermione whispered across the top of 1001 Magical Herbs and
Fungi which was propped up against her inkpot. Draco raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘Me?
What was I doing?’ He lounged with one arm hooked over the back of his chair, his legs
taking up enough space for two; his other hand rested on the desk.

Hermione wasn’t the only person who was giving him a nasty look right now. Madam Pince
was nearby and the library was very crowded. It always was at this time of day, which is why
they met here. They sat at one end of a long desk near the door with plenty of other students
around all trying to complete assignments that should have been done earlier in the term. To
the casual observer their proximity wouldn’t appear odd; there were few other free seats. Well,
Ron would question it, but the likelihood of him turning up in the library of his own free will was
very low.

Drrrrm, Drrrrm, Drr…

"I’m bored," Draco complained halting his fingers mid-drum.

"What do you want me to do about it?" whispered Hermione putting down her quill, "Dance?"

"That might be interesting," he replied thoughtfully turning to face her, "Can’t we just go
somewhere else?"

"No."

Drrrrm, Drrrrm, Drrrrm.

"You’re really annoying everyone," said Hermione as the girl at her right piled her things
together and moved to a vacant desk elsewhere.

"Thought she’d never go," he drawled swivelling his eyes back to Hermione. "I don’t think
she likes me."

"You were doing that just to get Orla to move?" from what Cho had said Hermione thought
Orla Quirk was rather brave for sitting near Draco in the first place.

He nodded adding, "And to annoy you!"

Draco pushed a small roll of parchment across the table. "It’s the last Hogsmeade weekend
before Easter," he whispered, "I’d like you to do me a favour."

Hermione reached for the parchment and twisted it slowly, she was about to unroll it but Draco
plucked the scroll from between her fingers and placed it back on the desk between them.

"First you agree," he gave a feral smile over steepled fingers, "then you can look."

There was no way that Hermione was going to agree to anything without first knowing what it
was. Agreeing to do something for Draco without knowing the terms was about as sensible as
drinking from a selection of unlabelled bottles in a Potions lab. Hermione might love Draco but
she wasn’t entirely stupid.

"Come on," he goaded, reaching under the table and grabbing her ankle. He placed it in his lap.

"Draco!" Hermione breathed, feeling his fingers slip beneath her sock. She glanced around in
alarm but no one else in the library seemed to have noticed. Draco leaned forward so his chin
was almost resting on the desk as he ran his hands further and further up Hermione’s leg, he
was almost at her knee. She squirmed, "Not here, they’ll see you!"

"I don’t want much," he said slowly, his eyes filled with humour, "And if you don’t answer me
now, I will tickle the back of your leg."

With her foot wedged between his knees Hermione couldn’t get away; she tried to free herself
but only succeeded in slipping a little lower in her chair and allowing him to get a better grip. A
muffled squeak burst from her lips as he carried out his threat. "Okay!" she agreed embarrassed
by the looks she was attracting. "I’ll do it!"

"Without knowing what it is?" he asked slyly.

"I reserve the right to change my mind … woman’s prerogative." Hermione could still feel his
long fingers firmly gripping her calf and his other hand trailing slowly back down to her ankle.

Draco chuckled softly, "Go on, Hermione. It’ll be fun…"

Just to make him stop Hermione agreed.

"Good," Draco grinned in triumph. "Now you can read that." He released her foot then flicked
the scroll into her lap.

Straightening in her chair Hermione unrolled the long strip of parchment, on it were written a
series of instructions, she lifted her eyes to his.

"Is this some sort of spell?" she asked, curious.

"Just learn it by Saturday. Don’t actually try it, but learn the method, understand?"

"And that’s all you want from me?"

"For now," Draco raised an eyebrow and began to stack his things in a pile, "Would you mind
looking after these for me? I’m a bit late."

"Aren’t you meant to carry my books?" Hermione asked without lifting her eyes from the slip
of parchment, even secret boyfriends three weeks into a relationship had certain functions to fulfill.

"Yes, but you’re not going anywhere, I am." he got to his feet and came round to Hermione’s
side of the desk then leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I have a Transfiguration class, you
wouldn’t want me to be late for Professor McGonagonagonagonagonall, would you?"

"Do you have to do that?"

"I didn’t do anything," said Draco innocently.

"You have a serious problem with authority, Malfoy. No one’s actually that impressed when
you make fun of the teachers, especially not me!"

"You’re beginning to sound like my father!" Draco leaned his hip on the corner of the table; he
didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get to Transfiguration. He tilted his head contemplatively as he
looked down at Hermione, "Let me see, you always think you’re right, you sometimes adopt
the most infuriatingly patronising tone, you never ever miss an opportunity to hear to the sound
of your own voice…" he ticked each point against a different finger. "You sure we’re not related?"

"You have a sick mind, Malfoy." Hermione replied not finding his comparison at all amusing,
"As far as I heard you just described yourself, except you missed out egotistical, intolerant and
arrogant!" under the table Hermione kicked Draco sharply on the shin, "Didn’t you have to go
to class?"

"Oh yes," he added as he straightened, "and you can never think of a good word to say about
me. I’ll be back in an hour," he added, "Cheerio!"

That was Monday.

~0~

By the time Saturday came Hermione was beginning to regret the agreement she’d made with
Malfoy. That’s the way she thought of him when he wasn’t with her, it enabled her to disassociate
the Malfoy who baited her friends from the Draco she adored.

Over a breakfast of scrambled eggs Hermione ran through excuse after excuse in her mind
barely listening to the conversation going on around her. How could she avoid going to Hogsmeade
with Ron and Harry?

When Harry asked, "You coming today?" the perfect reason pushed itself straight to the front of
Hermione’s mind, she wasn’t sure how she’d missed it earlier.

"I’ve been asked to help supervise the first and second years," she said, which was true. Hermione
neglected to add that she’d already told Professor McGonagall that she wasn’t available.

"Oh, bad luck, Hermione!" said Harry spearing a sausage on the end of his fork, "You staying
too?" he asked Seamus, the other sixth year Prefect.

"Nah, I got out of it. Close thing too!"

As soon as Harry and Ron left the common room Hermione darted up to her dormitory, threw
a few things in her bag and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders. It was March and a cold
wind still blew down the streets of Hogsmeade. She looked again at Malfoy’s parchment.
Hermione had tried to work out exactly which spell was on there but nothing in Hogwarts library
available to the students seemed to explain it. The thing that came closest was a spell for
transporting small objects from one room to another but that wasn’t really useful for anything
other than serving dinner in a hurry.

Of course she had tried the spell. One night she went to bed early, drew her curtains and sat
cross legged in the middle of the bed with her wand and by the light of a candle carefully balanced
on the bedspread she had followed each step and then … absolutely nothing had happened.

With a shrug she slipped it into her bag, slung the bag over her shoulder and hurried downstairs
wrapping a scarf around her throat as she went.

Slowly Hermione made her way to Hogsmeade making frequent stops to avoid other students
on the way. Instead of walking down the main street she went through a series of lanes between
cottage after cottage and eventually reached the path that led to the Shrieking Shack. Though
Hermione knew that a werewolf who once lived within its walls was responsible for the terrible
sounds that used to emanate from this place when the moon was full, rumours of haunting still
abounded amongst the students of Hogwarts and the residents of Hogsmeade. She didn’t know
how many people really knew the truth about this place. However many it was it was convenient
for her that most people still avoided it.

Draco was not hard to find. He was sitting alone on a mossy log facing away from the path and
leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. Hermione stepped up behind him and
slipped her hands over his eyes before sliding them down over his front and resting her head on
his shoulder.

"You made it?" he said turning his head slightly and reaching up into her hair.

"Am I very late?" she asked as he helped her over the log and drew her close.

"Hours and hours," he replied smoothly, before kissing her softly on the lips, "I thought you’d
never come."

"I had to wait for everyone else to go," she breathed deeply, he smelled wonderfully fresh, just
like the morning. Kissing him
again, intoxicating.

"Hmm," Hermione could feel Draco’s breath on her neck, she pulled back to watch him.

"My mother has a scarf just like this," he said brushing the fabric aside.

"It was a present."

"Someone obviously thinks very highly of you," he remarked.

"If you’re going to start going on about how expensive they are I don’t want to know," she
replied a little harshly.

Draco looked surprised, but Hermione wasn’t about to tell him that Ron had bought it for
her as a Christmas present. Any mention of Harry or Ron from Hermione would usually plunge
Draco into a mood so deep and dark that he probably bumped in to potholers down there.

"Did I say a word?" Draco shook his head and took Hermione’s hand. "Come on."

He pulled her to her feet and led her into the shade of a knotted and twisted elder tree stooping
beneath the gnarled branches on which clung the earliest buds of spring not yet ready to brave the
cold. Hermione could still see the path but anyone approaching from the direction of the shack
wouldn’t be able to see them.

Draco leaned back against the trunk and looked at Hermione, "Tell me exactly what was on
that parchment I gave you," he demanded folding his arms.

Resisting the temptation to reply ‘writing’ Hermione reached to her bag but Draco stopped her,
"Tell me!" he said with a brusque note of command, "don’t read it to me."

Lowering her hand she glanced sharply at him. Hermione didn’t like it when he spoke to her
like that. She’d tried the spell and it didn’t work. The only thing that was going to happen was
that she would look foolish. If Draco really wanted to humiliate her why did he bring her all
the way out here to do it? He could have made her feel stupid back at the school. He continued
to stand there arms folded and lips pursed, looking at her in a manner, which impatiently said,
‘I’m waiting.’

As requested Hermione reeled off the list of directions.

"Again!" Draco instructed with a wave of his hand. He made her repeat them six times before
he seemed satisfied. "Now, get your wand, this time we’re doing it for real."

"Are you concentrating?" asked Draco grasping her shoulders as she fumbled in her bag for
her wand. She looked up to see a wicked light burning in his eyes. It was nice to see that
someone was enjoying this because Hermione certainly wasn’t.

She was not concentrating; she was much too confused though she replied, "Yes," as he took
her hand.

"Ready?" he asked.

Hermione nodded then together they performed the incantation.

An odd sensation as if she had entirely misplaced the planet and been mixed up into a thousand
pieces sliced through Hermione, then she found that she was standing near the edge of a very
large field. Her skin prickled all over as if she’d been brushed with sandpaper, a feeling exacerbated
by a bitter wind that cut through her cloak. It blew her hair into her eyes as she looked around.
Draco stood nearby looking exhilarated; he was staring right at her grinning broadly.

"Good grief!" Hermione exclaimed. She’d just Apparated without a licence.

As soon as she’d finished pounding Draco repeatedly with both fists, Hermione started
screaming, "You idiot, don’t you know how dangerous that is! We could have been Splinched!
Oh my god," she shrieked, frightening a flock of pheasants that rose as one from the long grass
at the edge of the field. "We’re going to be expelled, this is against school rules, the Ministry
of Magic are going to trace us and we’ll be expelled and I’ll have to go back to being a Muggle
and…"

"Take a breath!" Draco was laughing softly, "No-one will find out, there’s too much magic in
Hogsmeade for it to look odd, people Apparate all the time. You don’t think they spend all day
waiting for the train do you? And," he added, "there’s too much magic round here."

‘"The mud has secret powers does it?" Hermione sniped, tight lipped and sarcastic. "Where the
hell are we?"

"In the middle of a field" he replied coolly, Draco pushed his toe through a lump of soft mud,
"and I don’t think there’s anything special about the soil, it grows barley but I think mud is quite
good at things like that." He wrapped his arm round Hermione’s shoulder and began to walk
toward a gap in the hedgerow guiding her along with him, "Knew you could do it," he said, "the
first time I tried last summer I ended up leaving my feet behind. Father had one hell of a time
explaining that to the medi-magus," the memory seemed to amuse Draco, "but that’s his own
fault for being such a rotten teacher."

Somehow Hermione had expected Apparition to be more difficult, wasn’t there a big test, like
a driving test? Surely the Ministry of Magic didn’t exaggerate the difficulty in order to discourage
illegal use? Not that she didn’t think it was dangerous, Splinching was clearly a real risk. Draco
seemed awfully pleased but Hermione couldn’t feel the least bit proud of being able to do something
that breached a thousand wizarding regulations perfectly first try.

There was a wooden stile in the gap between the dark and twisting hawthorn and brambles.
Draco stood on the low platform and pointed. "That is why no one will know."

"What?" Hermione was still confused but Draco was already in the next field.

"Chez Malfoi," he said reaching up to help Hermione over the stile.

‘Oh goodness!’ Hermione thought looking down at the building that lay in the valley below; its
grey rooftops and pale walls partially obscured by trees. ‘What ever am I doing here?’

As Draco led Hermione down a muddy path she lost sight of the house. They went down a long
country lane edged by trees and hedges bright with fresh green leaves but soon those were
replaced by a high stone wall and the lane curved into a small driveway leading to a dilapidated
gatehouse. A pair of rusty gates stood open in the archway, they screeched for oil as Draco
pushed one to widen the gap. "Back gate," he said, "The north gate is rather more impressive,
but this way’s quicker."

The gates opened directly onto a courtyard surrounded by windowless outbuildings. Hermione
looked up at the house made of the same pale creamy stone set with large windows empty and
grey. Hermione wanted to explore but Draco walked straight by obviously he’d seen it all before.
He led her through a narrow archway into a square gravelled yard. In the centre stood a gurgling
fountain surrounded by a low stone bench but the thing that really caught Hermione’s attention
was the profusion of white and yellow roses that crept and clung across three high walls all
reflected in a huge window set in the wall of the house to her right. The air was filled with the
sweet heady scent of perpetual summer.

As they approached the other side of the yard a wrought iron gate swung open. They stepped
onto a driveway that ran round a large circular lawn. On the far side Hermione could see an
avenue of twisted yew trees leading off into the distance but Draco led her to the right.

A flight of stone steps led up to a heavy front door. In the centre of the lintel Hermione noticed
a lozenge which bore an eight pointed star in front of which was an open hand. Around the hand
was coiled a thin serpent, it’s head lying in the centre of the palm. Apart from the unconventional
heraldry there was nothing at all to suggest that this house was anything unusual. No bats, no
creepy guard monsters, not even a protective spell as far as she could tell. And when the door
swung open at Draco’s touch. Hermione had to admit that she was a little disappointed when it
didn’t creak ominously.

But as Draco held the door open for her she realised with a quivering breath that her own
trepidation was quite enough, Hermione didn’t need any atmospheric prompts to remind her
that she was about to step inside the house of a Death Eater.

The air inside was cool and still. Hermione glanced around the hallway trying not to look too
curious. It ran both ways along the entire front of the building shining dark wood infused with
the smell of age and dust and beeswax. She noticed Draco pull off his cloak and throw it at a
little man who stood by the door. Hermione was sure he hadn’t been there before. The man
caught it deftly then turned his shiny black eyes on Hermione.

She loosened the silver clasp of her cloak and held it out. He snatched it with long fingers but
continued to scrutinise her. Hermione didn’t know that Goblins worked as domestic servants.

"Give Garak your bag," said Draco, "You don’t need it here." (1)

She did as suggested then Draco held out his hand to her.

"He owed my grandfather a debt," he said as if Garak wasn’t standing right next to him, "it
still hasn’t been paid."

Draco turned squeezing her fingers. "Come on I want to show you round," he said to Hermione
who was watching the goblin place their cloaks upon life size wooden figures that seemed to grow
out of the floorboards. Draco let go of her hand then she heard his footsteps echo off the polished
wooden floor. Hermione followed, noticing that the doors alternated with arched alcoves in which
stood a series of marble busts. She paused, leaning closer to one. "Oh, be careful of those,"
warned Draco, "some of them bite."

Hermione backed away just in case he wasn’t joking.

"Will you get a move on!" he called from the end of the hallway; Hermione’s head snapped
round, why did he have to be so impatient? She watched him leaning on a window ledge as
he waited glancing down at his fingernails. She thought he looked quite at home, he’d seemed
to grow to fill the place switching immediately from schoolboy to host with his first breath of
hallowed air. Hermione sighed, she felt awkward and couldn’t help feeling like an intruder,
maybe once she got used to the oppressive silence she could begin to relax.

As she got nearer Draco flung open a pair of double doors which opened on to a large room.
Hermione blinked. In here everything was painted white and anything that wasn’t white was
silvered or mirrored and after the dark oak hallway the effect was quite dazzling. Draco pulled
the shutters across the first of four tall windows reducing the glare from the sunlight.

"Do sit down," he said waving carelessly toward several chairs and sofas all upholstered in
crisp pristine white. His other hand searched through a stack of letters that lay on a marble
topped table, the only substantial piece of furniture in the room; everything else was small and
spindly and delicate. Hermione did not sit. Only someone who had never been outside would
not leave a mark on those cushions. She couldn’t think of a less practical way to decorate a
room. She looked up at the distant ceiling, all strangely scrolling plasterwork, then lingered
near the fireplace, her feet not making a sound on the thick carpet. "What do you think of the
drawing room?" Draco asked, not looking up. His old bored drawl had returned, something
Hermione didn’t hear very often these days.

Hermione had expected something rather more dingy, creepy and oppressive and hadn’t he
told Ron and Harry that … maybe it was better not to ask. She couldn’t see anything that
looked like the entrance to a hidden chamber.

"Mother had it redecorated two years back after the Minist … well never mind why. Father
hates it, said it looks like it belongs in a brothel..." Hermione had to agree, not that she knew
what the inside of a brothel looked like, she wondered momentarily if Draco’s father did.
"… I think he nearly had a heart attack when he saw it but maybe that was her intention."

"It’s very…" began Hermione, absolutely unable to find the words, "They’re not here are they?"
she asked instead.

"Who? Oh!" Draco shook his head, "In London, wouldn’t’ve come otherwise. I don’t really
think you need to get mixed up with my family just yet."

‘Just yet?’ Hermione hardly thought that they’d welcome at any time, not after everything
she’d heard about them.

"I know, you’ll love this. Follow me!" Draco turned a key then held open a door halfway down
the ‘Drawing Room’ It led into another hallway, this one dark and lined with portraits. Hermione
felt a hundred pairs of cold grey eyes fix upon her as she followed Draco, they swivelled as she
passed accompanied by a haughty raising of an eyebrow or twisting of a lip. Hermione tried not
to look at them as they muttered softly to one another. As far as she could tell, if she ever mislaid
Draco she could nip in here and by taking a nose from here and a chin from there she could gather
just the right features to make a make a whole new one in minutes.

"First thing I’ll do when I inherit this pile," Draco said loudly, his voice echoing down the
hallway, "Is to burn the whole damned lot of them!"

An outraged babble erupted down the passageway, Draco smirked, a wicked glint in his eye,
"I won’t really," he whispered to Hermione, "Wouldn’t dare, this lot would come back to haunt
me. Just through here." He twisted a handle and pushed open a door admitting Hermione to 'the
library’, which turned out, to be a comfortable book lined cavern rising over two floors. The
upper level was reached by a number of sliding ladders affixed to the shelves. In the centre was
a very large polished table surrounded by six chairs and at the other end a pair of French doors
stood open allowing a light breeze into the dusty room.

"There’s a wonderful view of the sunrise between those hills over there" he pointed.

"Hmmm," Hermione was more interested in the books than the wonders of nature. She trailed
her fingers along the stiff green spines of the ‘Alchemaical Almanac’, which spanned an entire
shelf, over a slim black volume with silvery letters that rearranged themselves into nonsense
each time she tried to read the title. Her eyes continued to scan the unfamiliar, disturbing and
intriguing titles; ‘Most Potente Potions’ she knew... ‘Elvem Degero’ Hermione raised her
eyebrow as her she caught the title of a large purple volume, ‘Tainted Blood and Tolerance:
The Demise of Modern Magical Education,’ and turned to glance at Draco who was leaning
against the edge of the bookcase regarding her with an expression of pure delight.

"I knew you’d like it," he said with an indulgent smile before drawing Hermione into a corner
where a massive globe stood, "I haven’t read half of them. Take a look at this."

"I’ve seen a globe before, Draco." Hermione said deeply unimpressed, she wanted to see
what else was sitting on those shelves.

He took her hand and holding it beneath his own Draco ran it down the brass arc that held
the globe in place. With his other hand he turned the massive sphere so that Britain faced them.
"Now look," he said pointing at a particular spot on the island. Hermione saw a tiny wisp of
orange smoke emerge from the globe and hover on the surface where he indicated; "To do
that, all I need is something attuned to you, that scarf would have been enough. That’s you," he
said, "It can follow you wherever you go, it’s accurate to within about fifty miles. Father
showed me how it works, he thinks that if you can get that close then it’s fairly easy to find
someone unless they’re somewhere Unplottable or going to a great deal of trouble to remain
hidden … this is the only one in private ownership. I hear there’s one in a Muggle museum in
London but the Ministry decided it was safer to leave it there…"

"Safer?" said Hermione, trying not to think too hard about why somebody like Mr Malfoy
might wish to locate people who weren’t keen on being found. Her eyes were drawn to other
wisps of smoke, one bright blue was moving at high speed across the Atlantic Ocean,
another in green taking what appeared to be a direct line from London to Bristol.

"Yes, it’s a restricted object," explained Draco, "actually could you sort of forget that I told
you about it? I don’t really think we’re meant to have it. It’s one of the things the Ministry missed."

Was this some elaborate way of demonstrating how much he trusted her? Take her home,
show her some Dark arts stuff then pop back to school … do three illegal things before lunch,
break a hundred school rules and end the day with dinner in Azkaban! Perfect! If Draco
wanted to let her know he trusted her why couldn’t he just tell her!

Hermione heard a loud click and the surface of the globe began to clear, the orange wisp that
had hovered somewhere over Hampshire slowly dissipated, "There, who’d ever know?" Draco
said. "Maybe you shouldn’t look too closely at some of those books either," he gave Hermione
a rather flat smile then turned the globe back to its original position as she drifted back toward
the bookshelves, she pushed open a narrow door that stood ajar, it creaked. She caught a
glimpse of a lot of dark wood and leather, a row of books on a shelf were propped between
what looked like human skulls. Hermione was about to step inside when Draco grasped her
elbow.

"Now, now," he scolded turning her to face him, she watched the skin round Draco’s eyes crinkle
as he tried not to smile, "don’t be so nosy."

"What’s through there?" Hermione asked innocently, wondering exactly what it was he didn’t want
her to see.

"Father’s study," Draco replied pulling the door closed. "Go and poke around if you really want
but I can tell you he has an incredible eye for detail and when you put something back in the wrong
place I’m not going to pretend that it was me."

Hermione took that to be a warning.

Leaving the library they went round another corner and up a dark oak staircase that creaked
beneath their feet; it split into two halfway up. They took the left branch, at the top was a dark
blue curtain tied back with a cord revealing another corridor. Windows ran along one side and
Hermione could see the grounds below, all grass and gravel.

"Father’s rooms, mother’s rooms," he waved as he passed. Draco paused. "Wait here a
moment would you," he looked at Hermione who sighed and turned to look out of the window,
"Actually, you’d better come in, I’d hate you to get curious. Some of these doors are locked
with the most imaginative curses."

He twisted the ornate handle to ‘Mothers rooms’ and they entered a small windowless
antechamber, it was decorated in silk of the palest shade of eggshell blue Hermione had ever
seen. Three low chairs upholstered in the same fabric as the walls surrounded a tiny fireplace.
A feint reminiscence of perfume hung in the air cloying and sweet. Draco stood over a delicate
escritoire then he slipped on to a chair that looked as though it might break beneath his weight.

A number of photographs in silver frames stood on a table. Hermione heard the scrape of a
drawer and the rustle of papers. She didn’t want to consider why Draco thought it acceptable
behaviour to rifle through his mother’s things so instead she concentrated on the pictures. A
stunning young woman with a lot of blond hair and an older man who bore a disturbing
resemblance to Draco smiled, totally absorbed in one another, she couldn’t be older than
eighteen. From another frame the same woman but older gazed out impassively every now
and then she blinked and in a third a little boy streaked in and out of focus waving wildly from
the back of a broom that was much too large for him. Hermione recognised the grin on his
face, it hadn’t changed though perhaps he used it less often than he had when the picture was
taken, she turned toward Draco who still leaned over the desk.

"Damn," he said simply pushing closed the drawer and leaning back; the chair groaned as he
shifted his weight. Something scarlet caught Hermione’s eye beneath the blotter, bright against
the blue. Draco must have seen it too for his fingers fastened on the corner and he pulled.

It was a copy of Witch Weekly. Over Draco’s shoulder Hermione glimpsed the headlines;
‘I married a Muggle – Exclusive!’ ‘Squib in the family – the pain and the shame.’ a rather
beautiful witch pirouetted between the headlines her long honey coloured hair trailing behind
her. "Don’t know why she reads this rubbish," she heard Draco mutter.

"Why…?" Hermione began then she saw Draco’s head slowly turn and the look in his eyes
was so dark that Hermione shut up instantly. Draco folded the magazine lengthways and tucked
it into his school robes.

"Mother told me she’d received an owl from school when father was away, said she’d left it
here but he must’ve found it!" Hermione thought that Draco sounded rather resigned, "Oh well,
I probably shouldn’t’ve called Flitwick a stunted son of a squib anyway."

Hermione chewed her lower lip; she couldn’t help thinking that he told her that to distract her
attention from something else as he pushed back his chair, took her arm and said, "Lets get lunch."

He held the door then led Hermione through a concealed doorway into a very narrow
passageway. He walked ahead as there was only room for one at a time she suspected this
was not the route normally used by the family. A dull orange glow from a series of spherical
lamps lit their way down a spiral staircase which ended in a wide bricklined passageway.
The ceiling was arched and lit by daylight, which poured in through square windows in the
roof. A feint line of green level with her shoulder and the stale smell of damp indicated that
this passageway was below ground. Countless other corridors branched off but eventually
they turned a sharp corner, walked up a short flight of stairs and through a door.

The kitchen was very large and Hermione noticed very empty, clearly Draco also thought
that someone ought to be here. He threw the door shut with a slam.

"Typical," he muttered turning back to Hermione, "Family goes away and they slack off."

"What are you doing?" asked Hermione as Draco pulled out his wand.

"Waking up the bloody House Elves!"

"Don’t!" she said covering the tip of his wand with her hands, "I have a better idea."

"Never do that!" he barked, "that’s the most idiotic way of stopping a spell I can think of!
Don’t you know that I could have taken your hands off?"

Hermione did know but she didn’t want to see the elves that worked in this house, if she
did she didn't think she’d be able to stay another second ... the way Harry had described
Dobby when he first met him… she kept her hands exactly where they were.

"And I thought we’d decided that you were going to stop contradicting me," Draco said.
Hermione recognised his expression, it was his ‘intimidating’ look and this time it wasn’t
working, she smirked and on a whim plucked his wand from between his slack fingers.

"You decided, Draco," she replied, inwardly pleased at having disarmed him. Hermione
tucked his wand in her robes and walked across to the long unpainted dresser, she picked
up a large and very shiny copper pot.

"I’m going to Muggle cook lunch, Malfoy," she said fiercely, ignoring the bemused way in
which he looked at his now empty hands, "and you are going to help me!"

Draco raised his hands in surrender, "Whatever you want, Hermione."

"Good, light the stove would you?" Hermione began to pull open drawers and doors looking
for certain implements. When she noticed that Draco had not moved Hermione turned back,
"You do know what a stove is, don’t you?"

"Of course I do!" he said tersely, "That’s the larder over there, take what you want." The ‘stove’
was a long black cast iron range that ran across the far wall of the room. Hermione disappeared
into the larder and when she emerged with an armful of vegetables she saw Draco on his knees
with his head stuck in the oven presumably trying to check that the thing was lit. She stifled a
giggle as she put the things down at the end of the long scrubbed table then found a knife and a
large wooden board. By the time Draco extracted his head she had rolled up her sleeves, and
was chopping a piece of meat into large chunks and throwing the pieces into a dish. "Thank you!"
she said brightly as she rinsed her bloody hands before she started on the vegetables. Draco
pulled out a chair from beneath the table and sat down.

"I spent some time down here when I was younger," he began, "it’s the warmest place in winter,"
he leaned his chair back on two legs with his hands behind his head planting his feet firmly on the
table. Draco’s eyes roamed lazily over Hermione as she stirred the meat that was now browning
in a pan, which hissed as she poured in some liquid from a jug before turning back. His soft
melodic voice droned on but Hermione wasn’t listening to what he was saying, she glanced at
him every now and then, thinking how comfortable and satisfied he looked; Draco was clearly
very pleased that he was getting away with doing absolutely nothing. Hermione bit her lip and
stiffened, "…Mother breeds Thestrals (2) you know … there’s one in the stables right now with
a bloodline that goes back seven hundred years – really you’ve never seen anything like it! I’ll
show you later…"

Hermione picked up a bowl full of chopped onions and potatoes and tipped them into the
simmering pan then she slammed the empty dish hard against the kitchen table. "Do I look
as though I need a supervisor?" she asked crossly. When Draco looked blank she pushed
his legs to the floor, "Get up you lazy sod and help me!"

"I’ll get you for that," he said, a very calculating look settling on his face as he circled her with
his arms and squeezed her tight. Hermione felt his hand inching its way toward his wand and
she slapped it back.

"Peel those carrots, Draco," she said in a no nonsense tone.

"Stop treating me like a bloody House Elf!" he protested as he picked up a knife and began to
do as he was told, "Why don’t you just use your wand, Hermione?"

"It’s more fun torturing you," she replied coolly, "apart from that, I want to do it this way and
I’ve never tried cooking by magic. I saw Mrs Weasley doing it but I think it needs a bit of
practice." she noticed his lips thin at the mention of that name. Hermione didn’t look at him
but asked, "Why are you glaring at me like that?"

"You’ve been to their house?" Draco asked sullen.

"Lots of times. Do you have a problem with that?" she challenged.

"No," he seemed to be chopping the carrots very hard.

"Are you trying to cut through the table?" enquired Hermione taking the knife from between
Draco’s fingers and laying it aside. She scooped up the carrots and dropped them into the
steaming pan, stirred it and put on the lid. After a moment the lid began to rattle as the pot
boiled. Hermione turned back to Draco and found him holding a piece of potato peel
between finger and thumb, examining it suspiciously.

"I’m done! Fifty minutes and it’ll be ready. Shall we wash up?"

Draco looked horrified. "I have some standards, can’t we just leave it for the…"

"No!" said Hermione firmly. She’d already turned the tap and was filling the sink with hot
soapy water. She turned on him brandishing a dishmop, "Now roll up your sleeves and get
over here. I’m betting that you’ve never washed a dish in your life and if I invite you to my
house during the holidays you are going to volunteer to wash up after dinner. Got it, Malfoy?"

Hermione shoved the dishmop into his hands and seized a tea towel.

"You’re utterly heartless," said Draco turning to the white rectangular sink. She saw him
grimace as his fingers broke the frothy surface of the scalding water. While she waited for
something clean to reach the draining board, Hermione wrapped her arms around Draco’s
waist and pressed against his back.

"Does that mean you’re going to ask me to visit you?" Draco asked over his shoulder.

Hermione poked her head beneath his arm; he raised it slightly to give her space. "You
missed a bit!" she pointed, and felt his arm move above her as he put the chopping board
back into the water, "I didn’t really think I’d be able to visit you here and anyway, my
parents have never had a wizard to stay."

Draco glanced down, "Not even Potter?"

"Not even Harry."

"Fine. Might be convenient, because if father ever finds out I brought you here I’m going to
need somewhere to stay."

Hermione slid round a little further so that she could see Draco’s face. It revealed nothing,
"He wouldn’t throw you out," she said, whatever he claimed Hermione just couldn’t believe that.

Draco didn’t reply, he just held the dishmop still against the chopping board and breathed
deeply, "We’ll have to see won’t we!" he said eventually, then slowly he reached into the sink.

As his arm tightened about her neck Hermione realised what he was going to do she also
realised that she was trapped very securely in the crook of his arm. She tugged at Draco’s
sleeve but as she wriggled he scooped a large pile of suds from the sink and dropped them
on her head.

Hermione squealed and bit his wrist. He released her with a gasp then she began to hit him
with her tea towel. Within minutes the terracotta floortiles were covered in suds, vegetable peel,
water and a very damp Hermione who slipped on a piece of onion when she tried to dodge
Draco’s second assault with the dishmop. Seeing her disadvantage he slowly poured a jug of
murky water over her head.

"You’re dead, Malfoy!" she shrieked, hands flat on the floor and eyes level with his knees.

"Scary, Hermione. Very scary!" he snorted leaning down, then Hermione reached up and
yanked his nose making him yelp with pain. "You utter cow!" he said, dropping down to her
level "Prepare to die, Granger!" she felt his hands on her shoulders pushing her backwards,
his face grinning into hers and she smiled sinking to the floor with him above her.

"You’re a mess," he accused as his damp hair flopped down over his eyes, tickling
Hermione’s nose.

"Look in a mirror, Malfoy" she retorted sticking out her tongue. Draco smiled when her hand
grazed his cheek as she pulled a piece of turnip out of his hair he leaned down. Hermione noticed
a rare warmth in his eyes and thought that he was about to kiss her, when;

A shrill whistle rang through the air. Hermione began to fumble in her robes, which was
difficult because Draco was lying heavily on her and making no effort to move.

"Help me up would you?" she said, "It’s ready." Draco shifted to his knees and helped Hermione
to her feet.

"That was never fifty minutes," he said, puzzled. As the whistling stopped his eyes widened,
"You cheated! You used an Acceleration Charm, that was ten minutes at most!" Draco
sounded annoyed as he grabbed the edge of the table and pulled himself upright.

"Sort of," Hermione admitted, "Actually, I used your wand to do it. I left mine in my bag," she
grinned and held out Draco’s wand that she had stolen earlier. He snatched it back.

"I thought you objected to shortcuts!" he said stowing the wand safely away. "I think I’m having
a bad effect on you."

"We have to be back at school by three," said Hermione matter-of-factly, "I’ve just saved us
forty minutes. Do you mind?" she kissed the tip of his nose. Draco shook his head.

Ignoring the debris on the floor Draco produced a chequered table cloth from somewhere, it
was barely large enough to cover the corner of the table but within a few minutes they sat down
to lunch.

"Incredible," Draco said between mouthfuls of stew, "No-ones’ ever done this for me before,
restaurants, dinner parties, yes, but actually preparing it themselves? No way. Can you imagine
Pansy up to her wrists in chunks of raw meat?" he continued, "Bitch wouldn’t know which way
up a carrot went! I had no idea you could do this, Hermione…" Hermione watched him talk
and eat, picking at her own plate every now and then.

Draco paused. "Did you hear something?" he asked.

"No, why so paranoid?"

"Just thought I felt the air change. The house is odd like that …a little thick..."

"You’re imagining things."

"Maybe," Draco’s free hand covered Hermione’s, she laughed as he retrieved it every now
and then when his hair fell into his eyes.

"Have you thought any more about…"

The kitchen door crashed against the dresser rattling every pan and plate in the room. Hermione’s
eyes darted to the doorway then to Draco. His face was white and his fork was still held between
his plate and his mouth, eyes fixed upon the man in the doorway.

"Shit!" she thought she heard him say.

Bright against the darkness of the low corridor beyond stood Lucius Malfoy swathed in a
heavy travelling cloak. Beneath this he wore a stiff collared shirt and a very dark suit that
wouldn’t have looked out of place at a particularly formal dinner. One look at his face told
Hermione that he was not happy.

"Just what do you think you’re doing here?" he enquired as the rattling of pans subsided.
His voice was barely raised above a whisper.

"I…" Draco began, lowering his fork to the table. His other hand still rested on Hermione’s
and she could feel his palm growing cold and sticky.

"I don’t want to hear it!" Malfoy interrupted as he stepped into the room his heel striking
loudly on the hard tiled floor. He seemed to notice Hermione for the first time. His eyes
lingered for a moment on the hand that lay beneath his son’s then they travelled slowly to
her face.

Hermione swallowed. Did she imagine the tiniest nastiest little smile bend the corners of his
lips? She suddenly wished that she still had Draco’s wand in her robes, it might not be hers
but at least it offered some…protection.

"I’ll see you in my study, boy." Malfoy said. Hermione thought he was about to leave but he
turned back to her.

"You," Hermione found herself looking at the tip of a long sharp finger which flicked down
to the floor. "Do something about this mess."

Something in his tone made Hermione shiver, it had all the same elements that sometimes made
her hate Draco; casual, superior, commanding. He hadn’t even looked at her when he said it!
Hermione could feel her pulse quickening, blood banging in her ears, indignation building and
just itching for release … that man had no right to talk to her like that! Hermione opened her
mouth to protest but Draco squeezed her fingers as he stood and mouthed ‘Just do it!’

Hermione watched Draco follow his father through the arched doorway, he was a little taller
but at this moment Draco looked very small indeed. She listened until the sound of their
footsteps faded and only then did she look down to the floor.

It was still soaked and strewn with dishcloths. What little sunlight came through the window
with its sill at ground level glinted off the liquid, mocking her like those cold callous eyes. Draco
had been right when said that he felt the air had thickened, right now Hermione could feel it tug
at her hair and her robes each time she moved. She reached for her wand then remembered
that she didn’t have it with her, she scraped back her chair. Had that bastard known? She
wondered.

Not because she’d been told to, but because of the look in Draco’s eyes when he whispered
‘do it,’ Hermione began to pick up all the little scattered pieces of food, she found what she
needed to dry the floor. She scraped the remnants of lunch into the bin and finished washing
the dishes, scrubbed out the pans. She dried them all and put them back where she had found
them. Eventually Hermione sat just staring down at the white pine surface then covered her
eyes with her hand and leant on her elbow.

That man made her feel worthless and she’d just cleaned up his kitchen without protest. It
was degrading but she presumed that was the point. It could only have been worse if he’d
stood over her and watched as she got down on her hands and knees to pick up the shrivelled
pieces of potato and scrub the floor clean. But he didn’t need to do that because he just knew
she was going to comply. Hermione felt sick, the knot in her stomach tightened and all she
could do was sit and wait, anxious and alone.

It was an hour before Draco appeared in the doorway looking annoyed and worn.

"Draco," Hermione dashed forward but he raised her hand as if to ward her off, her eyes fell
to the floor, she needed his comfort.

"We’re going!" he said hoarsely without explanation and turned. He walked quickly with his
arms tightly folded and his shoulders hunched. Hermione had to run to keep up with him; she
didn’t want to get lost, not down here. In minutes they emerged at the far end of the long
gallery where they had entered the house. She thought she heard voices behind one of the
many closed doors but there was no time to dwell on that, Hermione barely had her cloak
in her hands when Draco swept out through the front door. She pulled her bag onto her
shoulder and chased after him, cloak still over her arm.

"Draco," she called pulling on her cloak as she went down the steps, she tried to catch his
arm but he kept wrenching it out of her grasp, "Draco!"

He continued to ignore her until they reached the field at the top of the hill.

"You know what a Howler is don’t you?" he asked spinning round to face her, "But of course
you do, you know Longbottom. Anyway, I’ve just had the live equivalent and I really don’t feel
like talking so do me a favour and keep your bloody mouth shut!"

"But Draco…"

"Just shut up!" he bellowed into her face before climbing over the stile.

Hermione sat down heavily on the grass; she’d scraped her knee. She didn’t remember doing
it but little specks of dried blood clung to her skin reminding her, warning her. The wind pushed
wispy clouds across the sky rustling the leaves to obscure the song of the birds that chirped
and courted in the bushes. How come they got to be so happy? Hermione didn’t know what
to do; she didn’t know how to get back without Draco she didn’t think that she could do it by
herself. She sniffed and wiped her sleeve across her eyes, unable to tell who had upset her the
most, Draco or his father. She could still see the gleaming walls of their house stark against the
green of the valley below but she wished she’d never seen it, she wished she’d never seen
Draco or that horrible man who she was already beginning to loathe; ‘But you love his son,’
she reminded herself.

Draco. Hermione didn’t even know if he’d still be there. She got to her feet and climbed into
the field. He was there, standing, looking lost. Hermione followed the prints their feet had made
in the soft earth earlier that day to where he stood.

"I’m sorry," said Draco as she approached. He reached out and warmed her cheeks with his
hands. Her eyes were still damp and sore but if he noticed Draco didn’t say. He angled her
head so that she had to look up at him his eyes were clouded almost lifeless. "I didn’t know
he’d be there," he breathed, "You were meant to enjoy today. I just wanted to see your face
when I showed you something different. I forgot to show you the…" Draco rubbed his shoulder
not bothering to finish, "Seems I’m not very popular round here at the moment."

Hermione raised her hand and brushed his hair away from his face, she felt him stiffen as her
hand skimmed his brow. Linking her hands behind his neck she made him look down at her.

"Draco, will you please talk to me for a second?" she asked trying hard to keep her voice
steady.

"No," he answered shortly pushing her arms aside. "But if you’ll be quiet for a second, I’ll
kiss you."

"I will not be qu…" she began angrily. Hermione had had quite enough of being told what
to do by Malfoys for one day. But this one was always too quick for her. Draco simply
grunted and snatched at her hands quickly pinning them to her sides. "Got you," he said
through a forced grin then she felt his arms circling her holding her tight.

He was behaving as though the last few hours had not happened but Draco pressed her
body to his much too tightly and lost himself in her hair just holding her there as though he
never expected to hold Hermione again.
 
 
 

In Part Twelve: Relative Values … flying lessons, sharp words and unexpected news from home.

Authors Notes
Only two Beta babes on this one Bumblebee and Squin. Thanks goils:)

This will be the last chapter for at least two weeks. On Thursday I leave the UK for a country where
I don’t even speak the language. Writing will resume as soon as I have my internet connection sorted
out.

Sephiroth no Miko recommended a wonderful fic in her review "For Earth Is Hollow and I Have
Touched the Sky" by Pata. Read it, it’s marvellous.

Antinua: I’m now very scared indeed. That olive threat has just persuaded me to write more

Daphne: I didn’t think you were a lazy bum. I’ll be in touch.

To Everyone Else thank you for reading and reviewing. I really appreciate your feedback and
continuing support.

For updates on this fic please join:
http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Transi_de_Froid/

Comments, suggestions, criticisms, huge piles of money, publishing contracts, send either to
the list or to me seeker@slytherindungeon.net

Love always

~Incitata~

Footnotes:
Garak: the name of the Cardassian tailor on Star Trek DS9 – Yes, I’m a trekkie:)

(2) Thestral: from ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.’ A type of Winged Horse.
 

Back to Chapter 10
Chapter 12