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Ring A Ring O' Roses	By : Gallivant Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16640 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 15
- 16
- 17
A dead body, a mysterious, cryptic message, and Draco's losing his mind. A fraught and frightening night takes a surprising turn for Hermione and Draco… will things ever be the same again?

16. What Dreams May Come

Hermione had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but her name was being called and someone was roughly shaking her.

She felt heady, heavy-limbed. Unable to stir or speak.

She had to be dreaming.

Again, someone was calling her name. Over and over. With increasing urgency.

She could feel the mattress dip in response to somebody’s weight… somebody who had joined her on the bed.

Maybe this wasn't a dream, after all.

'Hermione, wake up!' The voice was clearer now, projected directly into her ear. She could feel large hands – one behind her neck, the other cradling her chin - gently moving her head from side to side.

There was a warmth against the length of her body, the feel of heated skin on skin.

'Can you hear me?'

It was Draco's voice.

Relief flooded through her.

She'd had such a disturbing dream… one where she'd left Draco in great danger.

'Hermione!' Draco shouted.

Hermione woke with a start, her heart pumping violently as a surge of adrenalin coursed through her. Draco was hanging over her, chest heaving, panting loudly.

‘What the hell are you doing? Oh my god, Draco! What's happened to you?’ she cried, recoiling at the sight of him.

Draco was shivering uncontrollably, his teeth chattering. He was half-naked, his jeans slung low on his hips and unbuttoned at the fly. His back and chest were covered in deep scratches, and his bullet-wound was bleeding profusely.

Hermione followed his shiny-eyed gaze to her own body. Her bare breasts and belly were thinly smeared in his blood where he had inadvertently touched her whilst waking her.

Horrified, she grabbed a pillow to shield her body as best she could, and shuffled into a kneeling position.

‘What is it?’ she asked again, trying to still the panic in her voice.

'I thought you might be dead!' he explained, burying his face in his hands.

'Dead? Why would I be dead?

Draco took deep breaths, and swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Hermione’s gaze. The grey irises of his eyes had been entirely swamped by the deep black of his pupils, and there was a slight slurring in his speech.

‘I don’t how to tell you this.’

Suddenly, her chest felt tight, fearful of what he might say. There was something terribly ‘off’ about him…

‘There's – there's a dead girl in my bed.'

'A WHAT?'

‘A dead girl,’ Draco repeated forlornly.

Hermione sprung off the bed and scrabbled urgently on the floor for the dusky pink shift she’d discarded last night. She wriggled the dress over her head, not caring that the pillow she was hiding behind, fell to the floor as she got dressed.

She had to do something, get help…

‘Tell me truthfully Draco,’ she said. Her mouth felt dry and she was struggling to swallow. She couldn’t stop imagining some kind of gruesome Muggle-torturing sex play that had got out of hand. ‘Have you killed someone?’

'No… NO! It’s not like that… I didn’t do anything!’ Draco remonstrated, his voice rising to a hysterical pitch. ‘I just found her there, lying beside me…’

‘Who is she?’

‘Rosario. From last night?'

'What the bloody hell was she doing in your bed? No, sorry… don’t answer that…’ Hermione said with a frown.

‘I honestly don’t remember how it happened,’ Draco said earnestly. He closed his eyes, grimacing, as a spasm of pain rocked him. ‘My head’s pounding. Feels like it might blow off.'

Hermione picked up the receiver of the phone next to her bed and tried to dial ‘Reception’ with shaking fingers.

'What are you doing?' Draco squealed in alarm. 'Don’t drag the Muggles into this!'

Hermione fixed him a steely look and continued dialing.

'They'll think I've fucking killed her!' Draco growled, teeth bared. He flung himself at her and wrestled the receiver from her grasp, slamming it back into its cradle.

'We have to report this, Draco! This is what you do in the Muggle world, or don't you realise that?’ Hermione said, feeling a little frightened by his strength and the ease with which he’d overpowered her.

'But I haven't done anything wrong! Not deliberately.'

'How can you be so sure?' Hermione snapped, unable to suppress the feeling of spiteful fury that rose up inside of her.

'Please, Hermione. Please help me…’ Draco said in softer, beseeching tones. He gripped her hand, clutching it tightly in his own, and tugged her away from the phone and towards him. His hand was hot and clammy. ‘You’ve got to come and see… She’s turned blue …’

‘BLUE?'

‘Dark Flux blue…’

XXX

‘Hold on… how the hell did you get into my room?' Hermione asked, as they hastened towards Draco's room at the far end of the corridor.

'I don't know.'

'You didn't consciously cast a spell?'

'It all happened so fast.'

Draco pulled his key-card from his jeans pocket and slipped it into the required slot on his door. He paused; taking a deep breath, preparing to face whatever was waiting for him inside.

'Why weren't you sick?'

'Why wasn't I… What? What the fucking hell are you on about?' Draco said impatiently, as he inched the door open.

XXX

Hermione cast a Colloportus on the door behind them, and a standard intruder spell, ensuring an alarm would sound if anyone – or anything – tried to enter.

The room was in complete disarray. Furniture was overturned. A bottle of champagne was lying on its side on the antique table and had dripped its contents onto the matching Louis XVI chair. Clothes were heaped shambolically or were hanging from various parts of the room where they had been flung, including a scarlet satin bra, which was dangling from the overhead light-shade.

'She's gone!' Draco cried. He stumbled backwards, collapsing heavily onto the wet Louis XVI chair, looking pale and shaky, his eyes huge and wild.

Hermione studied the bed. There was a pile of heaped up bedclothes, and a bloody stain on the under sheet – but definitely no body.

'Then she can't have been dead.'

‘Or somebody’s moved her body.’

Hermione quickly cast a Homenum Revelio, followed by a Homorphous Charm, just to check that there wasn't anybody still lurking.

Draco was shaking his head in disbelief. He half up-ended the champagne bottle; then, noticing there were still some dregs in the bottom, he glugged the liquid down before throwing the bottle to the ground.

'I don't get it, Hermione. I swear to you. She was lying there, dead and cold.'

'And you're sure this wasn't some kind of hallucination?' Hermione asked in a crisp, clear voice, desperately trying to maintain an outward veneer of calm.

'She was blue… electric blue,' Draco said in halting tones, 'like… like that Ana girl,' he added, his lip curled in revulsion, 'and she had those horrible purple welts.' He threw a pleading look at Hermione. 'You do believe she was here, don't you? I'm not going mad…'

Hermione glanced upwards. 'Well, there has to be an explanation for that bra hanging up there. So yes, I believe you.'

'Good… because… oh hell… I feel very strange…' Draco mumbled incoherently, falling forwards, almost tumbling off the chair. Hermione lunged towards him, hauling him upright.

He looked terrible, she thought. She wondered if she should call a doctor. He was wheezing and there was a greyish tinge to his lips.

'Look at me,' Hermione said, tilting his head backwards so that she could examine his eyes, which had suddenly glazed over, his pupils swirling.

'Did you eat or drink anything unusual tonight?'

He shook his head. 'Just booze and...Turkish light…' He thought a moment, brow furrowed in an effort of stern concentration. ‘Turkish de-light.'

'Right, where was that?'

'Boat… Miguel's boat.'

Miguel's boat, she thought glumly. Miguel who worked for Astrum, a.k.a. Red Star. Her memories of the chauffeur with the 'Red Star' Astrum logo on his uniform came flooding back.

Surely Miguel wasn't involved in this? He was Draco's friend…

Even so, her suspicion that Draco was suffering from the after-effects of a powerful hex or potion was hardening by the moment. His condition was fast deteriorating.

'I think you've been cursed, Draco,' she said. He blinked repeatedly, seeming dazzled. 'Hold still,' she cried, wand aloft. She focused her magical energies on a Finite Incantatem, adding in a few flourishes of her own that she hoped might help to rejuvenate him.

'Any better?'

Draco's grey pallor had mutated to a ghastly green. His skin was moist with perspiration.

'Oh fuck, I'm going to be sick,' he gagged. He brusquely elbowed Hermione aside and sprinted into the bathroom.

Hermione stood alone in the middle of his destroyed bedroom, listening to him emptying the contents of his stomach; gut-churning wave after wave of loud, honking vomit.

She closed her eyes tightly, shutting out the sound. Felt the darkness with her mind… had Los Rojos been here, in this room, tonight?

As if from nowhere, there it was… at the edges of her vision. A tail end. A tiny flash of colour. A flash of red.

Her reverie was interrupted by the abrupt flush of the toilet, followed by Draco's voice calling her name. He sounded panicked.

She dashed into the bathroom where Draco was struggling to stand. He staggered, smashing sideways into the wall. Hermione hooked her arm around him.

'Sorry,' he croaked. His voice was gravelly from vomiting.

'You'll feel better soon,’ Hermione said in comforting tones. Her eyes dropped to his bloodied chest and the gaping shoulder wound. It looked worse than ever. ‘You could do with a shower.’

He immediately began sliding his jeans off his hips. Hermione averted her eyes, leaping away from him to the doorway. She gazed instead at the chaotic bedroom. What the hell had happened here? The place had been utterly wrecked. Had there been a fight?

Draco pitched into the shower cubicle behind her. The cubicle door clanked shut, followed by a loud burst of shower water.

'Chuck me my tooth stuff, will you?' he called, opening the shower door a notch and slinking out a wet hand. She grabbed a tooth-mug holding a toothbrush and paste and thrust it at him.

In that exact same moment, she caught sight of a large-lettered message, daubed in what looked like blood, on the vanity mirror above the sink.

'For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come.'

Swathes of condensation on the mirror were slowly erasing the message, which was dripping down the mirror in long, thin red rivulets, before pooling on the white ceramic sink unit below.

She stared at the mirror, frozen to the spot. Her heart was thumping maniacally in her chest, her mind racing. She shivered, rubbing her arms in response to an outbreak of goose bumps.

'Draco? Can you hear me?' she yelled, raising her voice to be heard over the roar of the shower.

'Yeah!' he shouted back, his voice slightly muffled by the water.

'There's – there's a message on the mirror,’ she stammered. ‘I - I think it's Shakespeare.'

'Shakespeare? What the…?' The water instantly cranked off. 'I need a towel,' Draco said in truculent tones. The shower door swung open. Hermione instinctively screwed her eyes shut and shoved a towel in his direction.

She could hear him vigorously drying himself. 'You can open your prudish little eyes now,' he drawled.

He'd wrapped the large white towel around his waist and roughly dried his hair into a spiked frenzy.

He was staring at the mirror, open-jawed. 'It's not something I did, if that's what you're thinking,' he said.

'No… this is a message from Los Rojos,' Hermione said dazedly. ‘I've had that 'Red' feeling again.'

Draco gave her a sharp look then peered closely at the dripping message on the mirror. 'Is this blood?' he asked, sneering in disgust.

'I doubt it,' Hermione said, dipping a fingertip into the bloody mixture pooling on the sink. She sniffed it.

'What the hell are you doing?' Draco yelped. 'Are you mad?' He forced her hand under the tap, and then twisted the water tap on at full pelt so that all traces of blood were washed away. 'It could be diseased or something.'

‘It’s paint,’ she said flatly, snatching her hand from Draco’s clasp.

'For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,' Draco read. 'What does it mean?'

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she scoffed. She was raging inside, suddenly furious that Draco had got himself – got them BOTH – into such a bloody stupid mess.

‘No, Hermione, it’s not obvious,’ he retorted, clearly picking up on her tone.

‘DREAMS, Draco, it says DREAMS… you were enchanted so that your dreams felt real…’

‘It was real.’

‘No, it wasn’t. You thought Rosario was dead from Dark Flux, remember? And then you thought I was dead too? It doesn’t make sense, does it now?’

‘Everything was woozy… like my head was going to explode.’

‘Exactly. You’d been enchanted.’

‘But she was here. Rosario was here,’ Draco said firmly.

Yes, there was no denying that, Hermione thought sourly, grimacing at the mess of scratch marks on Draco’s chest.

Her eye alighted on Katya's silver pendant hanging around his neck. Draco looked a little uncomfortable under her keen-eyed scrutiny. He lightly traced one of the scratches with his finger.

'She was a little over-enthusiastic.’

'Please. Spare me the details,' Hermione said, tight-lipped.

'Not that much to say anyway,' he muttered. 'All a bit of a disaster actually…'

Hermione studiously ignored Draco, returning her attention to the mirror. 'For in that sleep of death…' she said pensively, ‘it might mean a Draught of Living Death?'

‘To make her look dead?' Draco raised his eyebrows quizzically. ‘That’s just weird!’

‘It’s all bloody weird,’ Hermione said, surprised at how angry she felt. ‘For some reason, they really wanted to freak you out!’ She vanished the strange, Shakespearean message on the mirror with a quick flick of her wand.

It was better to do something… get active. Somehow exorcise this bottled-up emotion welling up inside of her.

Returning to the bedroom, she busily embarked on a series of tidying spells, including a few very necessary Reparos. She couldn’t possibly let the chambermaids see Draco’s room in this state. They’d get the police onto him.

'So have we concluded that Rosario definitely isn't dead?' Draco said, following her into the bedroom. He leaned wearily against the bedroom wall. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and screwed his eyes tightly shut, tottering a little. 'Because thinking THAT is the only thing keeping me sane.’

'Paint on the mirror…. a cryptic message…. and a disappearing corpse. Not to mention you scared out of your bloody wits and having hallucinations!' Hermione started on the arduous job of scourgifying his bedclothes. 'What do you think?'

Draco shook his head. 'But it seemed so real.' He chewed his nails nervously. 'I can't think how somebody got that close to cast a Confundus Charm, or whatever the hell it was that addled my brain like that.'

'Maybe Rosario was a witch?'

'No way,' Draco said. He was pulling his jeans back on underneath his voluminous towel, and was focusing on re-buttoning his fly, before letting the towel fall to the floor.

'How would you know?'

Draco laughed, a low, insidious laugh. 'I know, believe me.'

Hermione halted her cleaning spree and stood gaping at him, hands on hips, head held high, challenging him.

'Let me guess... you think Muggles and witches are different in bed?' she said, bristling with indignation.

'Funny you should say that. There is something.'

'That's disgusting... I don't want to know.'

'... Something I can't quite put my finger on...'

Hermione was frenziedly persisting with her cleaning spells, her wand fizzing with exertion.

'I'm not listening.'

Draco approached the bed, catching hold of one end of the bedcover Hermione was now grappling with, to assist her, as she attempted to scourgify another bloodstain out of existence.

'I like Muggles. They're more… there. More in the moment,’ he smirked, clearly enjoying Hermione’s discomfiture. ‘Witches are more melodramatic.'

'That's utter rubbish,' Hermione snarled, turning her back on him. ‘You should meet my Aunty Rita,' she added, under her breath.

She stood on tiptoe, hooking the end of her wand into Rosario's bra and releasing it from the light-shade. She glanced quickly at Draco, acutely aware that he was watching her intently, a rapt look on his face.

'Curiously, I've never shagged a Muggleborn witch,' he mused, sitting down heavily on the bed.

Hermione continued to feel his eyes lingering over her, as she moved briskly around the room, up ending overturned furniture, straightening ornaments. 'They know to avoid you,' she sniped, prickling with an odd consciousness. ‘Anyway, if you like Muggle women as much as you claim to Draco, how come you only married witches?' She flashed him a sickly smile, which she hoped would defuse the weighty feeling building inside of her.

'I think your 'liking' Muggle women is a sham, Draco Malfoy. It's the worst kind of 'racism' there is, because it treats Muggle women like disposable whores.' She paused, brandishing her wand for dramatic effect as she spoke. ‘I mean… really… compared to all those lovely pureblood and half-blood witches, do I – a measly Muggleborn - LOOK that different? Do I SMELL different? Or TASTE different?'

Draco lay back on the bed, hands folded beneath his head, continuing to stare at her. He was biting his lip as though trying to stop himself from saying something he might regret.

She approached him, her eyes firmly trained on his face.

'I doubt you've spent more than three hours alone, if that, in the company of a Muggle woman – beyond having sex of course.'

Draco burst out laughing. 'Well, that's patently not true, Hermione. Apart from a few hours sleeping, we've been together now for… let's see… almost sixty hours straight? And the last time I checked, YOU are a Muggle woman.'

'Interesting Draco. So you see ME more as a Muggle than a Muggleborn witch? Which is what I AM, by the way!'

She swiftly flicked her wand and shouted 'Incarcerous!' Draco blanched and tried to dodge the spell, but was instantaneously pinioned to the bed by ropes that Hermione had conjured to entrap him with.

'What the fuck?' he spluttered, trying in vain to break free.

Hermione smiled smugly. 'See? Definitely NOT a Muggle!’

‘Okay Hermione! Point taken – you’re a fucking WITCH! You don’t need to keep me tied up. Now let me go!’ he yelled, contorting his body. He suddenly winced, anxiously flicking his eyes towards his wound, which was oozing nastily.

‘That looks horrible! Hermione said, a look of consternation on her face. She reached out and placed her hand on his chest. His skin was scorching hot. It had to be infection from the wound. ‘You’re burning up.’

‘Get your hands off me!’ he said hoarsely.

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently. ‘You didn’t seem to mind me touching you before! Oh, I see… Have you had enough of being touched by MUGGLES for one night then, Draco?’

She knelt on the bed beside him, positioning her face just a few short inches from his own, forcing him to look up at her.

‘I need to do this, okay?’ She proceeded to apply a rudimentary cleansing spell to his wound.

Draco frantically tried to twist away from her, straining against the bonds tethering him to the bed. ‘Please, Hermione. Don’t. I’m begging you!'

'Begging me? Don't be silly,' she scowled. 'I'm only trying to help.’

‘I don’t need your fucking help,' he said. ‘Just get away from me!’ He glared at her defiantly, but Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he was trembling.

‘Please… Untie me.’ His eyes glowed bright with hot terror.

‘Only if you stay still and let me at least heal you,’ she demanded, unfettering him with a brief sweep of her wand.

He immediately sprung up, like a caged animal, forcing her to slap him back down again, using the flat of her palm on his wounded shoulder, whilst jamming her knee against his thigh.

He hissed in response, tightly clenching his stomach muscles.

‘You fucking cruel cow,’ he cursed.

She sat up, still keeping her knee firmly in place on his thigh, before realizing, with a hot flush of shame, that she was effectively straddling his legs.

‘Let’s just get this over with, shall we?’

She quickly cast an Episkey, hoping this would at least stem the flow of blood and goo seeping from the wound.

‘Just don’t touch me,’ he warned. There was a strange light in his eyes. She could feel the heat pulsating from him, enveloping her in his warmth.

He stayed her arm with his hand.

‘I mean it, Hermione… You can’t touch me because…. Because the wound…it’s turning blue.’

‘That’s not possible,’ she said. But even as she spoke, she could see there was a faint purplish tinge to the skin at the circular puckered edge of his wound. Without thinking, she delicately brushed her fingers against the opening, and yes, it was distinctly blue inside; the same sort of glacial, electric blue, Hermione thought with a heavy heart, that affected Dark Flux victims.

‘Don’t you ever fucking listen? I said, DON’T TOUCH IT!’ Draco cried, red-faced with fury, thrusting her off his lap and onto the bed beside him.

She glared at him, smarting with stunned humiliation.

‘Sorry, I’m so sorry,’ he apologized, levering himself upright. ‘I just don’t want to hurt you, that’s all!’

'But I've healed you before, Draco,’ Hermione argued, eyes flashing furiously. ‘If you were infected with Dark Flux, I’d probably be dead by now!’

Draco rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted.

‘There’s no way you’ve been infected,’ she said in calmer tones.

‘Those fucking Rojos,’ he spat. ‘I wouldn’t put it past them.’

‘Draco… you’re a pureblood wizard. Dark Flux can’t hurt you,’ Hermione said, tenderly touching his face, coaxing him to look at her. ‘Please let me heal you.’

She didn’t wait for an answer. She cast a healing spell followed by a spell designed to soothe any pain he might be feeling, which was quickly succeeded by an unmistakable look of relief on his face.

She speedily conjured fresh dressings, which she started to wind around his body.

'See… I survived,' she said with a reassuring smile, her hands dancing over his skin in quick, rapid movements. 'You didn't kill me.’

‘I bet you think I’m a right prat.’

‘Well, you’re being super-paranoid,’ Hermione replied. ‘But then… It’s been a pretty peculiar night all-round,’ she added with a sigh.

‘When I thought the girl – Rosario – was dead, I was sure it was my fault. You see I’d noticed the bluish colour of my wound before we went out, but I just figured that was probably infection… but once the whole DEAD thing happened, I suddenly feared that I was infected with Dark Flux… that I’d been made into a walking weapon…please don’t laugh, Hermione, it’s what I thought… I was convinced I could kill Muggles and Muggleborns… And then I remembered we’d been dancing, and how close we’d been, and I couldn’t stop thinking, couldn’t stop worrying, that I could kill YOU too.’

He exhaled deeply, shaking his head, almost as though he was trying to vanquish an image from his mind.

‘It was all I could think about...’ he said, staring at her intently. ‘I couldn’t give a toss about the dead girl on the bed beside me. I was seized by this… horrible dark fear… like the air was being crushed out of my lungs… I just had to know you were alive.’

Hermione stopped mid-spell, her wand falling from her grasp, unexpectedly captivated by the intensity in his voice and the heated warmth in his eyes. Soft crepe wound inexorably from her wand in one long spool, falling from the bed onto the floor.

‘But you hate me,’ she said, in a small, strangulated voice, remembering the cold fury he’d unleashed on her earlier at Villa Ofelia.

‘Because you hate me,’ Draco replied in cool, sardonic tones.

They stared at each other, barely able to breathe. For a moment, it was as though the air between and around them shimmered, Hermione thought. Like a modified memory.

She placed her hand on his cheek, gazing at his eyes, his face. Had he always had such a beautiful mouth, she thought, tremulously tracing the curve of his lips with her thumb.

She never knew what possessed her to do it.

Drawn forwards, as though by an invisible thread, she snaked her arms around Draco’s neck and kissed him, a soft, moist slide of her lips over his.

‘Oh God,’ he groaned, encircling her in his arms, capturing her mouth greedily with his own. She closed her eyes, losing herself in the luxuriant heat of his mouth, the taste of him, the feel of his fingers on her skin.

She allowed him to ease her backwards onto the bed. His hands felt large and warm, gliding sinuously along the length of her bare thighs and up her body. She shivered with pleasure as his fingers lightly brushed her painfully hard nipples, which were grazing the thin fabric of her dress. Unable to fight the sudden fierce surge of arousal sweeping through her, she instinctively wrapped her legs tightly around him, urging him closer, molding herself to him. She could feel his excitement, pressed hard against her. His breathing, harsh and heavy, was hot on her face.

‘Hermione…' he murmured, as he trailed kisses across her jaw line to the soft skin beneath her ear. The feel of his hot, wet mouth on her neck was so exquisite, so tantalizing, she couldn’t breath. He buried his hand deep within her hair, bending her face to his, drawing her into another burning kiss, plundering her mouth with such ferocity, it was as though a white, hot glow had bleached her mind.

She blissfully succumbed, moaning into his mouth, caressing his bottom lip with her tongue, tugging at it with her teeth, barely resisting a growing temptation to bite him, to taste his blood.

The urge was so strong, so violent, she was finally able to wrench her mouth away, to regain the cool air of sanity.

'No… No, Draco… It’s not right…' she gasped. She hadn't meant for this to happen.

'Just - Just shut the brain down, Hermione, this once,' he said gruffly. 'Please.'

She tried to squirm free from under him. 'Let me go,' she insisted, pushing at his chest and arms, which had firmly locked her into a tight embrace.

She had to stop this before they went too far, so she shoved her hand hard into his face.

Draco instantly rolled away from her, holding his hand to his nose as though in pain. He sat up and checked his hand for any sign of blood, shaking his head in disbelief. The shock and hurt in his eyes were palpable.

‘I’m not some fucking rapist, Hermione. I was stopping, okay?’ he said in accusatory tones. His eyes were velvet-dark with excitement and he was still panting heavily.

‘We can’t do this,’ she said bluntly, fervently wishing her wildly drumming heartbeat would slow and that she could regulate her erratic breathing.

Draco nodded wearily. ‘So you keep saying.’

‘I mean it!’

‘You kissed me first, Hermione.’

'Just… just shut up!’ she snapped. ‘Forget it ever happened!’

She retrieved her wand.

‘Now then… where were we?' she continued in shaky tones, avoiding his smoldering gaze. ‘Yes… I had to finish your bandage… Stay still please.’

She resumed her dressing of his wound with an unsteady flick of her wrist.

He sat motionless, allowing her to wind crepe bandage around his shoulder and chest, but she could feel him staring at her.

‘I was going to stop, Hermione, I promise you,’ he said.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said in cutting tones.

‘You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to kiss you.’

‘Forget it Draco. It was nothing,' she asserted, trying to fasten his bandage with her wand and failing. For some unfathomable reason, the wand was sparking in her hand.

‘It wasn’t NOTHING.’

'I was merely proving a point.' She irritably slammed her wand onto the bed.

He narrowed his eyes sceptically. 'And what point was that then?'

‘That you’re not infected with Dark Flux. That you're not a walking Muggle-killer,’ she said in a tight, controlled voice, painfully aware of how ridiculous she must sound.

Draco shook his head. 'You're the saddest fucking liar I've ever met. You wanted to kiss me too.’

She quickly finished fastening his bandage with fumbling fingers, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. 'All done,' she said, vigorously pushing her hair back from her face and smoothing down her dress.

Then she grabbed her wand, and focused with all her might, flourishing it in Draco’s direction.

‘Incarcerous!’ she screeched, conjuring sufficient rope to bind his limbs together so that he couldn’t follow her.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, not again,’ Draco groaned.

‘That’s better,’ she grinned, relieved to see her wand was working properly after all.

She stalked out of the room, but was only halfway down the corridor before Draco had rejoined her, shaking off the ropes she had used to tether him with.

'So you can use magic!' Hermione cried.

'Only when I have to,' he said. 'In an emergency.'

She opened her bedroom door with a swift swish of her wand.

Draco followed her into her bedroom, forcing the door open with his right shoulder before she had managed to close it behind her.

'What are you doing?' Hermione shrilled. Her head was beginning to thrum with a piercing falsetto, whining in her ears like a sudden attack of tinnitus. She needed to escape from this emotional rollercoaster, from him…

'I don't think it's a good idea to be alone at this juncture, do you?' Draco said pointedly.

'Just because we had a tiny little moment of madness, doesn't mean you need to follow me wherever I go!'

‘You really are an egotist of the highest order, aren't you Hermione?' he retorted. 'There's a bunch of fucking maniacs out there spying on our every move, hexing me into fucking la-la land. This is not the time to indulge in splendid isolation!'

Hermione frantically rummaged through her pile of clothes, currently heaped in and around her suitcase, pulling out some fresh underwear and the blue dress Draco had bought her. She then stuffed everything else back into the case and whizzed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.

Once inside, she ripped off her dusky pink shift and knickers, and fell into the shower, scrabbling to turn the water on.

She sighed deeply, leaning her forehead against the cold, tiled wall of the shower cubicle, the water sloshing over her, as she watched Draco's blood dripping from her body, streaking and staining the water, before being sucked into the drain's swirling vortex.

Why had she done it? Why had she kissed him? Not just once, but over and over… and, even then, she'd wanted more.

Her stomach flip-flopped at the memory of his mouth on hers, on her neck, her jaw. She'd loved the feel of him, the taste of him, the pressure of their lips together, the teasing sweep of his tongue against hers.

She groaned in frustration, but also confusion. What she'd done was so bloody stupid. So completely out of control…

'You alright in there?' Draco called, smacking his hand loudly and repeatedly on the bathroom door.

‘I'm fine,' she replied, her heart jumping inside of her.

She glimpsed the blue blur of the dress Draco had bought her through the frosted glass of the shower cubicle door.

She had to be stark, raving mad! There was no way she could wear that back to England. How could she ever explain it to Ron?

RON… His name sank into her stomach like a cold, heavy stone. He could never know what had happened here. Never, ever know how she had kissed Draco Malfoy. It would destroy him.

She scrambled out of the shower, seizing a towel, which she muscled through her thick, wet hair, before fixing it with a scrunchie. She wrapped the towel tightly around herself and headed into the bedroom, determined to act as normal. To pretend that nothing had happened between them.

Draco was sitting on her bed, looking drained and ill. The poor man needed sleep, Hermione thought, but there simply wasn’t time… they had too much to do, too much to resolve before she headed home that same morning.

'Come on, Draco. We’ve got to get to Senor Canaro's,' Hermione said urgently, retrieving her jeans and a top from her suitcase and heading back into the bathroom to get changed. 'Have you got a lot of business meetings today?' she called out, in forced sprightly tones.

'A few, but later. Miguel suggested I go for a spin on his boat this morning.'

So clearly Miguel hadn't expected him to be dead or imprisoned. Even so… she had to warn him…

'Draco. I think Astrum is Red Star… Jeroboam's Red Star…' she said plainly.

'What?'

'Astrum. The company Miguel works for!' Hermione re-emerged from the bathroom freshly clad in her jeans and green jersey top. 'I noticed the chauffeur who drove me home last night had a red star logo on his jacket.'

'Astrum,' Draco repeated slowly, deliberately. He licked his lower lip, momentarily lost in thought. 'But of course… it's Latin.'

He buried his face in his hands. 'Shit! I'm such a fool. Rosario…. Estrella…. Red Star. Maybe Miguel was trying to tell me all along? To warn me off!'

'That's not quite true,' Hermione said, rifling through her rather jaded memories of the night before. 'We tried to leave earlier in the evening, but Miguel insisted we went to Villa Ofelia.'

'I just thought Miguel wanted to get into your knickers.'

'Maybe his job was to keep us apart?'

Draco pondered this, a sullen expression on his face. 'I hope you're wrong. I've had good times with Miguel.'

'I don't think the main aim of last night's extravaganza was to kill you, Draco,' Hermione said, hoping this was some form of comfort. 'But to frighten you.'

'Well, it certainly succeeded,' Draco said bitterly.

'The fact is, Los Rojos clearly know where we're staying and what we've been doing… they've had every chance to kill us both… but they haven't,' she added thoughtfully.

'You forget it was Miguel's Astrum plane that flew us to Santa Maria? We could have died in that bloody morgue!'

'We need to see Miguel and find out precisely what he knows about all this,' Hermione said in efficient, clipped tones. She patted flat her clothes in her suitcase and zipped it shut in one clean, brisk movement.

'I thought you were going home,' Draco said, unable to smother the gleeful smirk which had exploded onto his face.

'I'll leave straight after. Pity you can't Portkey with me… You should be in St Mungo's, not gallivanting around Buenos Aires.'

'If it wasn't for that bloody scanner…'

They locked eyes.

'You had it hidden from view, didn't you, Draco?'

Draco blanched. 'Fuck. I think I showed it to Rosario.'

'You what?'

XXX

CHAPTER TRACKS: "WHITE RABBIT" by JEFFERSON AIRPLANE

&

“YOU’LL BE MINE” by THE PIERCES

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.

Thanks to Apurva & Lou.
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Ring A Ring O' Roses