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Ring A Ring O' Roses	By : Gallivant Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16636 -:- 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
- 7
- 8
- 9
Hermione embarks on a long journey to South America with Draco, and finds she is thrust into a situation of far greater personal intimacy with her former enemy than she had ever anticipated...

8. Not So Easy to EZE

Finding Draco Malfoy at Heathrow Airport was a lot more difficult than Hermione had anticipated.

She Floo-ed straight to the Express Lounge at the International Portkey Terminal, which she had visited on numerous occasions, and from there, she followed the signs for Terminal Five which was for Muggle flights only. She was already late, and had to jog for fifteen minutes in driving rain through vast car parks and across a busy road - getting stuck on a roundabout in the process.

Terminal Five was impressive yet dispiriting; a gigantic facade of featureless glass, accessed by pedestrian walkways spanning a narrow, vertiginous gully. Hermione shuddered at the thunderous wall of sound as jet planes roared at take-off and landing, which was continuous here.

She hated flying, in all its forms, and hadn't set foot on a Muggle plane since that fateful day she flew her parents to Australia sixteen years ago. She had wept for the entire journey, not just because of what was happening, not just because she was losing her parents for an uncertain period of time, but because she was petrified of the whole flying experience.

Hermione was both bewildered and a little apprehensive that Draco had arranged to meet Ron here at all. Surely he hadn't expected Ron to fly to Buenos Aires when a Portkey would take a fraction of the time? There had to be another, more rational reason for this particular rendezvous.

Her mood was worsened by the sight of Draco's scowling face waiting at one of the entrances to the terminal. He was trussed into a long, grey raincoat, umbrella aloft, his silvery hair glistening in the purplish light of dusk.

By the time Hermione was alongside him, she was panting hard from the effort of carting the metal attaché case and her leather suitcase all the way from the Portkey Terminal, and was mentally berating herself for not casting a simple lightening charm.

Draco literally took three steps backwards as she approached.

'No, Ron, no! Please tell me you've had an accident with the polyjuice!' he yelped.

'Is it really so bad to see me?' Hermione snapped, more offended than she could have ever imagined possible considering the identity of the complainant. 'Let's get inside, I'm soaked.'

It was brightly lit inside the terminal building, which was a vast, open space, stylishly designed – all white, glass and chrome. It was hugely busy as the countdown to the overnight international flights was clearly underway.

'So what's happened to Ron then? Let me guess. Weasel-man's chickened out?' Draco said in scathing tones. He took note of the metal attaché case in Hermione's hand. 'Any luck getting into that thing?'

'None at all. Ron's hurt his back,' Hermione said sharply. 'So you've got me instead.'

'Clumsy clot.' Draco sneered. Hermione could feel his eyes looking her up and down. She automatically reddened, knowing she had to look a sorry, sodden state. Her riotous hair had broken free from its velveteen scrunchie around the time when she was trotting at a fair lick through Car Park C. Thick curly tendrils of hair were now clinging to her cheeks and dripping globs of rainwater onto her flushed face.

'Ron was attacked in our home. Kind of convenient, don't you think?'

'Convenient? In what sense?' Draco narrowed his eyes. 'Are you accusing me of something here? Because believe me, I'd much rather have him here than you!'

'Listen, dipshit!' Hermione yelled, frustrated by his selfishness. 'What I mean is that you go and get shot just before this trip, and now Ron's been sidelined too. Doesn't that seem strange to you?'

A look of genuine surprise and anxiety flashed across Draco's features. 'You mean… someone knows about our plans and is out to knobble us?'

'That's exactly what I mean. What happened to you anyway?'

Draco shrugged. 'I honestly don't know. I was meant to be meeting somebody. I got an anonymous note telling me they had some… information. About… well… you know.'

So she'd been right, Hermione thought, barely able to suppress a self-congratulatory smile. He had been looking for Katya.

'I was waiting in an alley – my contact insisted we were discreet, you see - and then, Bam! That was that.' His eyes darted nervously from side to side.

He already knew he'd behaved foolishly, Hermione thought. She was pretty amazed he hadn't invented some tall tale of grand heroics instead.

Draco was now casting worried glances towards the check-in queues. 'Look, we need to get going,' he muttered. 'You'd better come with me to the ticket office.'

'Ticket office?' Hermione screeched, incredulous. 'You mean we're actually flying?'

'In case you hadn't noticed, Mrs Weasley, we're at an airport,' Draco said sarcastically. 'Flying's what you do when you come to these places.'

'I'm quite aware of that, Malfoy. And equally aware that the Portkey Terminal is close by too, which will suit me nicely, thank you very much.'

'We have to fly.' Draco gestured at the metal case in Hermione's grasp. 'We can't risk taking that by Portkey. It's too important.'

'What the hell can happen? It's magically sealed, Malfoy. And you told me it was a hybridic Muggle/Magic technology, so I don't think x-rays are going to do it much good either, do you?' Hermione fumed.

There was no way she was going to fly. No way. One of the greatest perks of living in the wizarding world was the ability to use Portkeys and Apparition instead of aeroplanes. Draco could fly if he wanted. But it didn't mean she had to.

Draco grabbed Hermione by the elbow and steered her away from the swishing automatic doors at the main entrance, deeper into the airport.

'I'm not risking something happening to that scanner,' he said in firm tones. 'It's the only one we've got.'

He still had a hold of Hermione's arm and was now frog marching her towards a British Airways information booth, hosted by a line of smartly uniformed assistants sporting saccharine smiles.

Hermione tried to squirm free, but his grasp tightened. 'You'd better have your passport,' he added gruffly.

She finally shook her arm loose, eyeing him in disgust. The rain had matted her hair to her scalp, and now a pristinely attired and poised sales assistant was watching them. Hermione instinctively pushed her hands through her hair, trying to make herself look presentable.

'Of course I have my passport. Doesn't mean I'm going to fly,' she said in low tones, not wanting to make a scene in front of their audience. 'And don't say you need my help because of getting shot. You seem perfectly well to me.'

'It hurts like buggery.'

'Well, you seem to be coping perfectly well on your own,' she replied haughtily.

'Look,' he whispered harshly, pulling her close. He half unbuttoned his grey raincoat. Underneath, he was wearing a black jumper and silk shirt over black jeans. He dropped his travel bag and briefcase to the floor. Then he undid a few shirt buttons with one hand, pulling his jumper and shirt aside as covertly as possible so that she could see the swathe of bandaging wrapped around his left shoulder and around his chest. Katya's silver rose pendant hung loosely over the bandage, which was stained crimson, as freshly oozing blood suffused the crepe from his shoulder down to his ribcage.

Hermione had never wanted to see Draco Malfoy's chest, and even if she had, having to gawk at his body, in the full glare of British Airways's finest sales staff would never have been her preferred option. But she was compassionate by nature, and was keenly aware that moving his shoulder hurt Draco dreadfully, judging by the pained glint in his eye and his sharp intake of breath.

'Any good at healing spells?' he muttered.

'Merlin, Malfoy!' Hermione said. 'You should still be in St Mungo's.' Draco grimaced as he gingerly buttoned up his shirt. 'The blood will ruin your shirt if you're not careful,' Hermione warned primly.

'I've got spares.'

'That's not the point.' This was a nightmare, she thought, her head spinning. She hated flying. She hated Draco Malfoy. The two in combination was enough to make her scream in blind panic. But the man was in no fit state to fly halfway across the world without some support.

'Why are you still bleeding?' she asked urgently. ‘The mediwizards at St Mungo's should have been able to stop that with a simple charm.'

‘I know. It doesn't make sense. Our private healer assured me that traveling wouldn't be a problem. But the wound started bleeding again the moment I got here.'

Hermione glanced around the airport, past the milling crowds queuing at the check-in desks, towards shops and bars, glutted with Christmas decorations.

'You might be best off going to the First Aid office,' Hermione murmured thoughtfully. She hoped that would do the trick. The last thing she wanted was to have to heal him herself. That involved far too much close, personal contact.

'Only you would get a magic-resistant wound, Malfoy,' she complained bitterly. 'And we have another problem,' she sighed. 'Me.'

'Go on,' Draco grunted impatiently.

'I'm – I'm scared of flying. And I very much doubt you have a Draught of Peace tucked away in that briefcase of yours, do you?'

'Oh,' Draco said, a little nonplussed at this development. 'Yes… that's right. You always hated it, didn't you? You were crap at Quidditch.'

Hermione glowered at him, beginning to feel a genuine sense of rising panic that this whole, stupid situation was already beginning to spiral out of her control. If she had any chance of getting on that plane to Buenos Aires, she desperately needed a little magical pick-me-up.

She inched closer to Draco - just in case the British Airways sales staff had supersonic hearing - and said in hushed tones, 'There's a Calming Charm. Works brilliantly with fear of flying. But I can't cast it on myself. You'd have to do it for me.'

Draco licked his bottom lip thoughtfully. 'Look. Don't worry about it. We'll sort something out,' he said in appeasing tones. 'Come on. Give me your passport.'

XXX

Draco had to buy a brand new ticket for Hermione. She was relieved to notice that they were flying Business Class. If she was to undergo prolonged torture, at least it would be in less cramped, more comfortable surroundings than Coach.

'Should we check the scanner into the hold?' she asked, once they were in line at the British Airways fast-track check-in desk, headed to Ezeiza Airport (EZE) in Buenos Aires.

'I think we'd better keep it close by,' Draco murmured. 'Maybe you could cast a disillusionment charm or something, so that we get it past security without any questions.'

'Don't they have all that top-notch x-ray equipment these days?' Hermione asked.

It occurred to her that Draco flew quite often, judging by the air miles she noted he'd used when purchasing her ticket. 'Even if a Muggle can't see the case, a machine might. That could get awkward.'

'Good point. We'll chance it then,' he said, picking up the metal case. 'I'll take it.'

They decided to get through security as quickly as possible. Hermione's heart was galloping wildly in her chest and she couldn't stop smiling, an inane, icky smile that she often had when she was feeling guilty or nervous. Although really she had no need to be feeling this way, she reasoned to herself. They weren't doing anything wrong. Okay, it might look odd that they had a machine hidden in a box, which nobody could actually open… but it wasn't actually a bomb.

Draco, on the other hand, seemed remarkably composed. He was wearing a cold, blank look on his face, all emotional response neatly packaged away. It was a look, she realized, that she had seen on him multiple times in her life when at school. She had always assumed it was a sign that he was devoid of feeling, a cold fish.

Draco ushered her through security ahead of him. 'Try to get a look at the security screen when the box goes through,' he mouthed in her ear.

That was good thinking, Hermione thought. They might at least get to see what the scanner looked like.

Hermione was quickly checked through. She only had her handbag, and her full body scan revealed nothing out of the ordinary.

She loitered on the other side, smiling sweetly at the guards. Draco was coming through now. He was instantly pulled over by a burly guard for a full body check. Hermione saw him wince with pain as the guard's large, flat hands slapped their way down his body. The guard was now making him take off his coat, and then his jumper, mussing up his pale hair in the process so that it was standing on end. A brief glance at Draco's face showed Hermione that his mask of cool composure was starting to slip. He was having to explain something. Knowing his feelings about Muggles, she was surprised he hadn't stuck his tongue out or whipped his wand out, transfiguring the hapless guard into a toad or a slug.

She edged a little closer to the security desk, and the bank of TV screens displaying the interiors of bags as they came through the x-ray machine.

That was it! The scanner. She was sure of it. A smooth grey image of what looked like a bulky, square-shaped gun in a small case. And clearly its appearance had prompted some consternation amongst the guards who were huddled together, murmuring and shooting strange looks at Draco, who was now arguing quite forcefully with the burly security guard.

'Excuse me, sir,' one of the guards called to Draco. He nodded to Draco's guard who then prodded Draco closer towards the security desk. Draco shot a brief warning glance at Hermione, prompting her to step back.

'Could you open this case, sir?' one of the guards, a severe-looking woman with swarthy features and a moustache, demanded in clipped tones.

Draco repeatedly tried, but failed, getting increasingly flustered at each abortive attempt. The murmurs were growing in volume. Draco now had three guards – four, including the guard who had body-searched him – in close attendance, watching him intently as he struggled with the case.

Eventually, the severe-looking woman lost patience and grabbed hold of the case. With one swift click she had opened it. She looked at the case's contents, and with an injured sniff, turned her back on Draco, holding the case open for her colleagues to peer inside. Draco's eyes, round with wonder, desperately sought to see past the woman's bulk so that he could catch a glimpse of the scanner for himself.

There was a bemused hum of whispered conversation from the guards, who then snapped the case shut.

'You're a very strange man, you know that?' said the severe-looking guard to Draco, slapping a bold green sticker on the metal case. 'You can reclaim this at EZE.'

Draco nodded, torn between wanting to keep hold of the metal case at all costs, and also relief that he hadn't been banged up in an interrogation cell.

'And see a nurse before you board. There's a First Aid post at Gate Thirteen,' the burly guard added in taciturn tones.

Draco had been dismissed.

Hermione helped him put his raincoat back on, neither saying a word whilst still in earshot of security.

'I think Gate Thirteen would be a very good idea,' she said, suddenly aware of Draco's sickly green pallor. She wasn't sure if this was the fault of the bleeding bullet wound or his close shave with security.

Draco shook his head in confusion. 'I swear, it didn't open for me. That doesn't make sense.'

'It looks like a gun,' Hermione whispered, as they scanned the information boards for news of their flight.

'Fucking great,' Draco muttered darkly. 'Look. Sod the bloody nurse. There's an executive lounge right by our gate. Drinks are free.'

However, as they approached Gate Thirteen, a pretty, young Muggle in a nurse's uniform passed them and entered the First Aid office.

'On the other hand,' Draco said in lighter tones, instantly following her. 'I'll meet you in the lounge.'

XXX

Amidst all the drama of security, Hermione had almost forgotten the reason why she was now standing alone in a British Airways Club Class lounge, in the middle of a bustling airport.

And then it hit her… How the hell had she got to this point? Had Draco covertly cast an Imperius curse on her? Or was this a case of straightforward hypnosis? The simple fact remained, she had to get on board a flight in around forty-five minutes, and wouldn't be allowed off that flight until some fourteen and a half hours later.

An icy knot of nerves in her stomach tightened, and her pulse rate notched upwards at the mere thought of it. Boy, she needed that Calming Charm, but in the meanwhile, she would have to make do with the free drink Draco had promised.

She had to admit the British Airways executive lounge appeared to be a particularly salubrious place. There was a quiet buzz of activity, but overall, the clean, modern design of the place and low lighting made for a suitably stylish, yet serene, atmosphere.

There were definitely worse places to be having a panic attack, Hermione thought, heading purposefully towards the self-service bar.

Twenty-five minutes later, Draco still hadn't showed up. She had already downed three gin and tonics in quick succession – each one progressively stronger, to quell the increasingly excitable butterflies jittering inside her tummy.

It wasn't that she feared the plane crashing. Her logical brain knew that this was an extremely remote possibility. Statistically, Splinching was a much more likely danger in her life. But she hated being cooped up in a tin can, 30,000 feet in the sky, with nothing beneath her, above her, or around her. Nothing but empty space. It was disorientating. And that terrified her.

Maybe she should eat something? she wondered idly.

She sauntered over to the open buffet and scooped a decent mound of couscous salad and some tasty-looking buffalo mozzarella onto a plate, liberally lacing it with a dash of balsamic vinegar dressing. She ate her meal with gusto, using a hunk of crusty ciabatta to mop up the remains. There was a range of fine wines propped up in a long line of ice buckets for her to sample.

She poured herself a large glass of chilled New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, followed by an even larger glass of Rioja, a rich, burnished red, which caressed her mouth with warm velvety goodness.

She was more relaxed than she could remember being in a long, long time, and delighted in this feeling of anonymity, of quietly sensual, hedonistic enjoyment. There were other passengers like herself, checking laptops, speaking into mobile phones, chatting, eating, enjoying a glass of wine. So many Muggles, she thought, a smile of amusement on her face. However did Draco cope?

'There you are,' Draco's voice rang in her ear. He was looking a little less disheveled, even though his shirt was still unbuttoned to his chest. She could see he was now wearing a fresh white bandage. 'The nurse gave me these,' he said, brandishing a small box of pills.

'I said I was a pathetic little crybaby who was too scared to fly. Humiliated myself actually,' he said grumpily.

Hermione pocketed the pills. 'I'm amazed you allowed a Muggle to touch you so intimately,' she said archly. 'But then again, if it's a pretty young nurse…'

'With soft, warm hands,' he smirked. 'Wait here. I'm going to grab a beer.'

Hermione's moment of calm had evaporated. To think she'd actually felt sorry for him when she'd learned about Katya and her disappearance. He really was an obnoxious little twerp.

She glanced at the departure screens. Their flight was due to board. And still no Calming Charm. She was running out of time. And why the hell had Draco just given her these pills instead?

She took a deep breath, then gulped back a deep mouthful of her Rioja, but instantly regretted it as a scorching sensation travelled the length of her gullet. Her palms, moist with perspiration, slid on the wine glass. She tentatively placed it on a nearby counter, aware that she was trembling.

She frantically fished the pills out of her pocket. If Draco didn't get back soon, maybe they'd be better than nothing. Her heart sank when she read the notice affixed to the packet, warning against taking this medication in conjunction with alcohol.

'Bugger,' she cursed. 'Have you got your wand handy?' she asked Draco the moment he had returned, clutching a frosted glass of ice-cold lager.

'No. Why should I?'

'You're a wizard, moron,' Hermione seethed. 'Or have you somehow forgotten that?' She always shrunk her wand and wore it as a pendant whenever she wasn't wearing a robe. Most wizards had similar means to keep their wands both concealed, yet handy.

'I've lost it,' Draco glared defensively at Hermione.

'Lost it? But I need the Calming Charm!' Hermione groaned. 'You promised.'

'Have another drink instead,' Draco said moodily. He snatched her wine glass and filled it to the brim with red wine.

'I'll be sick if I drink anymore,' Hermione whined.

Draco's eyes were a chill, glacial grey. Hard and without feeling, Hermione thought miserably. She reluctantly took the wine and slurped it back in one foul swoop. She felt she had drunk more in the last week than she had in the entire preceding year.

Still, the last glass of wine seemed to have had an undeniable effect on calming her nerves, Hermione conceded, as they traipsed through security for the final time and then onto the plane. By the time she was strapped into her seat, next to the window, a luxuriant warmth had suffused her limbs. She felt heavy, soporific, and as the engines roared to a crescendo and the plane surged forwards, she closed her eyes, slipping into sleep.

XXX

She was awoken from her slumber by the clattering of a catering trolley being trundled up the aisle. Her mind was foggy, disorientated, trying to make out what a plump-cheeked woman in a gaudy uniform, which strangely resembled the Union Jack, was saying to her.

'Chicken or salmon, love?' she asked in bright, brassy tones. 'Oh, I'm sorry, did I wake you?'

Hermione smiled politely. 'No. I was just resting my eyes.' She opted for the chicken, and was so busy fiddling with the tiny condiments and plastic wrapped dishes on her tea tray, it was a good few minutes before she realized that the seat beside her was empty.

It didn't take long after that for the full impact of her situation to overwhelm her. She was alone, on a plane, and she had a queasy sensation swilling through her stomach, and a dull, thudding headache. Any alcohol she might have consumed to help get her on board was fast evaporating from her blood stream.

She peered out of the window into the thick blue-black of the night sky, mesmerised by the incessant twinkling of a small, white light positioned on the wing of the plane. She became uncomfortably aware of the thrum and roar of the engines, a low-pitched growl which was even louder when she placed her ear tightly against the cold plastic window.

She took a deep breath, trying to still the shooting sensations which were surging through her legs. She didn't want to descend into panic. Didn't want her chest to feel tight and constricted. Didn't want to feel like she wanted to throw herself from the plane. She tried to block these thoughts, toying aimlessly with her food instead.

Where the hell was Draco? First, he'd dragged her onto this plane under false pretences. And now he'd deserted her.

'Coffee or tea?' the plump-faced flight attendant chirruped.

'Coffee. Black,' Hermione said, eager for any interaction. 'Have you seen the guy who was sitting next to me?

'The blond chap?'

Hermione nodded.

'Oh, he moved.'

'Moved?' Hermione asked, barely able to disguise the fury in her voice. How dare he? Did she snore or something? 'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.'

Hermione gulped back her coffee, and then slithered out of her seat to look for Draco. As much as she loathed him, she couldn't stand the thought of panicking alone for the next umpteen hours. She needed distraction.

She soon spotted him, three rows back, chatting to an attractive, middle-aged brunette, who seemed engrossed in a catalogue he was showing her. She could see it was a sales catalogue for Herb Healing. Hermione couldn't help but giggle. Here was Draco Malfoy, infamous Muggle-hater and pureblood snob, looking for all the world like a cheap door-to-door salesman.

Even though she despised him with every fibre of her being, she had to privately admit to being surprised by his easy manner with Muggles. She knew he worked with them. Knew too that he travelled widely as Global Business Manager for Herb Healing. So he'd obviously had to get used to them, whether he liked it or not.

She inched her way up the aisle towards him until she was looming over his pale head. He didn't even notice her and it was the brunette woman who acknowledged her presence first, looking a little sheepish for reasons Hermione didn't even want to think about at that moment in time.

'I think your friend wants you,' she said to Draco, a puckish smile on her face.

'Oh, you're up,' Draco drawled lazily.

'Have you moved here permanently?'

'You want me to sit with you?'

The brunette was listening keenly to this exchange, clearly suspecting a lover's tiff, which riled Hermione, but she put a brave face on it. 'There's stuff we need to talk about,' Hermione said. 'Work stuff.'

Draco pulled a face. 'Duty calls,' he said apologetically to the brunette, who was twittering her thanks for the catalogue and his company and hoping he cut that big deal he was after. Draco levered his tall frame out of the seat and followed Hermione.

'What do you want then?' he asked sharply, settling himself into the seat next to Hermione's.

'If you'd rather sit back there, I don't actually care,' Hermione retorted.

'She was pleasant enough. More fun than listening to you slobbering in your sleep.'

Oh God. So she did snore. All these years Ron had been lying to her.

'I'm amazed at you, Malfoy. Talking nicely to a Muggle,' she said scathingly. 'Don't you want to kill them all?'

Draco clapped his hand over her mouth. 'Shut the fuck up,' he hissed. 'You can't say shit like that on a bloody plane. Muggles get very paranoid these days.'

Hermione instinctively reacted, sinking her teeth deep into the fleshy mound beneath his thumb. Draco roughly pulled his hand away, then gazed dumbly at it, too shocked to speak. She hadn't broken the skin, although it was red and wet, lined with neat indentations.

'I'm so sorry,' she breathed. 'I don't know what came over me.' She was shamefacedly aware that she had actually enjoyed inflicting pain on him.

Draco was flushed and lightly panting, still staring at his hand. She feared an explosive reaction and was increasingly surprised when none came.

'I think I must be a little bit… uninhibited. All that wine at the terminal.' And the gin, she thought solemnly to herself.

'Rabid, more like,' Draco spat angrily. 'I think it'd be better if I sat elsewhere, don't you?'

'Look. Malfoy,' Hermione pleaded. She hated him having the high moral ground. It felt strangely alien. 'What I really want… what I need, is the Calming Charm.'

'What's wrong with the pills I gave you?'

'They can't be mixed with alcohol.'

"What's the worst that could happen?'

'I don't know. But I don't want to find out the hard way, okay?'

Draco rubbed his eyes. He was clearly very tired. A brief twinge of pain flashed across his features.

'Have you checked your bandages since take-off?' Hermione asked.

'No.'

'Well… why don't we go to the toilet, check you're not bleeding everywhere, and you can use my wand to calm me down?'

Draco looked at her oddly, his eyes brimming with amusement. 'Did I hear that correctly? You want us to go to the toilet together?'

Hermione groaned in exasperation. 'I know it sounds strange.'

'Too fucking right. What would Ron say?'

'Shut up, Malfoy,' Hermione said, wrinkling her nose in disgust at his insinuation.

The plump-faced flight attendant was hovering. 'Is there anything I can get you?' she trilled.

'We're fine,' Hermione said. Draco cast the attendant a cursory glance and shook his head.

'Not so nice to her, were you?’ Hermione said sarcastically.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You only like the good-looking Muggles.'

Draco snorted with laughter. 'That's utter bollocks. She seems nice enough.' He thought a moment. 'British Airways often go for a more homely type of bird, which isn't a bad thing of course. Makes you feel looked after. Thai Airlines. Now that's a good airline. They go for out-and-out stunners. And Singapore. Gorgeous girls and a brilliant safety record.'

'I guess the ease with which you would resort to stereotypes in the Muggle world, is only to be expected,' Hermione huffed.

Draco didn't reply and seemed inclined to drift off to sleep, much to Hermione's frustration. Supreme irritant that he was, at least he kept her mind off her situation; the sudden cold fear that would clutch at her insides, every time her eye was inadvertently drawn beyond her immediate space. That endless winking light on the wing was a peculiarly menacing attraction, reminding her of the vast emptiness outside.

She guessed they were flying over the ocean by now, which made it worse.

She had to stop these thoughts. Had to stop the dizzying whirl of panic which was already beginning to sweep through her.

'This isn't fun, Malfoy,' she gasped. 'I don't know if I can put up with this for much longer.'

'You've no choice,' he mumbled, still with his eyes closed. 'We're stuck in the sky for the next twelve hours.'

'Twelve hours?' she squeaked, tears springing to her eyes. She wished she'd brought her two-way mirror on board. Wished she could somehow speak to Ron and the kids.

Draco was watching her through narrowed eyes. He sighed deeply.

'Come on then,' he grunted. 'Let's do it.'

XXX

She followed him to the toilet, which was mercifully empty. They squeezed inside, the dim light flickering on as the door swung shut behind them.

Normally, she rather liked being in the toilet on board a plane. It was an oasis of personal space. A small respite. She secretly liked the Lilliputian smallness of it all. The doll-sized sink and soap dispenser.

However, the last thing she really wanted in a plane toilet was to be squashed up tight against a groaning Draco Malfoy, struggling to remove his jumper. Draco flailed around, banging into the door, which he then leant against, panting.

'Give me a hand will you?' he begged, his voice muffled by the black wool coating his head like a faceless balaclava. He stumbled forwards blindly, smashing her against the cistern, her foot jamming onto the flush pedal. She couldn't help but grin at the resultant whoosh and slurp of water being gobbled away.

She hooked her hands into the hem of his jumper and dragged it over his head.

With fumbling fingers he unbuttoned his shirt.

'Why are you laughing?' he said, red-faced with the effort of it all.

'Just… this seems a little surreal.'

He looked at her oddly. 'You sure you need a Calming Charm?'

Hysteria was bubbling up inside of her. 'Definite.'

He had completely unbuttoned his black shirt, which further added to the strangeness of the situation. His bare chest was lean and surprisingly well sculpted with defined musculature.

She fixed her eyes on Katya's rose, glinting in the weak, yellowish light, then ensured she kept her eyes firmly trained on his bandaged left shoulder. A faint rosy stain was already seeping into the creamy-white crepe.

'Is it bad?' he said, a note of worry in his voice.

'Not too bad.'

'Can I last?'

'How many hours did you say till we land?'

'About twelve. Maybe eleven and a half.'

Hermione gulped. That seemed a mighty long time.

'We'd better take a closer look at the wound,' she said quietly.

With trembling fingers, she unfastened the clips the Muggle nurse had used to secure the bandage, and then slowly peeled back the crepe covering, aware that her hands were probably cool on Draco's skin, which was hot to the touch.

Not a good sign, she thought glumly to herself. She stuffed the soiled bandages into a bin, built into the paneling under the sink.

A piece of lint, daubed in a vivid yellow antiseptic, was still glued with congealed blood, to the wound. Removing it was going to hurt.

Hermione glanced at Draco, who was watching her intently. His breathing was heavy, gusting onto her cheeks in hot bursts.

'Go for it,' he said.

Hermione lifted the lint as delicately as possible. It clung to him, dragging clots of blood and tissue in its wake, and leaving small, fluffy fibres embedded in the wound.

Draco gasped, clasping the miniature sink with his right hand to steady himself.

'What's it like?' he asked hoarsely. He was looking away, watching them both in the mirror.

'Your pretty nurse made a botch-job of this,' Hermione said wryly.

'Maybe she was too distracted by my handsome looks and razor-sharp wit,' Draco said between gritted teeth.

Hermione snorted in derision. 'I very much doubt that.' She leaned closer, getting a good look at the wound.

The wound was a perfect red circle with angry-looking, puffy, correlated edges. It was bleeding - though, thankfully, not fast flowing – and weeping a glistening ooze. The skin immediately surrounding the wound was red and puckered, and worryingly warm. Equally concerning, was the hot pink discoloration radiating from his shoulder towards his chest, neck and armpit.

'You have to see a doctor as soon as we land,' she said authoritatively. Draco nodded. He still had his face turned away, drawing her attention to the thick cord of neck muscle which traced its path from his collar bone to the hairline behind his ear.

Hermione tugged at her necklace, from which her wand was hanging.

'Hold still while I get this off, will you?' she asked.

Instead, to her surprise, Draco encircled her with his arms, gently tipping her head forwards so that he had better access to her neck. Her hair flooded forwards, brushing against his stomach. With nimble hands he unfastened the chain, his fingertips softly grazing her neck. He then slipped the wand off the chain and handed it to her.

'Thanks,' she said, acutely aware that her skin was still ticklish from his touch.

She returned the wand to its normal size and directed it at Draco's wound. She cast a quick Tergeo, cleaning the blood from his wound as best she could, and priming the site for a Healing Charm.

Draco's breathing was laboured and fresh perspiration coated his neck and torso. Her eyes were drawn to his Adam's apple, which shifted prominently in his throat as he gulped in response to the pain. She couldn't help but notice that his stubble was darker, coarser, than she expected.

She firmly fixed her concentration on the job in hand. She then delicately positioned her wand against his skin and traced a pattern. She moved the wand over his shoulder and round his chest, holding his shirt away from his body so that it didn't impede her progress. A fresh, lightweight bandage, spun slowly from the end of her wand, and she fastened it around his body. Draco lifted his arms higher to ensure she had unfettered access to his back.

'Now me,' she said firmly.

Draco adjusted himself back into his clothes.

'What about you?' he said, buttoning up his shirt. He seemed reluctant to look her in the eye.

'I need a Calming Charm, remember? That was the deal.'

'You seem perfectly calm to me.'

'I'm fine when I'm in here,' she gestured to their cramped quarters.

'Stay here then. I'll tell them you're sick.'

'Not so fast!' Hermione said sternly, thrusting her wand into Draco's hand. 'Look! I'm trusting you completely here! I don't let anyone touch my wand. Ever!'

'Not even Ron?'

Especially not Ron, she thought privately.

'Do you even know a Calming Charm?' she asked.

'Of course I do,' he sneered, looking like the insolent teenager she once knew and loathed.

'Then get on with it!' she yelled excitedly.

There was a cough outside the door, which alerted them to the fact that their prolonged presence in this cubicle might well be drawing unwanted attention.

'Quickly, Malfoy. Come on. You can do it,' she pleaded. She couldn't face however many more hours of this. She was already sick and tired of her heightened heart-rate, that sense of sweaty panic constantly lurking beneath her skin, threatening to break out at any given moment.

'Fuck,' Draco said, clutching her wand tightly in his palm. He shut his eyes, mumbling an incantation over and over.

'Just point the bloody wand at me, will you?'

He looked at her. His eyes wide and staring, hot, molten grey.

'Hold still,' he barked. And with one quick flick of her wand he had done it. A cool, soothing balm eased through her. She felt like crying with relief.

Draco, however, had fallen sideways, crashing into the sink. He thrust his hands into his hair, holding his head, groaning in pain. Her wand tumbled to the floor. She quickly retrieved it, before he snapped it with his feet, which were flailing for a firm footing.

'What's wrong with you?' she cried, holding him steady and allowing him to lean on her. He pushed her roughly out of the way and vomited into the toilet.

'Get out of here,' he croaked.

Hermione hastened out, colliding with the attractive brunette woman who Draco had been sitting next to.

'Sorry about the wait,' Hermione said, a little breathlessly. 'My friend, he's sick.'

'Oh dear, poor thing,' she cooed, looking genuinely concerned. 'Should we call one of the attendants?'

'He'll be fine,' Hermione assured her.

Thank god for the Calming Charm, she thought, amazed at the blithe, rested feeling that was humming through her. Under any other circumstances, being cooped up in such close quarters with a puking Draco Malfoy would have spiralled her into paroxysms of skin-crawling horror that would have been hard to recover from.

But why did he have such a visceral reaction to using magic?

It was only when she reclaimed her seat that she noticed that she had walked almost the entire length of business class, wielding her wand. She hoped the Muggles didn't think it was a weapon of some kind.

Draco soon rejoined her. He was pale and wan-looking.

'What was all that about then?' she asked.

'I don't want to talk about it,' he said testily. 'Let's - let's just pretend that none of that happened.'

'You've been banned from using magic, haven't you?' Hermione said snidely. Her suspicions had first been raised by his unwillingness to Apparate, and his use of matches at Malfoy Manor rather than a simple spell, but now his reluctance to use a wand – even his claim to have lost his wand – sealed the deal, as far as she was concerned. This had been his punishment for trading in Dark Artefacts, she felt certain.

'I haven't been banned,' he grouched. 'And I've been itching to hit you with a Langlock for quite some time.'

'Don't lie to me, Draco Malfoy,' she said in hoity-toity tones. 'You've been cursed, haven't you? Anytime you use magic, you get sick. That's it, isn't it?'

'You really are a self-righteous little prig, aren't you?' he said, curling his lip in disdain.

'I'm right though, aren't I?'

'Shut the fuck up, you don't know what you're talking about,' he groaned, closing his eyes. 'On second thoughts,' he said, his eyes snapping open. 'Give me those fucking pills.'

Hermione snapped open her handbag where she had closeted the pills, and handed them over. Draco signaled for a glass of water. The flight attendant hastened over with a plastic beaker in hand.

'What are you doing?'

'Knocking myself out,' he muttered, popping three pills from the packet and scooting them into his mouth. He swallowed them down with a mouthful of water. 'That way I won't have to listen to your endless chuntering drivel.'

'You're so rude.'

'And you're pissing me off. Fuck knows how Ron puts up with you… the guy's got to be a flipping saint.' He pulled a complementary eye-mask out of his British Airways Welcome Pack, which was tucked into the seat-pocket in front of his legs. 'Enjoy your flight, Mrs Weasley. I'll see you in Buenos Aires.'

XXX

CHAPTER TRACK: "FLY ME AWAY" by GOLDFRAPP

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.

Thanks to Lupinswolfie, Apurva and Lou.
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