Breaking The Pattern

“I hate it here,” Hermione says into his chest, her voice low.

“Here in my arms?” Draco asks, trying to keep his voice light even as his brain lurches.

She presses a palm against his chest and lifts her head, her brown eyes wide.

“No. Here, the castle. Hogwarts.”

He runs a finger along her jaw, letting her organize her words.

“So many people died here. Everything fell apart and we are just pretending like it didn’t.”

For a moment, Draco wants to scoop her up and apparate to the Manor. 

But that is impossible. Not to mention a terrible idea.

He can’t apparate. He can’t even leave the castle. He definitely can’t bring her to the place where she was tortured for information she didn’t even have.

“Close your eyes,” he says instead.

She lays her head flat on his chest once more and he watches as her lids slip shut.

He reaches for his wand on the side table while conjuring the most beautiful place he can think of in his mind.

“There is a lake in France, where my mother used to bring me as a child. Lake Annecy. In your mind, try to imagine a lake so small, you could swim to the other side without growing tired. Azure waves from a non-existent tide softly swaying small wooden boats. On calm summer days, the water becomes so still it resembles a mirror. Standing at the water’s edge, the stone bottom is clearly visible, home to algae blooms and shuffling shells. Can you picture it?” He looks down at her face. Her brow is scrunched slightly as though the picture is nearly there.

Then she nods, her warm breath sending a shiver across his skin.

“The stone shifts to sand where the town’s residents walk, searching for smoothed stones. It’s a thin beach, only a few yards wide, where a row of trees stretches towards the sky, opening to the base of a valley of hills. The lake is nestled so that from a broom, it looks like a drying puddle. My mother used to let me fly over the clear water, searching for Kappas and Grindylows.”

“Did you see any?” Her voice is low.

“Only Grindylows. Kappas aren’t native to France, but as a small boy, I didn’t know that. I saw a picture of one in my father’s study and my imagination ran wild.”

She hums and nestles closer.

“Every day, I would run to the water’s edge and my mother would shriek after me. She was worried I’d get my clothes dirty. It didn’t bother me. I’d pick up stones and carry them up the sand, proudly showing her what I had found. She isn’t exactly a spot of sun, but she’d always take the stones and put them in her robes.”

He pauses for a moment, wondering what she did with the stones. The hopeful part of him, which Granger fanned the flame of so often it had started to be his first instinct, wonders if they are in a box somewhere in the Manor.

Granger’s nails scratch softly at his side and he remembers what he is supposed to be doing. Helping her escape.

“My favorite memory at the lake was during the Summer Solstice. The residents of the lake were mostly magical, save for a few muggles who mostly left at the end of the warm months. Anyways, they’d use their magic to turn the sand on the beach different colors. Magnificent patterns depict different magical creatures and wonderful incantations. Stories of witches and wizards falling in love or going on grand adventures. Banners would hang from the trees, honoring the natural world and as the sunset, everyone would swim in the waters which reflected the colored sun and the sand.”

Hermione has a sweet smile on her face.

He flicks his wrist once more and uses his other hand to push her hair back.

“Open your eyes,” he says.

Using his magic, he’s filled his room to the brim with multicolored sand and thick fabrics covering the walls, giving the illusion they are laying under a canopy. At the edges of the room, soft blue water flows against an invisible wall.

Her soft gasp is enough to make him want to show her the real thing.

“Like my very own Room of Requirement,” she whispers in awe, smiling at the fake grindylows swimming through the waves, doing flips, and gnashing their teeth.

“If I could, I’d take you anywhere in the world, Granger,” Draco says sincerely. 

“For now, right here is enough.” She lays back down, her eyes moving from place to place. She extends her foot and lays it on the fine grains of sand, giggling.

“For now,” he agrees.

Even if he has to get on his knees and beg the Wizengamot to end his probation, Draco will figure out how to travel the world with his witch.

His. He has to be careful or he is going to fall too hard to ever walk away.

“Someday, Granger. I’ll bring you there.”

I promise.

They lie there together as he uses his wand to tell her the story of the Fountain of Fair Fortune. Creating miniature figures from the sand to act out the three witches and Sir Luckless on their journey to the fountain. It was one of the stories his caregiver had read to him as a child. His father hated it, because one of the witches fell in love with a muggle man. The irony doesn’t escape Draco.

When he finishes the story, Hermione sits up, crossing her legs and grabbing her bag.

“Are you alright?” he asks, expecting her to tell him she has to go. They’ve been existing in pockets of time.

“I got you something. It isn’t a portal to France, but I think you will like it anyways,” she digs around in her bag a while longer and he can’t help but smile. For someone so brilliant, she is a bit of a mess.

“Aha! Got it. Close your eyes.”

He does as she says and smiles when her hand wraps around his wrist pulling his hand towards her and dropping something into it.

“Open,” she whispers.

When he opens his eyes, he is a bit confused. It’s a stick.

“A stick?” He looks between her and the small piece of wood.

She laughs into her hand. Draco had apparently reacted just as she’d hoped.

“Semi-inflammable wood. It’s a match stick. A muggle way to create fire. Except I’ve charmed it so it won’t burn down. You are pyrokinetic. I watched you light the fire for your cauldron for six years. This will help protect your hands.”

He stares at her. It was true. He can control fire. Concentrate it or make it grow. His fingertips were nearly burned away from the number of times he’d gotten too close to a flame.

“How does it work?”

“All you have to do is snap it between your thumb and your forefinger and it will light.”

Draco tries it. He drops it twice, but the third time he manages to ignite the small stick.

“Do you like it?” she asks as they both watch the stick burn without going black.

“I’m not sure anyone has ever told you, but you really are quite clever, Granger.”

She blushes and shakes her head.

“You are an idiot, Draco Malfoy.”

“Good thing you’ve enough smarts for the both of us.”

He leans forward, and pulls her towards him, kissing her lips softly. 

Unfortunately, he loses his concentration at the same moment and the water around them rushes over the sand and crashes over his bedding, soaking them both.

“Malfoy!” Granger shrieks, jumping to her feet in the cold water.

There is now wet sand everywhere and he can’t help but burst out laughing.

Throwing caution to the wind, he falls back against his headboard and splashes water at her knees.

“A complete and total idiot,” she scolds him, but the bright grin on her face is proof she isn’t really upset.

He splashes her once more and she sits back down, splashing him right back.

Draco can worry about all of his belongings later. For right now, he is going to enjoy his witch, clothes soaked, skin cold and all.

She climbs onto his lap, straddling his thighs and placing her hands on either side of his face.

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but you are going to anyway. Thank you, Draco.”

They kiss and he ignores the pixies wreaking havoc in his stomach, happy he was able to make her forget if only for a little while, the horror she had lived through.

Draco starts making a list of all of the places he wants to take her in his mind.