Roman Holiday

Chapter Fifteen

Draco sat on his lumpy mattress in the shuddering, jolting bus, moodily watching Hermione sleep.

This was all very sudden.

He couldn’t think of one other thing he’d done, ever, that had taken so little actual thought, while requiring such a high B-to-B ratio.

That was to say, balls-to-brains.

He rubbed his eyes wearily.

In less than seventy-two hours, he’d gone from Total Comfort - the rich, spoiled scion of a wizarding fiefdom - to Total Chaos. He’d lost his virginity (not that he was complaining about that, mind you), gone into hiding, and watched as his Muggle-born (lover? girlfriend? partner-in-crime? well, whatever) put a Full Body-Bind on his homicidal maniac of a father.

Now, he was on the run from everything he professed to embrace, playing Clyde to her Bonnie, rattling along in public transportation, no less, and feeling queasier by the second.

This was heavy stuff.

Not that he regretted it, exactly. After all, an hour spent with Hermione Granger (when did he think he’d ever admit this? Well, stranger things had happened) was worth a year of listening to Pansy Parkinson’s jabbering.

Factor in nudity, and he’d make that two years.

But as he studied the slumbering figure curled up against his, he had to wonder: what was going on behind those delicately translucent eyelids? She slept like a stone, lips parted, cheek pillowed on her hand, Botticelli-cherub curls in mad, adorable disarray.

She could have been six. Or twenty-six.

She scared the shit out of him.

What was going to happen when they got back to Hogwarts? He couldn’t imagine Potter and Weasley welcoming him into the fold - not, of course, that he fancied himself the lost-lamb type - and Hermione was so close to them that she couldn’t help but be swayed by them. Draco wasn’t some simpering Hufflepuff romantic. He knew the score.

Probably she couldn’t even help it.

But that thought was like acid in his throat. He’d never been this afraid in his life, and he despised it, this nasty shivering emotional nausea that he couldn’t quell no matter how often he shuffled and reshuffled the Exploding Snap cards in his restless hands.

What if all he’d done today was for nothing?

What if she decided he wasn’t worth the trouble?

What if, oh God, what if the Wonder Twins gave her an ultimatum? He could hear them now: “Us or him ….” What if she chose them?

He didn’t want to think about how alone he’d be, if she abandoned him now.

Be strong, Hermione, he thought fiercely. After what I did this morning, I can’t go back.

In all his young, careless life, Draco had never pondered even the mere possibility of a Deity. Even so, the words in his head felt oddly like a prayer.

**

It was after dark when they arrived in Hogsmeade, dizzy with fatigue and hunger and the beginnings of long-suppressed motion sickness. They were the only passengers remaining on the bus. Which meant, Hermione thought grimly, that they had a problem.

As long as they were on the Knight Bus, their whereabouts couldn’t be revealed by a Location Charm. The minute their feet touched the ground, though - that was another story.

And Lucius Malfoy, wherever in the world he was tonight, was only a second’s Apparition away.

It would have to be the Invisibility Cloak again, she decided. Though how they’d lug that beast of a trunk all the way up to the school was another matter entirely. To say nothing of what they’d do if the gates were locked … or if someone, discerning their destination, had taken it into his mind to wait for them there.

There was, of course, the secret tunnel under Honeydukes. Shorter, certainly. And definitely safer.

Did she dare tell Draco about it?

Hermione hesitated, then laughed at herself.

You’ll sleep with him, she thought derisively. You’ll curse his father into immobility. You’ll use magic, ILLEGAL magic, outside the school grounds, risk your status as a prefect and ruin your perfect school records. But the thought of giving up the Gryffindor secret passage has you flinching. Oh, that’s rich.

And - this dismal thought popped into her head before she could block it - just another indication that your life and his may not be meant to run parallel courses.

She picked up one end of the trunk and sighed. It WAS heavy.

Lug now, stew later, she decided, and gifted Draco with the best smile she could manage.

“Come on,” she muttered. “Time to find our land legs.”

**

They emerged wearily from behind the one-eyed witch and glanced cautiously around before removing the Invisibility Cloak … Hermione hadn’t forgotten Snape’s onetime fascination with this corridor.

Snape. Oh, dear.

She hoped he wasn’t still in Thailand. He’d been cranky with her even before that little bit of subterfuge in Giulia’s hallway. One night in Bangkok wasn’t likely to improve his outlook, even if it WAS supposed to make the world your oyster.

And if THAT had been “cranky”, she thought, recalling their last personal encounter with barely controlled hysteria, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see “seriously brassed off.” As he no doubt was.

Although …

An involuntary shiver raced through her as she rounded the corner. Draco frowned. “Are you all right?”

“Chilly,” she said, annoyed with herself. “Come on. Let’s go find Dumbledore before Snape finds us first.”

“Too late,” said a silky voice behind them.

They whirled to find Snape, looking more dangerous, more self-satisfied, more gleefully malevolent than they could ever recall seeing him. His lips curled, seemingly in anticipation. “Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir.”

“The Headmaster would like a word with you.” Hermione opened her mouth to say something, then fell silent at the burning look Snape sent her way. “No, not you, Miss Granger,” he said softly. “You’re not going anywhere until we settle some … old business.” He glared at Draco. “Now, Mr. Malfoy!”

Shooting Hermione a last worried glance, Draco went. Snape gave her an evil smile and motioned to the corridor ahead of them.

“My office, Miss Granger,” he said coldly. “Now.”

If Hermione hadn’t been too preoccupied with putting one foot in front of the other, she would have summoned up another Petrificus and turned her wand on herself. A visit to the hospital wing seemed vastly preferable, at the moment, to what was no doubt in store for her. Instead, she gulped down the panicked butterflies trying to escape her stomach by way of her throat, and followed Snape toward the dungeons.

Even Madam Pomfrey couldn’t help her now.

***