Out of Time

Chapter 38

Potter still doesn't look convinced and Draco tries to change the subject. Gripping Hermione tighter and feeling her breathe along with him, he asks, "Where are we? Is this... Tankerton Beach? In Kent?"

The name comes to him out of nowhere, but he feels it's right. Hermione had mentioned it as one of her favourite holiday destinations with family and he knows he's hit the mark when she starts to cry harder.

For his part, Potter's eyes narrow. If Draco were in a more charitable mood, he'd be impressed with Potter's ability to stay discerning and sceptical. Maybe tomorrow, he will be - when he's part of the group. Right now, however, it's annoying. Draco could do with less of it.

"How would you know? Hermione, is that where we are?"

"It's deduction, not divination -" Oh, for fuck's sake. He's addled. "This is her favourite holiday spot."

"How do you know that?" It's clear by his befuddled tone that Potter did not know that, which gives Draco a severe surge of pride. This is his witch. His, no matter how often he wondered if she'd be tempted by Potter. The way she's clinging to him now tells him all he needs to know.

"I know quite a lot about her. More than you do, it seems. Get your wand out of my face."

Hermione's muffled voice contributes for the first time since she tackled him. "Stop it, Harry. Put it away."

Harry splutters, "How do you know I'm pointing it at him at all? You aren't even looking at me point it!"

"But you are pointing it," Draco points out, growing more annoyed by the second. "Should I bother asking where the other twat is? Does he have a wand on me, too?"

He can't have, though, because the invisibility cloak they were under is right next to his shoe. Bemused by this puzzle, he doesn't notice at first that Hermione's begun crying again.

"Never you mind. It's been a rough couple of days, Malfoy."

As if that eliminates his right to ask the question - or to know the answer to it. Draco's eyes narrow and he scans the dunes more thoroughly. Weasley has to be here somewhere.

Potter has lowered his wand but still hasn't pocketed it. It hangs loosely by his thigh. "So that thing led you here. The thing from Dumbledore." He stumbles over the name by the tiniest hitch and Hermione's whole body shifts with her snuffling inhale.

"Do forgive me for asking again, Malfoy - why are you here? Don't think I've forgotten about what's on your arm. Start talking or you can't stay."

"Harry!" Her sharp tone brings back flashes of his dazed recovery in the hospital wing, gleefully hearing Hermione chastise Potter. She lifts her head from Draco's collarbone (where it fits quite nicely, in his opinion) and glares at him. A nonverbal exchange ensues, one Draco isn't privy to.

"I'm not going anywhere without her. And I can't go back now, anyway."

Their silent argument gets sorted, in one direction or the other. Draco presumes Hermione wins it. The next one begins, verbally this time, while Hermione tries to stand off his lap.

"We need to finish casting the enchantments. We can talk once we have the camp set up."

"Why don't you go and finish that, Potter?" Draco winks at him with satisfaction, noting that Potter doesn't look very well. Unhealthy. Drawn and gaunt, with eye sockets so sunken and bagged that Draco could believe he has two black eyes. His hair is longer and he's got a scruff of a beard to boot. But the glasses are unmistakable, as is the self-righteous entitlement he reeks from every pore.

The 'Chosen One,' in the flesh, once again. Draco fights back an eye roll and hugs Hermione tighter. She's also thin. Far too thin. Why hasn't Potter been taking better care of her?