We Meet Again

Narcissa Malfoy had her usual stately look while she sat by Draco's bedside at St. Mungo's. This was the third day that he lay unconscious, but she knew it wouldn't be too much longer. When she had arrived via the Floo on the first day, Draco had been completely hairless, and his fingernails and toenails had fallen off. The healers had said it was a result of conducting so much magical force. Narcissa had wondered to herself why none had experienced such a thing at the end of the war, but she had kept that thought to herself.

Now her son had the perfect toe and fingernails of a newborn. She was oddly sentimental about such things, but since Draco had been her only child, she could easily remember such tiny details. His hair was dusting along his scalp even blonder than it had been before, if such a thing were possible.

Narcissa was reading a special afternoon edition of the Prophet and considering what had happened in the last few days. Lucius had pushed the law through, ensuring that Draco would get the girl he'd dreamed of. It had left quite a bitter taste in their mouths when she and Lucius had discovered Draco's desires, but the Mudblood was clearly a powerful witch, and her connections could be great enough to overlook her unfortunate birth. Besides, it wasn't as though there would be any true purebloods left within a generation. Narcissa sighed softly.

Then, there was the snapping of the girl's wand, by her own hand no less! Narcissa huffed...the cheek of that girl! This had put everyone on hold. The Ministry wasn't interested in having Muggle-borns riot, especially this soon after the demise of the Dark Lord, but having a record of a recent wand-snapping available to everyone definitely cooled the rebels' heels and kept them from repeating the action. A wand-breaking was a horrible thing to see, and any time she thought of it, Narcissa would shiver.

She was carelessly flipping pages when Draco finally began to stir and let out a low moan. She called for her husband and took Draco's hand, squeezing it gently.

"Draco, darling, I'm here."

"Mother? Wh..."

"Shhh. Rest." Narcissa soothingly ran her hand over Draco's scalp. This was the wrong move, as Draco had not expected his hair to be so short.

He jerked his hands up to his head and let out a louder groan. "She said she was going to do something drastic, but my hair! My hair! And all that business about protesting the law! By making me bald?"

"That is quite enough, Draco." The firm but warm tone of his father's powerful voice calmed Draco almost instantaneously. Father and son would both admit just between the two of them that Draco was, for lack of a better phrase, a Daddy's Boy. His mother could coddle and spoil and reprimand, but Draco knew his father had the power, and he always used it to nurture his son. Lucius Malfoy adored his boy and did everything in his power to be all that the boy needed.

"Take a deep breath and tell me what happened before your affianced snapped her wand."

Draco paled, remembering now all that had happened. He couldn't help but take it a little bit personally that Hermione had snapped her wand instead of marrying him. Although, as he thought about it, it was certainly not him, but that she was forced to marry that was the problem.

He thought of her little speech; it was the law and the Ministry that shouldered the blame. He remembered holding her in his arms while they had talked and became determined to woo Hermione properly.

Draco looked up when his father cleared his throat and began his tale. He relayed how the night had gone, and how the morning started out, careful not to belittle Potter and Weasley with words, but his parents knew his meanings. By the time he finished the story, his audience was looking at him with moderate incredulity.

"Where'd she go, Draco?" Narcissa whispered.

"I don't know; I saw her slump and then disappear. The necklace she put on must have been a Portkey. I'm sure they know," he said, tasting something bitter at the thought of asking her friends for help. Despite everything, Draco seemed unconcerned, as though his father could just bring Hermione through the door for him. Surely Potter knew where she was, and then they'd retrieve her, and they'd be wed, and he'd woo Hermione properly.

Instead, his father passed him a newspaper. The headline read: Potter Claims Secret Contingency Plan a Holdover from the War. As he opened to the article, Draco read about how the Golden Trio had made a pact to always escape. Each had a series of Portkeys on their person anytime they went into battle, and they all went to different locations unknown by the others. In this way, they knew that if one fell in battle, the others would escape.

"You were connected through the branding, which is why her 'drastic measures' affected you. Fortunately, that will hold, even if the law doesn't. We simply have to find her. We shall look after you've completed your N.E.W.T.s," Lucius explained, his tone ripe with disgust. He had to admit, the girl had brass, but all this effort for a Mudblood? She had better give him many grandchildren for this, even if they were only half-bloods.

"Father...six months?" Draco barely kept himself from whining. It felt like just moments ago she was resting so peacefully under him in her bed, and now he had to wait six bloody months? "That bitch!"

Draco threw himself back on the bed, feeling as though he'd merely had a good night's sleep instead of having been in a coma for three days. He pouted for a moment, then looked up into his father's impatient gaze. After one last harrumph, he pulled himself together in a manner befitting a Malfoy.

When Lucius felt his son had gotten his thoughts in order, he finally got down to the meat of the matter. "We'll have them release you, and I'll put some researchers on it. Where do you suggest they begin?"

"Places with libraries. Locations with ancient magic. Countries that won't let us extradite. Anywhere that is hard to get to," Draco said with absolute certainty as he thought about what his fiancée would do to get away from the law.

"Excellent. Now get dressed, it's time we departed," Lucius instructed as he swept out the door.

Meanwhile, deep in the Andes ....

Hermione wheezed as she felt her ribs sewing themselves back together. Landing the way she did had left her body cracked and shattered, especially after such a magically traumatizing event. She knew she wasn't actually hearing her bones being put back together cell by cell, but each fusion seemed to echo through her skull in evil sounding snicks and sizzles. It wasn't as bad as Crucio, but it was close.

Hermione took deep breaths and willed the pain away, a neural Occlumency that was a little bit like Lamaze. She'd learned it from Snape, and she felt a deep pain of sorrow that he had not survived the war. A cool breeze wafted through the room, and Hermione shivered, noticing for the first time that she was nearly bald. She clapped her hands to her head in a moment of panic. Hermione only kept herself from hyperventilating by tuning into the voice that had begun to speak to her.

"You made quite an exit, as well as quite an entrance the other day, Ms. Granger," a kind sounding man said as he got up from a chair in the shadows.

"You know my name?" Hermione was shocked. This was one of the most remote, least known locations of an ancient magical culture she had heard of. Not the most remote, but it was close.

"We do get a paper or two every now and again."

The man tossed a paper into her lap. The headline read: Malfoy Heir in Coma as Heroine Flees. Is the Cause a Broken Wand or a Broken Heart? Hermione scoffed.

"We can offer you asylum from Britain, but not from him," the man continued, looking uneasy. "If he comes, we must let him in, and you will have to see to him."

"I don't understand," Hermione said quietly, trying to be as unassuming as possible. She had read about this colony and knew initiates had to be very submissive.

"You were engaged to be married."

"Yes."

"You accepted a mark from him?"

"What? No. We barely speak."

The man nodded and passed her two old mirrors that looked to be from ages ago. "The back of your neck."

Hermione couldn't stop herself from looking at her face; she had faint eyebrows and eyelashes and tiny coils of hair starting to grow in. She took a look at her face and decided maybe she didn't need long hair to look feminine. She had nice bone structure and clear skin. Hermione had had long hair since before she could remember...she would try a shorter style from now on.

Finally turning her focus to the back of her neck, she found a Celtic dragon coiled around in an incomplete circle.

"That filthy, sneaky, bloody bastard ferret, I'm going to fucking kill him when I get my hands on his no good, conniving, sneaking neck." Hermione knew that this was a new ... desecration on her neck. Ginny had been playing with her hair the Sunday before the law had passed. It hadn't been there then. Nothing Monday, and then the confrontation with Draco Tuesday. The little bastard must have snuck into her room! She had felt funny all year long, like someone had been in her room with her, but she could never place it and always chalked it up to paranoia from the war. What was the old adage? Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't watching you.

"You did not do this voluntarily." It was hardly a question, but it was required.

"No. I have no desire to be bonded. I would not knowingly drag such a disruption to your doorstep."

The man looked at her, seeing the energy in her eyes building up fast. The magic was strong in her; she could quickly be trained to move away from a focus object. "Very well. Your quarters are with the other initiates. You will begin tomorrow."

"Is my sheath dress appropriate? The pictures I had for reference were very, very tiny."

The man smiled. "As always, you came extremely prepared, Ms. Granger. Now, you must rest." The man nodded and moved back to his chair as Hermione fell into a deep sleep at his suggestion.

Hermione had been meditating since the summer after first year at Hogwarts. It had been quite a year, and she found that only meditation could keep her focused. Now, six years later, she was extremely practiced at clearing her mind and keeping it clear. This was the first thing that propelled her through the initiate training.

It had been a little strange at first to bunk with the six other initiates, two of whom were boys, and all of whom were children. The Incan mystics started training very early, and in many ways it was more thorough than what she had learned at Hogwarts. Of course, she had better mental control than her eight-year-old counterparts. However, she could not summon the elements as they could. Hermione had to unlearn all of her training with a focus object before she could even dream to master magic the Incan way.

It took three solid months before she successfully cast her first wandless spell. This was especially surprising, as she had known wandless spells already. However, there was a great difference in being wandless and trained for a wand, and being wandless and having to essentially make her whole body act like a wand.

When Hermione mastered a new level, she would change her quarters to be with the other initiates at her level. It was a crash course in ancient magic as well as a whirlwind tour of the colony. After she got her magic flowing again, her abilities caught on like wildfire. About the time that she would have been graduating Hogwarts, she was ready to matriculate into the community as a Mage.

She stood in a cool room made of limestone with intricately carved frescos along the wall, being fitted for her Mage's robes. Hermione's training had consisted of serious manual labour as well as daily calisthenics, and her once-toned body was now ripped with the extra work and a new diet. Her hair had grown back darker, and the curls coiled tighter. She was a golden brown, and while not as dark as the natives, she certainly didn't stand out as the pale Brit these days.

Hermione still had on her copper necklace; it was charmed as a universal translator. Her Mage's robes were a pale lavender, and her sandals had moulded to her feet so well that they felt like second skin. Altogether, she'd guess she was an impressive sight, except that there were no mirrors here for her to verify with. Complete immersion into this world made her almost feel like everything before that a distant dream sometimes. Still, when she pressed her thumb into her DA Galleon at night, she'd get a round of greetings and an inquisition about how she was doing.

Lucius was livid. His best researchers had been working six months, and they had two dozen possible locations for the girl. He'd initially only pulled three people to work on this project, but he'd ended up doubling the workers twice. Twelve of the top wizards and witches in Britain couldn't narrow down her possible locations to under twenty-four! How could she have studied for N.E.W.T.s, kept up with her classes, fought the law, and crafted a back-up plan? It couldn't be humanly possible!

The pulsing in his brain was getting to him. Lucius knew that Draco had certainly chosen the best available witch; he couldn't fault him for that. Still, graduation was a week away, and he was unsure of where to travel first. She wouldn't be in Europe, that much was certain. Additionally, Britain's foreign relations were such that if she'd fled anywhere, any nation would have kept her, partly out of spite, and partly because she was so powerful.

Lucius had never really considered how vast the world was until he went to find a needle in a haystack. Was she in India? China? Japan? He didn't think that she'd go to the Middle East, although she could easily hide in a burqa and no one would be the wiser. Polynesia? The American Southwest? Mexico City? The idea of South America made his stomach churn. There were a dozen locations in South America alone. Africa was a long shot, considering how she'd stand out, but there were still a couple places that would harbour the little fugitive.

He did have to admit that reading the reports about each proposed place proved to be interesting reading. Lucius hadn't really ever given second thought to magic outside of his Eurocentric worldview. Well, it wasn't a first for firsts; he'd never thought he'd be seeking out the Mudblood to be his only son's bride, either. A lesser man would have let his head flop wearily on his desk. Luckily, Lucius Malfoy was not a lesser man.

Lucius rubbed his temples. He was approaching this the wrong way, of that he was certain. He now knew a good deal about Ms. Granger. She came from a surprisingly upper-middle class background. Her parents were learned professionals, even if they were Muggles. She was an only child. She was a Gryffindor. She was righteous. She had convictions. She had broken her wand.

She had no wand! Lucius put all of the reports in a neat pile to be reviewed with hopefully a new approach. He now knew that wands were less commonly used in equatorial communities. He siphoned out any of the communities that were too far north or south. Next went any that were patriarchal; knowing that Draco had branded her in addition to fleeing the law, she would want something egalitarian, if not matriarchal. There were only thirteen left.

If he were an eighteen-year old single witch who had just survived a war, where would he go? Sure, it wasn't really a fair question to ask, since Lucius had been a grown married wizard so long he couldn't remember much else, but it begged asking. Granger likes adventure; Granger likes new things, likes discovery, likes freedom. Lucius threw out any that were on an island. Not only would it be possible that she might get bored on an island, it would make escape only viable by Portkey. He knew, now, that she would always have a Portkey on her, but she would want to be able to flee by land as well.

That took his pile down to five locations, and he finally felt his head begin to clear. Colchis, Mexico City, Mesa Verde, and two unnamed locations, one in Brazil and one in Peru. For the first time since Draco had come out of the coma, Lucius had a plan. It made him feel so much better. A goal was always a good thing.

Draco felt a little strange out of his customary robes. He had woken up the day after graduation with his trunk packed for travel and a Turkish style robe laid out for him. Today his father would take him on a hunting expedition for his bride. Draco hadn't really ever considered traveling the world. Why bother, when he was already so well connected in Britain? France was nice, of course, and Spain was good when he wanted someplace warm. They had a villa in Greece for when one really needed to get away, but he rarely went that far. Now they were going to Colchis, where they would look for Hermione. He hoped she'd be there, as the Americas seemed so... unpleasantly nouveau.

Calling a house-elf to take his things downstairs, he Apparated into the foyer to kiss his mother goodbye. From there, Draco grabbed the Portkey, nodded quickly to his father, and they set out upon their tour.

Hermione woke up with a jungle cat in her bed. Well, not any jungle cat, it was her jungle cat. Crookshanks, being half kneazle, had been large. However, this cat was just over a meter long from shoulder to rump, her tail just as long, and easily weighed five stone and was only half-grown. The cat had come to Hermione when she'd matriculated.

She'd gone on a spirit quest. She'd eaten a variety of mushrooms and smoked a huge bowl of 'sacred herbs'. Hermione had been high as kite in an ancient sauna. Of course, after a few minutes, she'd passed out, sprawled in her plainest shift, as her mind went through a great journey without her body.

Immediately, a large cat like the one that lay in the curve of her body had begun to walk with her as she made her travels. She'd had this cat, and at the end of it all, they'd walked to a great bonfire. Fearlessly, she walked into the towering blaze, and after a moment, she burst into flames, but instead of pain, she felt rebirth. Hermione knew she wasn't a phoenix, but it was the only way she could think of explaining it.

Now that she was a grown-up in the community, she had work to do. Stretching languorously on her hammock, Hermione rubbed the belly of the beast beside her. This cat's name was Acara, and she certainly had the bearing of a queen. Acara opened one eye a tiny bit and looked at Hermione, only to close her eye once again.

"Well, if you don't want breakfast...." Hermione chided and pulled her hand back. Acara growled, and Hermione lightly smacked her belly, laughing when Acara's tail swept around and thumped Hermione's leg. "Lazy beast."

Hermione reached to the shelf on the wall and pulled a torque onto her arm, pressing her thumb on the Galleon in the centre, and letting her friends know she was up for the day. She rarely got more than a warm response back, but today it burned hot as soon as she set her thumb to it.

DM/LM trvling-HP. It was from Harry.

Bloody Fuck! Hermione thought and stomped her foot. Why couldn't they just leave her be?

Colchis... Hermione had thought of going to Colchis, but had decided it was too close, too populated, and ultimately, not safe. She was a little concerned that they had started out on such good footing. If she had been in their position, she would have started there, too. Colchis was still nearby-ish, and it was a reasonable choice.

Before Hermione could respond, Acara twisted around her legs. Right...Hermione had work to do, and breakfast.

Hermione sighed when the coin finally cooled and she could put her armband back on. She was glad it was Harry 'on the line'. Ron couldn't write a letter to save his life, but had thousands of words when trying to write on a coin. Also, Harry knew about computers, texting, IMing, and shorthand. It made things a little easier. Hermione was rubbing a little wetness and some sleep out of her eyes when she felt Acara pushing on her backside.

"Yes! Breakfast. I remember!" Hermione laughed as she turned on the cat and picked her up, draping her over her shoulders like she would with Crooks. That this cat was at least five times the size of her kneazle didn't seem to faze her at all.

Surprisingly for Draco, Colchis had been fascinating. Of course, he and Lucius hadn't just walked up to the head of the government, demanding his Granger back. They had had to ingratiate themselves first. That meant tourism and a fair amount of commerce. They'd been to two great libraries. Draco had never seen one that was better than the Malfoy library, though Hogwarts' was almost as good. Both of these libraries had books he couldn't imagine, and he'd forgotten himself there on a couple of occasions. His father had smirked at him, then.

While taking lunch one day in Colchis, Draco had discussed with his father what could be done with the brand. Since no Malfoy had ever had to wait so long between a branding and marriage, Lucius wasn't entirely sure, and the two of them began researching.

Lucius had actually been the one to find the first two books. Draco devoured them. They spoke of controlling one's dreams and then extending them out into a collective subconscious. It had taken him several days to train his conscious mind to take effect in his subconscious, and another week before he had had his first dream with her. Hermione looked just like she did that fateful morning all those months ago: perfect ringlets, perfect tie, shoes shined. She was lying on the grass in the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. When she noticed him, she'd scowled. Nothing new there. Draco approached her, but she did nothing but look up at the stars.

He knelt and then crawled over her. Still nothing. Draco stroked her cheek softly. Nothing. He kissed her lips softly. Nothing. He deepened the kiss. Nothing. Draco grabbed her breast. Nothing. He was sure that he could do something to get Hermione's attention, especially in his own dream! Draco pulled out his wand and Vanished her clothes. Nothing. He took off his robes so he was down to his shirtsleeves and trousers, shoes off. For a moment, he just looked at her. Hermione was perfection in the starlight, her body lain out on the grass. Then he knelt over her and peppered her whole body with little kisses.

After a few minutes, he knew he was starting to get somewhere. As his lips went lower, Hermione's legs began to spread. Draco was smiling to himself in the dream when he was confronted with natural bush and swollen pink quim. Just as he was about to put his lips to it, his body ejaculated, and he was jerked out of the dream. He cleaned himself up and went back to sleep extremely frustrated. It wasn't until he was taking lunch the next and final day in Colchis that he felt the fingers tracing the tattoo on his chest.

This was the first time she'd ever touched it for more than a passing of her hairbrush. Draco told his father, and they smiled together, knowing that this was just the beginning.

Draco thought he might take Granger to Colchis for their honeymoon.

Hermione had had sex dreams before, but none like this. First of all, the Quidditch pitch? Not that sex outside was gross or anything, but the Quidditch pitch? She'd had sex in a field of wildflowers in a dream once, and also on a grand canopy bed in a garden that appeared next to Big Ben. That one had been weird. Hermione shivered, remembering the one and only time she'd thought of Harry as anything but a brother. The morning after that dream, she'd also sworn off spicy food after ten at night.

Hermione's hand touched the back of her neck absently...she had been on the Quidditch pitch with Draco. He'd been kissing her softly all over. Hermione had wanted to just ignore him and hope that the dream would pass, but once his lips were on her nipples and the undersides of her breasts, she had to reconsider this approach.

Even in the dream, Hermione knew she should fight Draco. She couldn't, though. His lips went lower and lower, and eventually her starving libido had spread her legs. Hermione could almost feel the tickle of his soft pale blond hair on her belly as she lay awake in the predawn hours. His large hands had been warm against her body, and he'd looked at her with such... puzzled intent.

Hermione slid one hand down to her quim. She was surprisingly wet. Thinking about Draco between her legs, Hermione began rubbing her clit with practiced ease. She hadn't masturbated in so long. Hermione pushed three fingers of her other hand into her cunt and fucked herself quickly and thoroughly. Her orgasm came fast, her back arching as her breath strangled out his name.

When Hermione caught her breath, Acara was looking at her from the other end of their hammock knowingly. Shite! Hermione had just frigged herself thinking about Ferret Boy. She was sated as she hadn't been in many months. Still, she was disgusted with herself, and angry. She had never dreamed of Draco before now, unless it involved him denigrating her, as was his usual. Something was up, and Hermione would have to get to the bottom of it.

Ten nights later, Hermione found herself at Malfoy Manor with Draco. He was lying in an enormous bed, Slytherin green silk pants resting low on his hips. Hermione was watching him. He lay motionless for a while, a perfect statue of Malfoy characteristics.

Draco was watching her, as well. Hermione looked down at herself: she was made up like some cartoon Godiva, her hair covering her breasts, and nothing covering her crotch. Even in the dream, Hermione felt wretched, like a whore on display. Could one vomit in one's dreams?

Draco's hand pulled out his cock from under his pants. He looked at her and spoke to her like she was a badly behaved child. "See what you do to me? What you've always done to me, you fucking Mudblood." His cock was hard, and he was jerking it. "Pull your nipples."

Hermione's hands obeyed, and in dream-clouded fascination and horror, Hermione's subconscious played along, too. She tossed her long curls behind her shoulders and began pulling her nipples so Draco could see.

His eyes lit up with possessive pride. "Perfect." He pressed his hand over the head of his prick and gazed at her. "You're mine, Granger. How dare you make me chase you? Pinch your nipples." Hermione did, whimpering. "You like that? It's supposed to be a punishment, you slut. Pinch harder." In the dream, Hermione did; she pinched so hard that she woke. Her nipples were throbbing. This was the fourth dream, and each time she would wake up nauseated and aroused.

Flicking a finger at the lamp near her bed, she began writing in her dream journal. Remembering as many details as she could: Draco's hard cock, his intense gaze, his instructions.... Hermione was torn between wanting to continue playing with herself, well on her way as she was, and wanting to jump in the coldest bit of the nearby river and wash his vile, insidious suggestions out of her mind. She shivered.

Hermione would review the dream with Marcela from the council in the morning. Then they could analyse it and look for clues. That would be later, though. It was still dark as pitch out, and Hermione had to clear her mind. Just for research's sake, she pressed her middle finger into her quim. Right...juicy and ready. Draco could slide in and pound her thoroughly, if he were here. Hermione was so aroused that she almost wished he were.