AN: Thanks to Sarah James and Seakays for the beta, to Eric for pointing out a fatal error, and to my husband who called me profoundly irreverent the other night when we were acosted by a very large woman with curlers in her hair at our local grocery store.
Chapter 4 - Engagements
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pansy screams at the top of her lungs for nearly fifteen minutes, while Harry and Ron sit crouched down in the bushes. Sharp-tongued and profoundly irreverent, she vows that she will seek revenge on them both, even in death. But no matter how hard Pansy clamors, yells or shrieks, the two just sit in silence, waiting for their plan to come to a rapid conclusion.
Pansy suddenly becomes aware of a smell - foul, rank, nauseating. She doesn't even want to consider what it might be. She wants to be let down. Immediately.
"Who would believe that you, Harry Potter, would be an accomplice to murder!" she yells in desperation.
But they aren't listening. They are both staring up at her, their eyes unwavering, and there is something hot and moist on the back of her neck.
"Now!" Ron screams, and Harry begins to blow the wooden flute. It is an ungodly sound, and Pansy doesn't think anything else in the world can sound as bad.
That is...until she hears a low growl coming from six livid eyes, above three sharp canine noses.
"It's not working!" Harry screams, banging the flute around as if trying to dislodge something from it. There is a bug scurrying around inside, and it is distorting the sound.
The three-headed beast is licking its horrible chops, trying to decide which piece of the wailing girl it will bite off first. Growing desperate, Ron tries to blow out the bug by forcing angry notes, and Harry has a go with the drums.
(A pixie being tossed into a shredder, an ailing hippogriff…)
The beast is repulsed by the chaotic chords, and swings one of its heads towards Ron. It snaps at his arm, but Ron leaps into the bushes just in the nick of time.
"Our music isn't working, how the hell are we supposed to knock it out?" Ron yells, tossing a stone at the beast to distract it from Pansy. Fluffy snaps at Ron again, this time just missing his foot.
Harry and Ron have panicked expressions on their faces. They have no idea what to do next, and Pansy is still tied to the pole like a live shish kabob. Harry tosses another rock at the creature, and then breaks out into the only wizarding song he knows the words to. Ron joins in.
(Two Dementors on their deathbeds, a house elf being tortured…)
Fluffy snarls angrily, moving its other head towards a tone deaf Harry. Harry feels for his wand and Ron does the same. Ron curses as he realizes he has left them in Dergon's hut. They had been too busy carving that useless flute to remember to grab them.
"Hopeless, brainless embarrassments! You don't even have your wands?" Pansy screams, drawing Fluffy's attention again.
And it is then, that Pansy Parkinson resigns herself to doing the only thing she can think of.
"Alas, my love, you do me wrong, to cast me off discourteously…"
The hideous, overgrown canine otherwise known as "Fluffy" sways a little to her surprisingly sweet voice. A wide-eyed Ron and Harry exchange surprised glances.
"For I have loved you well and long, delighting in your company…"
Fluffy gurgles a bit, and one of its heads snaps into a yawn.
"Keep singing Pansy," Harry whispers as he motions towards Dergon and three other werewolves.
Then another head yawns…and another. Fluffy begins to settle at the foot of the post that Pansy is tied to. The men each grab the end of a large net, woven from threads of Acromantula Web.
(Yawn, Drool)
Harry, Ron and Dergon approach Fluffy carefully as it's eyes droop, and finally close. Ron is sprayed by slobber as one of the massive heads exhales in his direction.
"Christ!" Ron complains, wiping his face clean.
"Greensleeves was all my joy, Greensleeves was my delight..."
"Now!" Harry whispers.
They toss the net over the beast. The stench of the monster hits them like a fist as they begin to drag it towards the nearby cave.
"Sod... Fluffy must not have had a bath since he was staying at Hogwarts," Ron groans, "he smells almost as bad as Parkinson's boyfriend."
Pansy stops singing, glaring down at Ron. One of Fluffy's eyes opens, and a head begins to turn towards Ron.
"Sorry…." Ron says realizing she has the upper hand now, "keep singing."
Then another head opens its eyes, awakened by the silence.
"Pansy!" Harry says urgently.
"Now I remain in a world apart, but my heart remains in captivity…" she croons.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Edred is late returning to the house that night, and Hermione has everything in order. There is no sign that she has been sneaking around, and even though the trees still call her traitorous, she finds comfort in the fact that he can't hear their angry voices.
The wind has started to pick up again, and the leafy loyalist's complaints are only background noise now.
Hermione doesn't hear him enter this time. She is preoccupied in her thoughts of blue vials, and visions of Harry and Ron. Hearing his foot brush against the rug, Hermione turns around slowly and finds him behind her, staring down at her. A bright cold sweat breaks out on her forehead, and she feels a dizzying rush. Edred touches the back of her hand; his fingers hot and sticky on her skin.
"You will leave the house with me at sunrise tomorrow," he says, "and you will wear what I have brought for you."
She notices the dress lying across the front room chair. Its beauty is overshadowed by the fact that Edred is caressing her hand, touching her in a way that he has never before.
'Hermione Granger is still alive,' she reassures herself.
Hermione shuts her eyes tightly as he leans down to her. Then something scurries across her face. It feels light and hairy. She moves to brush it away, and realizes it's the hair on his chin. He plants a wet kiss on her cheek, and she flinches when his saliva burns her. Her heart thuds in her ears, and as slowly as she can manage, she begins inching away from him, pressing her back against the hall table.
Edred smiles at her, feeling a stirring he hasn't felt for a while. He is attracted to her vulnerability. He moves towards her, letting his long fingers take her by the chin. He tilts her head gently to catch the light. She is a girl on womanhood's threshold, her nose straight and fine and her eyes large and wide with fear. Her lips curve into a perfect Cupid's bow and he thinks that she is what an angel must look like.
"You will be my bride soon enough, so for now I will leave you be. But I think it's only fair that you see me for who I am Hermione."
While Hermione watches, Edred steps back, clenching his head in his hands as if in pain. His fanged jaws hinge wide, and his forked tongue begins dancing at her. The fire in his eyes burns brighter. His neck grows and arches like a vaulted ceiling, and his clothing is stretched to its limits, ripped at the shoulders and legs. His skin grows scaly, as wings fan out, and for a moment, she thinks she might be looking into the face of her childhood bogeyman. Except this monster is real enough, inelegantly transforming before her.
"Look at me Hermione," he snarls, sparks coming from his breath , "You are the only one to know my secret and live."
'Hermione Granger must stay alive', she thinks again, and she forces her eyes to remain open. She is shaking so violently, the table behind her trembles as well.
"It is a great honor to be my bride. You will be Queen, and perhaps one day you will even earn my trust."
She thinks she knows now what death is. Her pulse has quickened to where the beats all flow together, and the wind is screaming against the door.
His voice, in this form, is like the searing sound of water being disintigrated by flame. Only gradually do the words make sense to her, because as he speaks them, they hang in the air like smoke, sifting into her ears. "My servant of so many years, the one who I call Barden, will retire tomorrow after my new servant has been chosen. There will be a great competition and all will die but one, who will have great power bestowed upon him. You will be presented then, and two nights afterwards, on the eve of the full moon, you will become my bride. Do not be afraid Hermione, for even in this form...I have complete control of my being."
Edred's face begins to shift again, his neck shrinking, and changing back to the color of old leather, his wings collapsing behind him. His eyes stay the same. There is an air of restrained violence about him, and Hermione is careful not to make any sudden movements. A ghostly grin sweeps across his lips. He has made it very clear that his sense of possession of her is complete.
"You may retire if you like," he says, turning to go into the kitchen for a meal of raw flesh and mead.
Hermione walks upstairs as fast as she can. If she were walking any faster, she'd be running. When she enters her room, she closes the door behind her. And although no one can hear her…she screams.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dergon and Harry drag the last boulder in front of the cave, trapping Fluffy inside.
Pansy is sitting on the ground, her voice growing hoarse from her continuous song, and she sighs with relief when Harry nods that she can stop.
"How did you know its weakness?" Dergon asks, wiping the sweat from his brow.
Harry listens as Fluffy cries and scratches from the inside, now beginning to awaken.
"We've had to get by him before," he answers, "perhaps in time you can train him to be of use."
Pansy flips her hair, as if she's trying to rid herself of a pest, and smiles at Harry in an insidious way.
"I suppose it was a good deal of fun you had, letting me think you were sacrificing me to that thing…which you almost did by the way."
Ron shoves his hands into the tall grass, trying to wipe off Fluffy's rancid drool.
"It serves you right for sneaking around on us in the first place. I think it just about makes us even, don't you Harry?"
Harry smiles a little, "Just about."
Dergon says something to a young werewolf boy, motioning for him to leave them.
"I will keep my promise to you. Naya and I will accompany you to the center of the forest."
Harry shakes Dergon's hand again. "Thank you, and I'd like to leave tonight... if that's acceptable."
Dergon looks out towards the path. "The forest is filled with cold, black spaces where the sun never gets to anyway. What is it that you seek there? Have you come all this way just to see the King introduce his bride at the games?"
Harry looks over at Ron. Then back at Pansy, who is watching the werewolf girl pick little red bugs off of her skin, popping them into her mouth. She offers one to Pansy who turns up her nose in disgust.
"Yes...uh, the games," Harry answers, unsure of where Dergon's loyalty lies. He couldn't very well tell him they were going to recue the King's 'Bride'.
Dergon shakes his head in confusion, looking back at his companions. "The King will not permit a human to attend the games."
Ron mouths 'What games?' and Harry shrugs.
"It is a competition for the right to serve as our Kings right hand. The winner gets wealth and security until old age, while the losers are put to death. It happens every twenty years. We will help you with a disguise if you like, it is an event worth seeing," Dergon offers, "I have often contemplated entering myself, but I fear for the well being of my tribe if I were to lose."
Harry nods anxiously, and Pansy whimpers at the thought of dressing up like a wolf girl.
"That would be greatly appreciated," Harry says.
Dergon and his men wander back towards the camp. Ron walks up next to Harry. His eyes are serious and intense.
"Do you think going to these games will help us find Hermione?"
Harry nods. "I'm sure of it. You heard Dergon; the King is going to introduce his bride. That means we'd get to see Hermione. At least see if she's alright," Harry says looking up at the night sky, wondering if he'll get to her in time.
Pansy snorts. "You've got it really bad for the mudblood don't you, Potter."
Harry snaps angrily at her, "I suggest you not call her that."
Ron is too busy looking for something to clean himself off with to hear her comment.
Pansy laughs, "Don't get so hot under the collar. She is sort of pretty in a way I guess, although I think it'd probably take Moses to part those knees..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Maybe she will grow to love him in time - pillow says softly - maybe she will be happy again -
Are you daft?- blanket replies - she loves another already, she would rather die a miserable death -
'Harry will rescue me,' Hermione thinks defiantly, 'I am certain of it.'
She's crazy is what she is, thinking a silly human will be able to defeat our King- the tree outside of her window scolds - ungrateful and insane, a fitting Queen she will be -
Her situation has suddenly become more desperate and she tries to block out her thoughts because she knows she won't get any real sleep that night. She has dozed off once or twice, only to be awakened by small rushes of anxiety.
Her nightgown is thin, but it is unusally warm. Every now and then, it feels like a vortice of warm air is moving over her. She tries to think of her favorite thing. She imagines she is floating, gazing up at the white skiy, the thin sliver of moon still visible at dawn. There is no light coming from the tiny window, and she wonders if the trees will allow any daylight to pass through when the morning comes.
The dress is still downstairs. She doesn't want to hear it's voice. She wants to see Harry and Ron. And she prays they will find her.
'Hermione Granger is still alive...for now.'
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pansy is finally clean, after using clear water from the werewolves well to wash away the scent of that dog, those wolves, and those bumbling idiots she found herself accompanying to rescue some girl she barely knew. The rude werewolf girl, Naya, had reluctantly given her one of her rugged little dresses to complete her "disguise".
But Pansy is just glad the garment is clean. Especially since Potter insisted they leave that night in order to make it to the center of the forest by morning.
She wonders if Draco has even noticed she is missing, and she hates that Weasley might actually be right about something. She doesn't see the redhead sneak up behind her.
"I have to admit, it's a good thing you know how to sing," Ron says, sitting down on a log. He accidentally squashes a brittle bug, and it's companion treats Ron to a long string of curse words.
Pansy is suddenly aware of how little she is wearing when Ron's eyes wander over her unconsciously.
"Finally realizing that I have many good qualities Weasley? Did you know I am also an expert fencer and I can play the piano …" she says, tying her hair back with a piece of string.
"It's more impressive when others discover your good qualities without your help," Ron answers, "I can't believe anyone can be so vain." Ron moves his eyes to his feet, blushing furiously, as Harry walks towards them.
"I'm not vain, although I have every right to be," she replies.
Harry shuts his eyes for a moment, listening to the persistent voice of Hermione's favorite book.
"What is he doing?" Pansy asks, as Harry blanky stares into the darkness..
"Doesn't concern you," Ron says, looking at the garment Dergon has given him to wear. "Not much to this thing is there?"
The book's pleas to Harry are sad and needy. It misses her, like he does. He has known a good deal of Glory, and he isn't ungrateful, but nothing has ever lasted. Nothing ever amounted to anything. That's why he has to find her. He isn't sure what he'll say or do when he does, but he knows he has to. He is staring at the book now, ignoring Pansy and Ron's bickering.
"You shouldn't let your mind wander Potter, It isn't big enough to make it out on it's own," Pansy says, bringing him back to his current reality. Harry's eyes remain far away and sad, and Pansy feels an unfamiliar pang of regret.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You can't show fear, but when one challenges you, don't ever stare directly into their eyes. It is an insult in our world," Dergon warns as they follow him down the winding path. They can hear snakes slithering near their feet, crackling their tiny rodent victims against the roof of their mouths. Dark, hot shapes are swooping overhead while strange animals cry out in the distance, hungry for fresh meat. The only thing they can do is keep moving.
Naya is bringing up the rear, daring Pansy to step out of line. "We will have to pass through the Troll's territory, and we have an understanding with them, but they won't be pleased to see werewolves they don't recognize," she cautions.
"We understand," Harry says, grazing his tongue over his fangs. They aren't as impressive as the ones Dergon and Naya have, but it is the best they can do. They all look enough like werewolves that no one will question them. At least not while they are with Dergon. The transformation will only last them one week, so time is of essence. Changing their eye color to yellow was easy, except for Harry, whose eyes didn't respond to the spell. Dergon agreed that someone would probably notice, but they would most likely think of it only as a mutation.
Pansy isn't thrilled with her new look, except for the fangs. There is something sort of nice about having fangs. Yes, very nice indeed. And the way that little animal skin dress fits her seems to be making Weasley just a bit uncomfortable, miserable prat that he is.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione is lying in bed, but she feels faint, her breath rising and falling, her hands grasping the sheets beneath her. She can't seem to will herself to open her eyes. She thinks of Harry's hands, the way he fiddles with his dress robes. She thinks about what she will say if she ever sees him again. She keeps her thoughts on him, his memory bringing her a certain calm.
She doesn't know that Edred is in her room, observing her. He can see her breasts, and her ribs and how her waist narrows. Her long legs are a little apart as she lay on her back in the dark.
He will wait.
He has desired her before, in fleeting moments of weakness and loneliness, but never was the desire as strong.
She mumbles silently again, her mouth forming words. He considers giving her back her voice just for a moment, so he can hear what she sounds like. But he worries that she might sound shrill or needy or weak. He decides that he likes her masked in silence.
She is more than beautiful.
The human part of his flesh is boiling now, much hotter then the dragon flesh that can ignite fire.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Strands of cobwebs brush across Harry's face as they move in the darkness. They have walked at least two hours now. Pansy begins to whine, but Naya squeezes her wrist, cautioning her to be quiet. Dergon has a thick, strong neck and his head swivels alertly while his eyes focus on you before you are prepared for them to. The torch he is carrying illuminates only inches in front of them.
It's nearing the end of the night now. And it has been night for a very long time at least, because hours have passed since they left the camp. Harry's mind is fractured like broken glass, thinking of Hermione, the book, his own life at risk in the middle of the forest.
Ron's pale skin is flushed, and there is a livid, feverish look to his face. They are both dressed like Dergon, but their builds are smaller. Dergon jokes that some will think of them only as children, and not young men.
Harry notices Ron is shivering. Another quick shift in weather, as if each part of the forest adapts itself for its local inhabitants. The wind is stronger now.
Ron stammers, "I can't see even a foot ahead of me."
"I can see clearly," Dergon reassures them, "And we are approaching Troll territory."
"How do you know that? It's pitch black out here. I can't even see a bloody tree!" Pansy says.
Her foot steps in something warm and squishy.
"Ugh, what is that?" she whispers, wiping her foot onto a nearby tree stump.
Dergon laughs. "It's fresh, their camp must be close."
She gags, wishing she were back at Hogwarts, away from Potter and Weasley, and werewolves... and Troll dung.
"I hear that stuff is good for the complexion," Ron teases. She kicks some at him.
"Hey!"
"Shh…" Dergon warns, "I hear something."
There is an unexpected flicker of light a few feet away. A small flame from a fire, and in the shadows, the reflection of the first thing they had ever fought together. There is more than one however, and what looks like two female trolls are hovering over a large pot, prodding, gossiping and grunting at each other like the witches from Macbeth.
"I can't believe Hagrid used to wrestle those things, but they are interesting creatures," Ron whispers to Harry.
Dergon nods to them, "If you understood them like we do, you wouldn't find them so interesting."
They will have to approach the Trolls cautiously.
"Hopefully, we won't have wrestle any tonight," Harry says, as they quietly step out of the shadows.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione's body wants to sleep, but she can't. All the horrible things she could have imagined, helter-skelter, are all swirling around like visions tossed into the commanding wind. The wind, which has callously handed her a fate worse than death.
A monster sleeps in the next room.
She has seen it with her own eyes, his shirt ripping to accommodate his wings, speckled and multi-colored. His hands and feet tangling into fearsome claws.
Please sleep dear - her pillow says - we're beginning to worry -
She cries again. Not for the pain of the burn on her cheek, but for the loss of ignorance about what it was she was dealing with. She thought him a madman, but not a monster. She was foolish to think she would continue to live there without…
She didn't want to think about it. She would think about how to escape. Harry is in the forest now. He and Ron. She almost kissed Harry once, in the common room after a long night of studying for potions. They stared into each other's eyes for an unusually long amount of time, until she broke away, the moment forever lost.
You need rest my dear - pillow says - please try to sleep-
Dream - dresser suggests- dream of flying, you enjoy that dream-
After she had been captured, flying away had become her favorite fantasy. There was great irony in the fact that she now dreamed about doing something she had only done when necessary, never having been one to enjoy riding a broomstick. But not even her dreams of the earth unfolding beneath her can recompense for all the time taken away from her, or for all of the lost kisses.
Edred watches her mouth move, her eyes flutter, and he slinks into his room to await the glorious morning.