CH-14

He opens his fist, and the heart stops burning me. I lift up the charm with my left hand and see that a date and time have appeared on one side. Glaring at him, I lower my wand.

"That solves date and time. As for the place… I think I know the perfect place," he says.

"Where?"

"I'd rather just take you there."

"I'm not going to just Apparate somewhere with you," I say.

"Well, I can't take you anywhere by Apparition anyway—I don't have a wand. Come, let's go."

He starts to walk around the table, and I grab his arm.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me where we're going," I say.

He slowly turns back to look at me, and his eyes fall to my hand, which is still gripping his arm tightly. I release him as though I've been burned.

"Follow me, Granger. I won't ask twice."

I glare at him. "I already said this once—don't make me repeat it again. I am not taking any orders from you, Malfoy."

"All right, then. I'll leave."

"Fine. Leave."

He walks around the table and towards the door but stops before he reaches it.

I wait patiently for him to turn around. For some inexplicable reason, I know that he won't just leave like this.

I can't say what makes me so sure of it.

Finally, he turns around.

"Fine, you win. There's an Imperturbable Charm on this door, right?"

I nod.

"All right then. I'm going to take you to a cottage in Bradford on Avon, in Wiltshire."

"Wiltshire? Isn't your home in Wiltshire?"

He nods. "Yes, but we're obviously not going there. Now come on."

I still don't move. "Why do we have to go now? Can't you just give me the location?"

"As I said before, I'd much rather just take you there."

"That makes me think you have an ambush awaiting me there."

"What are you, scared?"

I glare at him. "I am not scared."

"That's exactly what you are," he says, smirking. "You're scared of me."

"Fine, let's go."

I know that I shouldn't let him goad me like that, but he's always brought out the more reckless side of me. I walk around the table and toward him, tucking the heart-shaped charm under my shirt.

He grins triumphantly and pulls on the kitchen door, holding it open for me.

Only Shacklebolt, McGonagall, Lupin, Tonks, Harry and Ron are standing outside, and they look surprised by our appearance.

"We're going for a walk," Malfoy says nonchalantly. "I'll let her return unharmed, on my honor. But I myself won't be back for a long time, so I suppose this is goodbye."

"Just a minute, Mr. Malfoy," Shacklebolt says, stepping into our path.

I look up at him and move to the side so that I'm not between him and Malfoy. I hear him begin to ask Malfoy where we're going, but I'm distracted when Ron tugs on my arm.

"Hermione—you're not really going to go with him, are you?" he whispers.

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" I say. "Tonks told me that the others—Shacklebolt, McGonagall and Lupin—all decided on me."

"Did they tell you why?"

"Of course they did. Do you really think I'd agree to work with Malfoy without making sure it was absolutely necessary first?" I hiss back at him.

"Sorry, Hermione," Harry says.

"You'd think Blaise would have been a better choice," Ron mutters, looking at Harry.

Then Malfoy's hand is on my shoulder.

"Come on, Granger. We don't have much time before I'm expected back home," he says.

I nod and start walking toward the exit, but Ron grabs onto my arm.

"What are you doing?" I ask, jerking my arm out of his grasp.

"Oi, Malfoy. If you lay a finger on her, I'll hunt you down," he says.

Malfoy opens the front door of Grimmauld Place and gestures for me to exit. I frown at him but walk out of the house, surprised that he didn't have some snide comeback for Ron.

I open my mouth to ask how he expects to get all the way from London to Wiltshire without Apparating, but my voice dies in my throat when I see him pull a broomstick out of a pouch.

Merlin, save me.

Sure, I've been fighting in this war for something like three years now, but I still can't fly a broom on my own, and I still haven't been able to overcome my terror of heights.

When I hear him chuckling, I know that the fear must have shown on my face.

"Shut up, Malfoy. Can't we just…"

I can't think of any other mode of transportation. It'd be laughable to suggest the Knight Bus—both of us have well-known faces at this point in the war.

"Well, if you want me to take you there by Side-Along Apparition, I won't object, but you'll have to lend me your wand," he says.

No. No way that's going to happen, not after Blaise warned us not to let him get a hold of our wands. I find it hard to believe that there's really magic out there that can give anyone control over another's wand, but I'm not willing to take that chance.

He's already mounted the broom.

"Malfoy, isn't there any other way?" I ask, desperation showing in my voice.

He smiles crookedly. "Is poor Granger still afraid of flying?"

"Still?"

"Sure. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that Granger the bookworm couldn't fly a broom to save her life."

Fury rises up in my chest again, and I mount the broom behind him, placing my hands gingerly on his shoulders. He chuckles again and reaches up to shift my hands to his hips.

I drill holes into the back of his head with my eyes. I hate that he finds me so amusing.

"You should probably cast a Disillusionment Charm over us, so that we're not seen," he says.

I draw my wand and cast the charm, then stow it back in my robes. He disappears, and I can't see myself either. I find his hip again and place my hand on it lightly. I don't want to touch him.

"You might want to hold on a bit tighter."

Before I can respond, he kicks off, and I let out a frightened squeak before shutting myself up. We're already soaring above the roof of Number 12, and I'm digging my fingers into his hips, terrified of slipping off the end of the broom but loath to scoot any closer to him.

"Granger, either put your arms around me or just tell me to touch back down. I won't have you boring holes into my waist," Malfoy growls at me.

He sits up straight, and we come to a stop, floating high above the ground. I can't see him, can't see myself, can't see the broom that we're sitting on, and it's absolutely terrifying. I slide my hands around to his front, and my trembling fingers clasp together. I pull myself forward, leaning into him. I glance down again and whimper, squeezing my eyes shut and telling myself repeatedly that I won't fall.

I'm such a coward when it comes to heights. Why is it that everyone else is so comfortable with flying at heights, from which falling would mean almost inevitable death?

"Hold on tight," he says.

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