Chapter Text
The sensation of Portkey travel was never pleasant. One moment, Hermione felt the ground beneath her feet in London, and the next, she was spinning through space, tumbling through time itself, before landing with an unceremonious thud on solid ground. The crisp mountain air hit her lungs first—a sharp, exhilarating contrast to the Ministry’s stuffy corridors.
Draco, not quite as lucky, sprawled beside her, groaning. “Merlin’s bloody beard—could you at least warn me next time?” He dusted off his coat, a deep emerald green that complemented the frost-dusted cliffs around them. “That was horrendous.”
Hermione ignored his complaints, too preoccupied with the view in front of her. The sight was breathtaking—impossibly tall mountains, their peaks lost in wispy, swirling clouds, stretched as far as the eye could see. Verdant green forests blanketed the slopes, interrupted only by cascading waterfalls and ancient, twisting bridges of stone and wood. It was the sort of place that belonged in a Chinese wuxia film, where warriors danced across tree branches and disappeared into the mist.
Draco followed her gaze and let out a low whistle. “Alright, I’ll admit it—this is something else.”
“Shhh,” Hermione hushed him, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “Can you feel that?”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Feel what?”
“The magic here.” She opened her eyes, and they gleamed with quiet reverence. “This land is ancient, Draco. It’s been steeped in magic for centuries, untouched, uncorrupted. It’s different from the magic in Britain—older, wilder.”
Draco frowned and let himself focus. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but she was right. There was something different here, something alive. The very air pulsed with quiet, steady power. He could feel it humming beneath his fingertips. It was… comforting, almost, though it carried a warning—this was sacred ground.
“Well,” he said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves, “I suppose if we’re going to be risking our lives again, at least it’ll be in style.”
Hermione shot him a look. “Try to take this seriously. The Demiguise are incredibly rare, and finding their den will take skill.”
Draco smirked. “Finding, maybe. But catching one? Impossible.”
“Not impossible.” She tapped her temple. “Just requires strategy.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a soft rustling behind them. Instinctively, they both reached for their wands, but before they could react, a tiny, green creature scuttled up Hermione’s shoulder.
“Tiny,” she sighed in relief, as her Bowtruckle peeked out from beneath her curls. He chittered, his little claws gripping her jacket as he surveyed their new surroundings with what Hermione swore was curiosity.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course, you brought the walking twig.”
“Tiny has a better sense of direction than you do,” she quipped, earning an indignant huff from Draco.
Before he could retort, a strong gust of wind howled through the valley, sending ripples through the sea of trees below. The moment of lightheartedness faded as Hermione turned to the path ahead.
“We should get moving,” she said. “The locals say the Demiguise den is hidden somewhere deep within the Clouded Peak Forest.” She pulled out a parchment map, the ink shifting as it traced their location. “But the problem is, Demiguise are natural escape artists. Even if we find them, they’ll see us coming before we even get close.”
Draco tapped his wand against his palm. “Then we’ll just have to outsmart them.”
Hermione folded her arms. “Oh? And what do you propose, Malfoy?”
He smirked. “I say we think like Slytherins. If you can’t chase your prey, lure it out.”
Hermione tilted her head, intrigued despite herself. “Go on.”
“Demiguise are drawn to tranquility. They like places that feel safe,” he explained, motioning to the sprawling landscape around them. “If we make ourselves part of the environment—blend in, stay still long enough—they might come to us.”
Hermione raised a brow. “Are you suggesting we just sit around and wait?”
“Not just sit.” He gave her a pointed look. “Observe. Be patient. Which, let’s be honest, isn’t exactly your strong suit.”
She scoffed. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I have plenty of patience.”
Draco smirked knowingly. “Sure you do, Granger.”
Tiny let out a tiny chirp, seemingly in agreement with Draco.
Hermione huffed but conceded. “Fine. We’ll try it your way first. But if we go hours without so much as a glimpse, we’re moving forward with my tracking spells.”
“Deal.”
With that, they set off, winding through the misty, narrow mountain paths. The air smelled fresh—crisp pine, damp earth, and the faintest whisper of jasmine carried by the breeze. As they moved deeper into the forest, the world seemed to grow quieter, as though nature itself was watching them, holding its breath.
Draco walked beside her, his usual sarcasm tempered by something else—an unspoken reverence for the land around them. Despite himself, he found it humbling. He had spent much of his life in places of grandeur—Malfoy Manor, the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, even the Ministry—but this was different. This was raw, unshaped power.
“Granger,” he said after a while, his voice softer than usual. “Do you think we’ll actually find them?”
She glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “I do.”
He nodded, falling into step beside her. “Good.”
For a moment, there was silence, save for the rustling leaves and distant call of an eagle soaring above. And then, somewhere in the fog ahead, a shadow moved.
Both wands were out in an instant.
Hermione’s breath hitched. “Did you see that?”
Draco’s grip on his wand tightened. “Yeah.”
They exchanged a glance, and without another word, they moved forward, disappearing into the mist. The hunt had begun.
Hermione moved cautiously, her boots barely making a sound against the mossy forest floor. Draco followed, far less graceful, muttering under his breath every time a branch dared to brush against his coat. The mist curled around them, swallowing the trees ahead like a living entity. The only sound was the distant drip of water from the hanging vines and the occasional rustling of unseen creatures.
“I don’t like this,” Draco muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You don’t like anything that involves actual work.”
“No, I don’t like places where I can’t see what’s trying to eat me,” he countered. “There could be anything in this fog. A dragon, a—”
A shriek erupted from the trees above, and Draco let out a very undignified yelp, stumbling backward.
Hermione spun around, wand raised, only to see a flock of golden-feathered birds taking off from the treetops.
“Draco,” she deadpanned. “It’s a group of Jinluan birds. They’re harmless.”
Draco scowled. “Yes, well, next time, let’s pretend I was merely… demonstrating the appropriate response to an unknown threat.”
Hermione snorted. “You screamed like a first-year.”
Draco glared. “I did not scream. That was a battle-ready exclamation.”
“Sure,” she said, patting his arm. “A very brave, very high-pitched exclamation.”
Draco huffed but said nothing, following her deeper into the mist. Tiny chittered from Hermione’s shoulder, clearly amused by Draco’s plight.
They ventured forward until the trees parted into a breathtaking clearing. A tranquil lake stretched before them, its surface so still it mirrored the towering cliffs above. The mist danced across the water like phantom ribbons. Giant lotus flowers floated serenely, their petals glowing faintly with magic. But Hermione’s attention was fixed on the other side of the lake—where a small, silvery shape flickered in and out of sight.
Draco nudged her. “That’s it, isn’t it?”
Hermione nodded, her heart pounding. “A Demiguise.”
The creature was barely visible, its long silken fur blending into the mist as if it were part of it. It sat near the base of an ancient tree, nibbling on what looked like moonfruit.
“Alright,” Hermione whispered. “We have to be smart about this.”
Draco nodded. “Right. So, what’s the plan? Sneak up and—”
Before he could finish, the Demiguise lifted its head and turned towards them. Its large, knowing eyes shimmered like molten silver.
And then—it was gone.
“Bollocks,” Draco cursed. “It saw us coming, didn’t it?”
Hermione groaned. “Of course it did. Demiguise can see into the future. It knew our approach before we even thought of it.”
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Then what do we do? How do you catch something that already knows what you’re about to do?”
Hermione bit her lip, thinking. “We have to be unpredictable. If we move in a way that even we don’t know in advance, we might be able to confuse it.”
Draco sighed. “You’re suggesting we act like lunatics.”
“I’m suggesting we be spontaneous.”
Draco exhaled through his nose, glancing at the empty spot where the Demiguise had been. “Fine. But if this ends with me falling into the lake, I’m hexing you.”
They spread out, moving in different directions, hoping to throw off the creature’s predictive abilities. Hermione weaved through the trees with sharp, sudden movements, never following a direct path. Draco, begrudgingly, did the same—though his method was less “strategic” and more “wild flailing.”
And then—
The ground beneath Draco gave way.
There was a brief moment where he realized he had, in fact, stepped onto a very old, very unstable log hidden beneath the moss.
“Granger—” was all he managed before it cracked beneath his weight, sending him tumbling backward.
He landed with an impressive splash in the lake.
Hermione winced. “Draco?”
The only response was the furious spluttering of a drenched Malfoy breaking the lake’s surface, his hair plastered to his face, his coat floating behind him like a defeated cloak.
“I hate everything,” he declared.
Hermione bit her lip, but she couldn’t stop the snort of laughter that escaped. “Are you alright?”
Draco shot her a murderous glare. “Do I look alright?”
“Well, no,” she admitted, stifling another laugh. “You look like a very expensive drowned rat.”
Draco groaned, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “I knew this would happen. I knew this would happen the moment you said ‘spontaneous.’”
She knelt at the lake’s edge, offering him a hand. “Come on, let’s get you out.”
Draco grabbed her hand—and then, because he was Draco Malfoy and could never let things go, he yanked her forward.
Hermione yelped as she tumbled into the water beside him.
Draco smirked. “Now we’re even.”
She came up coughing, shoving wet curls from her face. “You absolute—”
But before she could finish, something silver flickered just beyond them.
The Demiguise.
It was perched on a low-hanging branch, watching them with what could only be described as amused curiosity.
Hermione grabbed Draco’s arm. “Don’t move.”
Draco, shivering, muttered, “Bit late for that.”
The Demiguise tilted its head, considering them. Perhaps the sight of two completely soaked wizards floundering in a lake was bizarre enough to throw off its foresight. Slowly, cautiously, Hermione reached for the pouch on her belt, fingers brushing against the dried moonfruit she had brought as bait.
With painstaking slowness, she lifted it, palm open, offering the fruit. “Come on,” she murmured. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
The Demiguise hesitated.
Draco held his breath. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the tense moment or the fact that the water was bloody freezing.
Then, finally, the Demiguise crept forward, its silver fur glimmering. It reached out with delicate fingers, plucking the fruit from Hermione’s palm. Its eyes met hers—calm, ancient, wise.
Hermione barely breathed. “Draco. The suitcase.”
Draco, still shivering, fumbled for the enchanted leather suitcase strapped to his side. “Right, right—”
But the moment his fingers brushed the latch, the Demiguise let out a soft chitter—and vanished.
Silence.
Draco swore. “I hate this creature.”
Hermione sighed, wiping water from her face. “Well, at least we know we’re on the right track.”
Draco scowled. “The right track? Granger, we’re freezing, soaked, and down one Demiguise.”
She grinned. “But we’re learning. And next time—we’ll be faster.”
Draco groaned. “Next time, I demand a dry, warm approach.”
She patted his arm, smirking. “No promises.”
Tiny chittered on the riverbank, clearly enjoying Draco’s misery.
Draco glared at the Bowtruckle. “Traitor.”
Hermione laughed, squeezing water from her sleeve. Despite the mishap, she felt a thrill of excitement. They were getting closer.
The hunt wasn’t over yet.
Draco and Hermione finally trudged out of the water, dripping wet and thoroughly miserable. Draco, shivering, muttered, "I swear, Granger, if I end up with a cold because of this, I’m hexing everything within a five-mile radius."
Hermione snorted, wringing out her soaked curls. "You’re such a drama queen. We’ll dry off in no time. Just—hold still."
With a flick of her wand, she cast a quick Hot-Air Charm. Warmth spread over their clothes, causing steam to rise as the water evaporated. Draco groaned in relief, stretching out his arms. "Oh, finally. I thought I was going to freeze solid."
She smirked. "See? Magic solves everything."
Draco, already feeling smugness return, flicked his own wand at Hermione, sending a sudden gust of hot air straight into her face. Her curls fluffed out like an overgrown dandelion.
"Malfoy!" she shrieked, smacking his arm.
He grinned, pleased with himself. "There. Now you match Tiny in both size and style."
Tiny, still perched on a nearby branch, chittered in what Hermione could only assume was laughter. She huffed, smoothing down her hair. "I swear, one of these days—"
"One of these days what?" Draco interrupted, smirking. "You’ll realize I’m too charming to hex?"
She shot him a deadpan look. "I was going to say I’ll let Tiny handle my revenge. And you do realize he knows how to pick locks, right?"
Draco paled slightly, glancing at the Bowtruckle. "You wouldn’t."
Hermione just hummed innocently, picking up her bag and leading the way back toward their camp.
The campsite was nestled under a canopy of ancient trees, the golden glow of the setting sun casting long shadows through the branches. Hermione waved her wand, summoning dry firewood into a neat pile, then pointed at it with a simple Incendio. The flames flickered to life, crackling warmly.
Draco plopped down onto a log beside the fire, rubbing his hands together. "Alright, what’s for dinner?"
Hermione set her hands on her hips. "Well, since I cooked last time, I’d say it’s your turn."
Draco blinked. "My what now?"
"Your turn," she repeated with a knowing smile. "Don’t tell me you’ve never cooked before."
Draco scoffed. "Of course, I have! I just—prefer to delegate the task to people who enjoy it."
She raised an eyebrow. "You mean house-elves."
Draco shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I’ll have you know that I am perfectly capable of following instructions."
"Alright then," she said, pulling out their magical supply bag. She rummaged through it, handing him a few ingredients: some dried rice, a bundle of fresh herbs, and a pack of preserved meat. "Prove it."
Draco eyed the ingredients as though they were a particularly difficult Arithmancy problem. "Fine. What do I do?"
Hermione smirked. "First, conjure a cooking pan."
Draco muttered a spell, and a sleek, black pan appeared over the fire. Hermione nodded approvingly. "Good. Now, heat some oil—carefully."
Draco poured in a generous amount, then realized it was perhaps too much. "Uh—"
The oil immediately hissed and popped, sending a few sparks flying. Draco yelped, nearly dropping the bottle. Hermione snorted. "Less is more, Malfoy."
Draco scowled but adjusted accordingly. "Next?"
"Dice the meat and toss it in."
Draco flicked his wand, slicing the meat into neat, uniform cubes. Hermione’s lips twitched. "Show-off."
Draco smirked. "You’re just mad you still use a knife."
He dropped the meat into the pan, stirring hesitantly. It sizzled, filling the air with a rich, savory aroma. Hermione sat back, watching him with amusement as he added the herbs, then the rice.
After a few more minutes of somewhat clumsy stirring, the mixture began to look surprisingly edible.
Hermione sniffed the air. "Huh. That actually smells... good."
Draco feigned offense. "Excuse me, did you expect me to set something on fire?"
She raised a brow. "Yes."
He scoffed, dramatically flipping his hair. "Oh, ye of little faith."
Hermione chuckled. "Alright, moment of truth." She conjured two bowls, handing one to him as he scooped in the food. She took a cautious bite.
And then blinked.
Draco watched her, eyes narrowed. "Well?"
She chewed thoughtfully before swallowing. "Draco. This is... really good."
Draco’s lips parted slightly in genuine surprise. "Wait. Really?"
Hermione took another bite and nodded. "I’m shocked. Did you put in extra seasoning?"
Draco looked at the now-empty spice packet and shrugged. "Possibly?"
She grinned. "Well, whatever you did, congratulations. You just cooked a meal without poisoning either of us."
Draco smirked, taking a bite himself. "Merlin’s beard. That is delicious."
Hermione leaned back, staring at him in mock admiration. "Draco Malfoy, the culinary genius. Who would’ve thought?"
Draco waggled his eyebrows. "There are many hidden depths to me, Granger."
Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. As they ate, the fire crackled between them, the warmth seeping into their bones after the long, exhausting day. The air was crisp but pleasant, the sky above them painted with streaks of violet and gold as night approached.
For a while, they sat in comfortable silence, watching the flames flicker.
Then, Hermione murmured, "You did well today, you know."
Draco glanced at her, slightly caught off guard by the sincerity in her tone. "With what? Cooking?"
She smiled. "That too. But I meant everything. The way you handled yourself, the way you strategized with the Demiguise… You’re good at this."
Draco tilted his head, studying her. "You sound surprised."
Hermione shrugged. "I guess I am. You’re not exactly known for your patience."
Draco snorted. "Fair point. But I suppose some things are worth the effort."
Their eyes met then, something unspoken lingering between them. The firelight danced in Hermione’s eyes, and for once, Draco didn’t feel the urge to make some sarcastic remark. Instead, he just... looked at her.
The moment stretched, warm and unfamiliar.
Then Tiny, ever the disruptor, let out a loud chittering noise, breaking the silence. Hermione startled, and Draco cleared his throat, looking away. "Right. Well. I suppose we should get some sleep before you drag me into another near-death experience tomorrow."
Hermione smirked. "Oh, don’t worry, Malfoy. I’m sure the next part of our journey will be perfectly safe."
Draco groaned. "You are a terrible liar."
She laughed, standing up and stretching. "Goodnight, Draco."
Draco watched her for a moment before nodding. "Goodnight, Granger."
As Hermione curled up in her enchanted sleeping bag and Tiny nestled into her hair, Draco leaned back against his log, staring at the sky.
For the first time in a long while, he felt... content.
Maybe—just maybe—this mission wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to him.