Touchstone || Dramione

Chapter V: Haven

Distant thunder beats in tandem with the whimsical music of cicadas and summer birds. Clouds amass from the south and scorching sunlight beats down on the five oddly dressed travelers through the canopy of towering pine trees. Hermione pulls irritably at her jumper, beads of sweat already collecting down her spine. Malfoy makes a discernible noise if discomfort. Sera knew better than to wear a jumper and Nott dons the look of someone severely constipated.

The fifth traveler, Minerva McGonagall, is already moving forward, her flat heels sinking into the wet ground. "Keep up, please."

Sera wasn't lying when she'd mentioned humidity. On top of everything else, it recently flooded and the clouds look ready to do an about-face and drown them this time. Various puddles and gurgling rain-streams trickle off into the tree line to the east where the ground sloped down into a gradual ravine. The world is so green and glittering wet that Hermione wonders if she's stepped into a pristine image of paradise from one of her father's old calendars he used to keep in his office.

"Well this is going to be miserable. Thanks, Granger." Nott wipes irritably at his brow and follows behind McGonagall.

He can't be sweating already, Hermione pouts. Well, I am, but he can't be. She nibbles her lip. Of course he's sweating. How can people live in this kind of heat?

The power of the wards ripple and pulse over her skin as she passes through them and continues down the driveway. Sera walks a little in front of her and Malfoy, her fingers combing the braid from her hair. Up ahead, sits a picturesque Victorian house with two second floor balconies, large bay windows, a wraparound veranda and even a clichéd tower. Hermione's mouth falls open. It must be old enough to have stood during her great-grandmother's youth.

In the surrounding yard, there are bald cypress trees, several crumbling bird baths, and a blinding array of floral compositions. Iconic? Captivating? Welcomingly antique in its beauty? All understatements.

If this is a safe house, then Hermione will be having a serious talk with Shacklebolt on the poor condition of all the others she's been in.

"This home belongs to the Laveau family. They offered it to the Order for our use three years ago." McGonagall explains as they join her. "Now that Louis Laveau has passed, Delia Laveau is the sole inheritor of this property. She resides in an apartment in New Orleans and is currently seeing to the final paperwork concerning her brother's funeral and their family inheritance."

Sera sighs gloomily from beside Malfoy and Hermione looks over to her. She'd wanted to attend Louis' funeral two days prior even if they didn't have a body to bury in his family mausoleum, but the Order forbid it. A stab of guilt radiates through Hermione's chest and she grips Malfoy's leash into a fist which she places over her heart. Her other hand clasps the hilt of her wand. Everywhere she goes, she brings misfortune. Doesn't she?

"Is Delia aware that we are here? Will she be moving back now?" Sera asks, bringing Hermione back to the conversation.

McGonagall shakes her head. "No. She is not aware of this arrangement and she will not be coming back here. The Order has requested her service. You'll be staying—"

"But she's only fifteen!" Sera blurts out indignantly. "Louis joined this war to keep her out of it!"

McGonagall's sighs sadly. "Yes, Miss Natani. She is no more than a child, like yourself, but war cares not for age."

"But she—"

"When Senior Commander Shacklebolt asked her, she eagerly accepted."

"Because she's angry about Louis' death! Because she's hurt and wants revenge! She's foolish and young and—"