Chapter 18
The rain lashed against the windows of the Zabini estate library, a steady percussion that mirrored the storm brewing in Theo Nott's chest. A map of London lay sprawled across the table before him, dotted with pins and hastily scrawled notes. His hands trembled as he gripped the edge of the desk, staring down at the mess of clues, reports, and dead ends. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles framing his pale complexion—he hadn’t slept more than an hour in days.
“They’re alive,” Theo muttered to himself, the words sharp, like he was daring the universe to contradict him. His voice cracked with exhaustion but remained laced with conviction. “I’d know if he wasn’t. I’d feel it.”
“Talking to yourself again, mate?” Blaise Zabini’s voice drawled from the doorway, though there was a rare softness in his tone. He stepped inside, the sharp scent of coffee preceding him as he set a steaming mug down next to Theo. Blaise’s usual polished demeanor was fraying; his shirt was wrinkled, and his ever-present smirk had been replaced with a grim determination.
“What did your people find?” Theo asked without looking up, his focus fixed on the map.
Blaise sighed, running a hand through his neatly styled hair, now starting to lose its sheen. “Nothing yet. My contacts are scouring every back alley, every shady pub, and every unlicensed rental in London. If Draco and Granger are anywhere near muggle London, we’ll find them.” He paused, his jaw tightening. “But Theo… it’s been days.”
“I know how long it’s been,” Theo snapped, finally looking up. His eyes burned with a fury that Blaise rarely saw. “And I don’t care if it takes weeks, months—I’m not stopping. They’re not dead. Don’t you dare stand there and suggest they might be—”
“I wasn’t suggesting anything,” Blaise interrupted, raising his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m just saying perhaps you need to get a little rest. If they’ve been captured by the same people hunting Alina, we will find them. They will slip up sooner or later.”
The tension in the room was interrupted by the crackle of the floo in the corner. Adrian Pucey stepped through, looking disheveled and soaked from the rain, a file tucked under his arm. “Anything?” he asked, his voice clipped as he brushed water from his hair.
“Nothing new,” Blaise replied, his tone heavy.
Adrian turned to Theo, his expression darkening. “You look like hell, Nott. When was the last time you ate something? Or slept?”
Theo waved him off, already rifling through the papers Adrian had brought. “Shouldn't you already know the answer to that. Haven't you been up my ass following me everywhere I go? I don’t have time for that. Did you follow up on the lead in Soho?”
“Dead end,” Adrian admitted, frustration evident in his voice. “And someone has to keep you from doing anything too hasty and moronic out there. Potter has his best people coming together to work on it.” Adrian said, trying to imply the task force without revealing too much.
“We don’t have time!” Theo barked, slamming a fist on the table. “Draco and Granger could be… could be—” He stopped himself, swallowing hard. His hands trembled, and for a moment, the mask of determination cracked, revealing the sheer weight of his fear.
“They’re alive,” Adrian said firmly, stepping closer. “And we’re going to find them. But you can’t help them if you collapse from exhaustion. You’ve got to let me shoulder some of this.”
“They’ve already been gone too long,” Theo whispered, his voice almost breaking.
A moment of silence passed before Blaise spoke again, his voice quieter now. “We’ll find them, Theo. Potter’s got the Department of Magical Law Enforcement working around the clock, and Alina’s secure at Grimmauld Place. For once, everything’s where it needs to be. Except for them.”
Theo’s jaw clenched, but he nodded once, a flicker of gratitude passing over his features.
“Let me deal with the muggle side,” Blaise added. “Adrian, you stick with Theo and keep chasing those leads. And Theo…” Blaise met his friend’s gaze. “Don’t lose that fire, but for Merlin’s sake, get some sleep.”
The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. Theo was rifling through another pile of reports when the floo roared to life. All heads turned as Narcissa Malfoy stepped gracefully into the room, her icy composure a stark contrast to the chaos around her. She carried herself with the air of someone who refused to be ignored, her pale blonde hair swept into a chignon and her elegant robes unruffled by the storm outside.
“Narcissa,” Blaise said, recovering first, though his surprise was evident in the arch of his brow. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“I’m here for my son,” she said simply, her voice cool but resolute. Her gaze swept over the room, lingering on Theo, who was leaning heavily against the desk. “And I will not be brushed aside.”
“Narcissa, I assure you, we’re doing everything we can—” Blaise began, but she held up a hand to silence him.
“I don’t doubt your efforts, Mr. Zabini.” She strode forward, placing a slim folder on the desk in front of Theo with a sharp snap. “I’ve been making inquiries of my own."
Theo blinked, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he reached for the folder. “What kind of inquiries?”
Adrian, who had been quietly watching from the side, stepped forward and plucked one of the files from the desk. “I’ll take this. A fresh set of eyes won’t hurt,” he muttered, already heading for the door. “I’m going to check on the next lead.”
“Don’t get yourself killed,” Theo called after him, though his tone was distracted as he flipped through the folder Narcissa had brought.
Once Adrian was gone, Narcissa moved closer, her piercing gaze pinning Theo in place. “I’ve been contacting the wives of some of Lucius’s old acquaintances. The men themselves, of course, are too cautious to say anything outright, but their wives… they love to gossip. And they’ve grown quite comfortable in their little bubbles of safety since the war.”
“And?” Theo prompted, feeling a knot form in his stomach at the icy determination in her voice.
“And what I’ve uncovered is deeply troubling,” Narcissa said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. She glanced briefly at Blaise before continuing. “It seems that some of the old Death Eaters who were never caught—or who hid their alliances well enough to escape scrutiny—have found a new cause to rally behind.”
“What cause?” Blaise asked, frowning.
Narcissa’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Someone preaching about the ‘purification of magic.’ Someone new who’s clever enough to avoid the mistakes Voldemort made. They aren’t targeting muggle-borns directly, not yet. Their rhetoric focuses on the ‘corruption’ of magic itself and the ‘dilution’ of wizarding traditions. I suspect Dolohov's involvement.”
Both men recoiled at the name.
Theo’s jaw tightened. “And you think this has something to do with Draco and Granger’s disappearance?”
“I don’t think it. I know it,” Narcissa said sharply. She leaned forward, her pale eyes blazing with the same fire Theo had seen in Draco countless times. "Draco’s refusal to involve himself in anything remotely tied to the old ways would make him a target. And Granger…” Her gaze flicked to Blaise. “Well, she’s an obvious symbol of everything they despise. Not to mention the young lady from your library the other day…” She looked back to Theo pointedly.
Blaise let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “This is… big. Bigger than I thought.”
“They’re alive,” Theo said, his voice hard with conviction. “Whoever these people are, they want something. They wouldn’t take them just to kill them.”
“And they’ll regret the day they ever thought they could touch my son,” Narcissa said coldly.
Theo closed the folder and met her gaze. “Do you have any names? Locations?”
“Not yet,” Narcissa admitted, her expression softening slightly. “But I’ve planted seeds. A few of the wives are more talkative than they realize. I’ll have more soon.”
“Good,” Theo said, his voice as sharp as steel. “Because the second we get a name, I’m going after them.”
“And I’ll be right there with you,” Narcissa said, her tone brooking no argument.
For a moment, the room was silent, the weight of her revelation settling over them. Then Blaise spoke, his voice quiet but firm. “If this is what we’re up against, we need to move fast. Potter’s people will need to know about this.”
“I’ll speak with him,” Theo said, his exhaustion was still there, gnawing at the edges of his consciousness, but it was drowned out by a surge of determination.
Narcissa straightened, her composure as unshakable as ever. “I’ll leave you to it, then. But remember this, Theo—when you find them, you bring my son home.”
Theo met her gaze, his voice steady and unyielding. “I will. You have my word.”
With a graceful nod, Narcissa turned and swept out of the room, leaving Theo and Blaise to the mounting storm of their mission.
****
Draco's eyes were squeezed shut, his muscles tense as he forced his mind to retreat deeper and deeper into itself, layer by painstaking layer. The swirling cacophony of fear and pain clawing at the edges of his consciousness dulled with each barrier he erected, replaced by a sinking, numbing void. He imagined the walls of his mind folding inward like heavy, steel shutters—impenetrable, cold, and unyielding—until there was nothing left but the weightless emptiness. It was as though he were sinking into dark, bottomless water, his emotions dissolving into the abyss, leaving him detached, hollow, and far removed from the nightmare surrounding him. It was better this way. Better to feel nothing at all.
His mind tightened further, sealing itself in a place of numb detachment. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed or even if he was still awake, but the sensation of sinking grew heavier, as though the void he’d created was pulling him under, threatening to swallow him whole. Then, from the depths of the silence, a faint whisper broke through—a fragile thread that tugged at his very core, pulling him from the abyss.
“Malfoy…”
He flinched, trying to ignore it, to focus harder, to seal the cracks in his occlusion. But the voice—soft yet insistent—came again, clearer this time.
“Malfoy…”
Reluctantly, Draco allowed himself to follow the call, like a beacon of light breaking through the darkness, guiding him from the suffocating fog that had enveloped him. As he moved toward the voice, the sinking sensation began to lessen, and slowly, painfully, he became aware of the cold stone beneath him, the damp air that clung to his skin. He was back in his cell. The numbness that had swallowed him whole was beginning to dissipate, but he felt a lingering weight in his chest.
"What?" His voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.
"Malfoy, stop!" Hermione’s voice pierced through the haze, laced with concern and frustration. "You're occluding too deep. It’s not good for you. You’ll lose yourself if you go too far.”
Draco's chest tightened at her words, the stark clarity of them reaching through the fog that had clouded his mind. He hadn’t realized how far he’d gone, how completely he'd distanced himself from everything—until now. The hollow numbness had felt like safety, a way to escape, but in that moment, he understood the danger of it. He let the barriers around his mind crumble just enough to let the warmth of her voice seep through, though it still felt like an immense weight to bear.
"I..." He cut himself off, his voice faltering as he struggled to process her words. "I need it."
"We are going to get out of this," Hermione replied, her voice firm, though it held a hint of exhaustion.
"Must you be so nauseatingly positive, Granger?" Draco sneered, but the words felt empty, the sarcasm hollow.
Hermione scoffed but didn’t respond. They both knew the grim truth of their situation. They’d been tortured relentlessly for days, and still, they were no closer to understanding why. It wasn’t even Draco they were focused on; it was Hermione. He couldn’t fathom how she was still conscious, still breathing, after everything they’d done to her.
Hermione broke the silence, her voice softer now. "Who is John?"
Draco groaned, his frustration bubbling up. "That’s even worse."
"Well, I can’t help my curiosity any longer. Who knows how much alone time we have left," she replied, her tone a mix of determination and dry humor. "Now, spill. You keep mumbling his name in your sleep."
Draco snapped his head toward her, disbelief flashing across his face. "I don’t mumble in my sleep."
"Oh, you absolutely do," she teased, her tone laced with a hint of amusement. But as she shifted slightly to sit up, Draco saw the faint grimace of pain cross her face. Guilt surged in him again, and he immediately regretted every moment of their captivity, every moment where he couldn’t protect her.
Shaking his head, Draco began, his voice quieter now. "He was my partner at MACUSA." He couldn’t meet her gaze, focusing instead on his hands, which trembled ever so slightly. Hermione, ever patient, waited for him to continue.
"I got him killed during a raid, I hesitated." Draco said solemnly, the weight of the words pressing down on him like a physical burden. His chest ached at the memory, even as he fought to keep his emotions in check.
"Is that actually what happened, or is that what you’ve convinced yourself of?" Hermione asked gently, her voice calm, yet laced with a quiet understanding.
"That’s what actually happened," Draco replied, his voice hardening with finality. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but it didn’t matter. It was the truth he had to live with.
Hermione was silent for a long moment, and Draco could feel her gaze on him, her steady presence offering an unspoken comfort. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and sincere.
"I’m so sorry that happened."
The words hung in the air between them, simple yet powerful, and for the first time in days, Draco felt a shift in the heaviness that had settled on his chest.
"Have you ever spoken to anyone about it? A mind healer, or your friends?" Hermione asked gently.
The numbness from occlusion made him more honest than he would normally allow himself to be. "I didn't feel as though I deserved to mourn him."
"How do you mean?" she prodded softly, sensing the weight of his words.
"He was getting married. I've never seen a bloke more in love. It was… disturbing, really." Draco's eyes glazed over, as if getting lost in thought. "I hesitated, I took away his chance to live. They both deserved that life so much."
"Did you know his fiancée then?" Hermione asked, her voice coaxing him to continue.
Draco let out a humorless laugh. "She was my flatmate. One of my best friends. Since childhood." His gaze met hers, and for a moment, the weight of the past seemed to pass between them. He saw the answer dawning in her eyes, her whisper full of sorrow.
"Pansy."
"Pansy," Draco confirmed with a heavy sigh.
The silence stretched between them, but Draco felt compelled to continue.
"They were idiots. Helplessly in love. Even tried to hide it for a while. Of course, I knew the entire time. I came home once and caught them red... handed..." His voice trailed off, and he fell silent, lost in the memory.
Hermione, not realizing the depth of his reflection, prattled on, "Well, that must've been an awkward conversation. Happened to me once when I showed up at Harry's house unannounced. He has a tattoo right on his arse cheek—you’ll have to ask him about it sometime—"
"Granger!" Draco snapped, cutting her off as he leaned forward, gripping the bars and locking eyes with her.
"Okay, sorry," Hermione raised her hands in mock surrender, chuckling. "Thought we were swapping horrifying experiences."
"Granger," Draco repeated, his voice sharp. "I caught them red-handed. Red-handed!"
"Holy shit," she gasped, suddenly sitting up straighter, her eyes wide with realization. "The secrecy clause."
"Exactly," Draco whispered, his voice low and tense with excitement. "We just need them to come in here once more and we're out of here."
Moments later, the door burst open, and two masked men strode in. "Alright, Malfoy, someone wants to finally have a little chat with you," one of them said gleefully.
Hermione shot Draco a warning glare. "Don’t you dare," she hissed, low enough for only him to hear.
Draco met her gaze fiercely. "When I get back."
It was Hermione who was left in the room, banging on the bars in desperation, shouting for them not to take Draco.
The men dragged him down a hallway to a nearby room and slammed him into a chair, magically binding him to it. Before he could say a word, one of the men punched him hard in the face. Draco spat the blood from his mouth onto the floor, his voice cold and deadpan. "I was beginning to think you lot only hit women."
Another masked man entered, his presence ominous. He stared at Draco without speaking, then shut the door behind him, sealing them in silence.
"Where is the girl?" the man demanded, his voice cutting through the tension.
Draco felt a sudden, piercing stab in the back of his mind. Weakened by days in the prison cell and the strain of occluding too hard, Draco felt the man’s presence slip through a few layers of his mental defenses before he regained control. Abruptly, the man’s presence withdrew, and he straightened, his breathing shallow.
"He doesn't know where she is. Get rid of them," the man instructed, his voice cold.
Draco caught his breath, struggling to maintain control over the pain in his chest. "What do you want from her?"
The man’s voice was soft, almost clinical. "To fulfill a prophecy." With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Draco to wrestle with the implications of his words.
One of the men shoved him to his feet, delivering another cheap shot to his stomach. Draco gasped in pain, certain he had broken a rib, but his mind was racing from the mention of the prophecy—and the recognition of how the man had entered his mind. No mask could hide his identity now.
When they opened the door to the room with the cells, he saw Hermione laying on the floor barely conscious.
Draco started thrashing, "what did you do to her? Granger, now! do you hear me, tell them now!" he shouted.
"Oh what's this, you finally have something to tell us, mudblood?" one of the men taunted moving closer to the cell.
Hermione lifted herself off the floor in defiance. "Yea, I sure do." She said through ragged breaths. "And I cant wait for you to relay it your boss. I hope he kills you in cold blood over it." She smirked as she stated "Draco Malfoy is a part of a secret DMLE task force created by Harry Potter." At the same time Draco turned to the man still holding his arm and said, "Hermione Granger is part of a secret DMLE task force created by Harry Potter." The men watching in confusion as Draco and Hermiones hands turned bright red and suddenly with a pop, they vanished.