The Lost Auror

The mission had been building for weeks, and the time had finally come to execute the raid. Draco Malfoy was used to this kind of work—tracking down dangerous criminals, dismantling Dark networks, and putting the pieces together. As an Auror, he’d seen his fair share of high-stakes operations, but this one felt different.

It wasn’t just the intensity of the target—the warehouse filled with Dark artefacts and dangerous smugglers. No, it was Hermione Granger’s involvement.

Draco watched her across the briefing room, eyes flicking briefly to her as she stood with Harry and Ron, going over the final details of the mission. His chest tightened in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge. She had insisted on being part of the raid, despite her usual preference for staying out of the direct line of fire. But it made sense—Hermione had been tracking the smugglers’ movements for weeks, piecing together intelligence that the rest of them had relied on. Her mind had been the sharpest tool in their arsenal, and they needed her expertise.

“Granger,” Draco said, breaking his internal musings. “You sure you want to come along? I thought you were the brains, not the brawn.”

She gave him a half-smile, her eyes still focused on the parchment in front of her. “Unlike some people, I don’t need to be physically involved to be useful, Malfoy. I’ve given you all the intel you need. If you want this mission to succeed, you’ll be listening to my advice.”

Draco smirked but said nothing more. She was right, of course. He couldn’t deny how invaluable her contributions were. Hermione was essential to their operations, but that didn’t make her being on the front lines any easier for him.

As the briefing continued, Harry went over the details, outlining their positions and the plan of attack. The target was a heavily guarded warehouse that the smugglers had been using as a base of operations. Hermione had been the one to pinpoint its location, using her brilliant mind to follow the smuggler’s trail.

“Ron, Draco, you’re on the front lines. We need to get in, grab the artefacts, and get out. Hermione’s intel will guide us through,” Harry instructed, his voice steady.

Hermione stepped forward, handing over the last of the reports. “The vault should be on the other side of the building. Guards will be around, so stay alert. And, Draco, please—don’t do anything reckless.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, a playful grin crossing his face. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at her lips. Draco’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. He quickly masked the feeling, reminding himself it was nothing more than a fleeting moment.

As the team made their way toward the location, Draco couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in his chest. It wasn’t just the danger they were about to face; it was the fact that Hermione was there. He’d known her for years now, fought beside her countless times, but there was something about this mission, about her presence, that made everything feel different.

They reached the warehouse as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the desolate street. The air was cool, and the world around them felt eerily quiet. Draco’s instincts were on high alert as they moved in, cloaking themselves from view. The plan was straightforward: infiltrate, secure the Dark artefacts, and get out before anyone could stop them.

But when things went wrong, it went terribly wrong.

The air was thick with tension as they entered the building. Draco could hear the distant shuffle of boots on the floor, the murmur of voices, but everything felt strangely quiet. His pulse quickened as he and Ron crept forward, wands drawn, while Hermione provided them with real-time information on their position.

“Hermione, we’ve got the first set of guards in sight,” Ron whispered over the comms.

“Incapacitate them,” Hermione’s voice came back, calm but urgent. “They’re not our primary target, but take them out quickly.”

The team moved with precision, their training kicking in. They worked like a well-oiled machine, securing the first few rooms without incident. Draco couldn’t help but glance back at Hermione, who was keeping a safe distance, tracking their progress from a hidden vantage point. She was so focused on the mission, so certain in her knowledge of the situation, that for a moment, Draco forgot about the dangerous line they were walking.

But then, as they neared the vault, everything went to hell.

A flash of green light sliced through the air, and before Draco could even raise his wand, an explosion shook the entire building. The blast sent him flying backward, slamming him into a stack of crates. He barely had time to register what happened before the world around him seemed to go into chaos.

Curses flew in all directions. The building groaned under the strain of the blast, debris falling from the ceiling. Draco struggled to get his bearings, disoriented by the smoke and the ringing in his ears. He pushed himself to his feet, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his side. His heart was racing.

“Ron!” Draco shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos. “Granger—where’s Hermione?!”

Ron was already on the move, trying to shield himself from falling rubble. “She was right behind me! She—”

Another explosion rocked the building, and Draco’s heart skipped a beat. There was no time to think. He shoved past Ron, his eyes scanning the smoke-filled room for any sign of Hermione.

“Hermione!” he yelled, his voice strained as he pushed through the wreckage. “Granger, answer me!”

But there was no response. Only the sound of the building collapsing around them.

The smoke was thick now, and Draco could barely see his hand in front of his face. He moved blindly through the ruins, his mind racing with fear. The blast had been powerful—too powerful. He couldn’t afford to believe it, but the longer they searched, the more he began to fear the worst.

Finally, after what felt like hours of searching, Draco and Ron reached the epicentre of the explosion. There, amid the wreckage, was a body. A charred, unrecognisable form.

“No,” Draco whispered, his voice breaking. “Please, no.”

Ron was at his side, his face pale as he knelt down to inspect the body. “It’s… it’s Hermione. It has to be.”

Draco’s breath caught in his throat. The words seemed to make no sense. Hermione wasn’t… she couldn’t be…

He fell to his knees, his hands trembling as he reached for her. She was gone. His chest tightened, and for the first time in years, Draco was consumed by a wave of guilt and regret. He hadn’t told her what she meant to him. He hadn’t confessed, hadn’t said what he should have. And now, it was too late.

Ron stood quietly behind him, his face hard with grief. There was nothing more to say. They had lost her.

But as Draco looked down at the remains of Hermione Granger, something inside him snapped. He couldn’t let this be the end. Not like this.

The Aftermath

The journey back to the Ministry was a blur. Draco barely remembered it, his mind numb with disbelief. They had done what they could, secured the remaining smugglers, but nothing seemed to matter. They had lost Hermione, and there was nothing anyone could say to make it better.  There was no body to bring back.  It had disintegrated right before their eyes.  

The doors to the Ministry’s Apparition chamber swung open with a hollow thud as Draco, Ron, and a few of the other Aurors made their way to the DMLE. The air inside was stifling, filled with the hum of magical activity and the soft murmur of voices. The lights overhead flickered as they stepped into the heart of the Auror Department, but the scene around them felt unreal, as if everything had slowed down, holding its breath.

Harry was waiting in the centre of the room, his posture tense, but his eyes immediately searching for them. His expression flickered as he caught sight of Ron and Draco, without Hermione but it was quickly masked by a professional calm. Draco’s gaze locked with Harry’s, and for a brief moment, he could feel the weight of what he had to say pressing against him like a physical force.

Harry took a step forward, his lips tight with concern. “Where is she? Where’s Hermione? What happened?” he asked, his voice calm but tight with the tension that came with knowing one of his closest friends had been out on the mission.

Draco’s throat tightened as he struggled to get the words out. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room was watching him. But it was Ron who spoke first, his voice strained and quiet.

“She’s…” Ron’s voice faltered, the word sticking in his throat. He swallowed hard before continuing, “She didn’t make it, Harry.”

The words hit Harry like a punch to the gut. For a second, he didn’t move, his face freezing, his eyes wide in disbelief. He looked between Ron and Draco, trying to process what they were saying.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s voice was low and raw, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. He stepped closer, his breath catching. “Hermione… she—she’s not dead.”

Ron shook his head, his face pale. “We found her body, Harry. Charred beyond recognition. We tried—we searched the wreckage, but…” He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

Draco stood silent, his arms crossed tightly, every muscle in his body frozen with the weight of the loss. He could feel Harry’s eyes on him, searching, waiting for some kind of explanation, but there was none. The air in the room felt too thick to breathe.

Harry’s jaw clenched. His fists tightened at his sides as he stepped back, as if to retreat from the truth that was choking him. He couldn’t look at either of them now. Instead, he focused on the floor, nodding stiffly, as if trying to steady himself. “I need to… I need to speak with Kingsley. Get this sorted.”

But before he could turn, Draco’s voice broke through the tension. “We need to be sure. We need to make certain.” His voice was strained but firm, though his own doubts gnawed at him.

Harry looked up at him, eyes filled with anguish. “What are you suggesting, Malfoy? You think… you think it’s a mistake? That she’s—?”

“I don’t know,” Draco answered, the frustration evident in his tone. “But I can’t—I can’t accept that. Not like this. We don’t know for sure until we have absolute proof.”

“Malfoy,” Ron interjected, his voice rough from the emotions he, too, was suppressing. “We saw the body. The explosion, the—”

“I know what you saw, Weasley.” Draco’s voice was cold now, controlled but laced with the kind of sorrow that made his chest ache. “But you’ve been in the field long enough to know that things… things aren’t always what they seem.”

For a long moment, the room was still, the weight of grief hanging over them all. Harry finally spoke again, his voice softer, resigned. “Fine. We’ll do what we can. But it doesn’t change what you both have already seen.”

Draco nodded curtly, his face unreadable. “No. It doesn’t. But I won’t give up on her. Not until we’ve checked everything.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. They all knew that no matter what they did, the loss would remain. Hermione Granger—Hermione—was gone.

But even in the face of that loss, Draco couldn’t stop himself. He had to believe there was more to the story than the wreckage of her body. There had to be. And he would make sure they found out the truth.

As Harry turned to leave, Draco caught his arm briefly. “Harry,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. “This isn’t over. Not for me.”

Harry looked at him, and for a moment, Draco thought he saw something akin to understanding in his eyes. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

“Fine,” Harry said, his voice tight. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

The aftermath of the raid cast a long shadow over the Ministry. The loss of Hermione Granger was felt deeply across the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and news of her presumed death rippled through the Wizarding World. Yet in the hours and days that followed, questions remained.

Draco, Ron, and Harry all worked tirelessly, sifting through the wreckage of the warehouse, pouring over every scrap of evidence they could find. But as each passing hour turned to days, the growing feeling of hopelessness crept into their hearts. They had failed her. And if there was even the slightest chance she was still out there, it was slipping further and further away.

But for Draco, giving up wasn’t an option. Not now. Not when every part of him screamed that something didn’t add up.

And as he stared at the charred remains of the building, one thought echoed in his mind:

He would find her. He had to.