The Coin
Following a short and concise greeting with the Malfoys, Hermione was led further into the mansion and down a narrow hallway that connected to a second sitting room.
By the time she reached the lounge led behind Draco, his cousin had already pulled out a bottle of aged Firewhisky along with three glasses from the cabinet. Followed by the swish of Abraxas' wand, the liquor uncorked itself and levitated above the saucers before pouring into three neat portions.
Meanwhile, Hermione slowly rotated on her feet as she soaked in their lavish surroundings. There were deep purple walls trimmed with golden embroidery, along with the rest of the décor that had a Malfoy touch dripping in gold.
Another fireplace was centered at the middle of the lounge, emitting a reddish glow that weakly lit their dim surroundings. Intermittent flickers of bright flames allowed the fleeting moment to catch a glimpse at the series of painted portraits that stretched toward high ceilings.
One of the most notable objects in the sitting room was a fancy wireless radio that stood beside the fireplace. The top of it had an ovular curvature with two miniature knobs positioned between the speakers. It had an overall archaic appearance yet was well kept with a fresh coat of sleek black paint.
Hermione was pleased to find that the pureblooded family actually owned one of the Muggle contraptions. This was most likely due to the convenience of the modified device that served as an emergency broadcasting service for wizards and witches who were not within owl's reach.
Or, in such a case, to inform wizardkind nationwide during the uprising of a global crisis.
The device was strongly encouraged in every wizarding household as a precautionary measure by Kingsley Shacklebolt. While quickly rising ranks as a figure of authority in the Ministry of Magic post-war, Shacklebolt pledged to ensure the safety of all of those who were willing to accept help and return the same moral obligation.
As Hermione continued to peer at the stereo in relief, the sound of footsteps nearing from behind made her to rigidly pivot on her feet.
Abraxas gave the shadow of a smile while presenting her glass of Firewhisky.
"Please, make yourself more comfortable," he politely offered while extending an arm toward a vacant sofa. "Upon your arrival, I was in the midst of producing a protective enchantment to guard the manor. We're safe here until we receive word."
Hermione glanced once more to the radio, and then to Draco who was already lounged on one of the adjacent couches with a leg positioned on the other knee. As he oscillated his glass of whiskey with one hand, his directionless gaze wandered somewhere far across the room.
The Gryffindor momentarily considered whether he was deep in thought, or simply short on words due to the inconvenience of her presence. After all, the Slytherin had always been insufferably difficult to read..
As her mind continued to run rampant, another boom from outside sparked a jolt as the contents of her glass sloshed to one side. Fixing the rim to her lips, she took a substantial gulp of Firewhisky to curb her nerves. After half-gagging in response to its repulsive flavor, her eyes fluttered shut as the rest slid down her throat rather soothingly.
The instantaneous calming effect and steady increase to her body temperature instantly calmed any leftover, residual jitters.
As Hermione occupied the sofa, Crookshanks made a swift reappearance and curled up in her lap by the warmth of the fireplace. She proceeded to busy her hands while stroking the mane of her fluffy friend who rumbled with purrs.
The Gryffindor's eyes lingered on a portrait hung above the mantle of an elderly man seated upon an emerald throne with exceptionally white hair and equally pale skin.
As her viewpoint trailed back to the Slytherin's cousin, she hinted, "Abraxas is a unique name."
"Our grandfather," Draco replied for him, lackadaisically pointing to the portrait that she had been eyeing. "Father's side; Abe is my uncle's son."
"My cousin's cheeky nickname supersedes me," Abraxas scoffed. As his gaze followed Hermione's back to the portrait, he shared, "Our grandfather was a brave man; fiercely loyal to the pureblooded community. The bloke had a tact for underhanded politics, you see."
Hermione decided to play dumb with a purposeful vacant expression as she allowed the Malfoy to continue. Meanwhile, she was jotting down a laundry list worth of notes in her mind.
Abraxas Malfoy Sr. was indeed a renowned figure in the political community of the wizarding world who stood for pureblooded rights. Ultimately, when the Muggle Prime Minister of their time was dethroned due to a mysterious illness, he ended up dying only months later in consequence to the suspicious disease.
The Minister's death was an ongoing cold case, with the only reputable source being word of mouth. Nonetheless, Abraxas Sr. had gone down in history as a rumored culprit behind the scenes.
"It's a right shame what happened to the Minister," Abraxas hinted in a timely manner. He didn't withhold a proud smile while adding, "However, one might say that the best way to secure one's power is to silence the opposition."
Draco had grown visibly agitated, as though this wasn't the first time he had endured his cousin dive into great detail about their infamous grandfather in order to impress.
With Abraxas' eyes now focused upon Draco, he declared, "Unfortunately, my Uncle Lucius' reckless actions within these past few years has practically soiled my grandfather's legacy."
Draco gave a short, dismissive chuckle with the roll of his eyes. "And you call me dramatic.."
Abraxas glared at the Slytherin, his eyes narrowing as he added, "You see, unlike Draco here, I wear our surname with tremendous pride."
"And where has that gotten you?" Hermione impulsively snapped. Her grip tightened on Crookshanks as Abraxas' eyes widened at her daring retort.
An amused grin tightened his lips at the corners, visibly getting a kick out of her boldness. "What a snappy mouth you have on you," he darkly noted.
Hermione dismissively flicked a batch of hair over her shoulder before taking a slower, more conservative sip of Firewhisky. While turning to Draco and utilizing him as a momentary scapegoat, she pointed out, "You never told me that you had a cousin."
"And just when would I have done that, exactly?" Draco quipped. "In the Gryffindor common room?"
Hermione glared at him, withholding another retort. She was already quickly depleting of patience in the company of the combative Malfoys.
Abraxas gave an interruptive chuckle.
"The lot of you appear to be more than acquaintances in Charms class," he noted while wiggling a finger between herself and Draco. His gaze idled upon Hermione while elaborating, "In order for you to feel entitled enough to be informed on the depths of my family's extensive lineage, one might argue that there's history between yourself and my cousin."
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed at the righteous, moderately scathing comment. She certainly didn't feel entitled, or frankly give a damn about Draco's Malfoy's relatives up until that point. Bringing such a narcissistic edge to a plausible question regarding their overinflated last name was so very, very Malfoy.
While inching forward in his seat, Abraxas rested his forearms against his legs with his head inquisitively tilted to the side. "Do my premonitions have any validity?" he pressed. "Miss Brown, was it?"
Hermione gaped at Abraxas for a moment longer than intended before remembering that Draco had previously introduced her as their deceased classmate, Lavender Brown.
The wizarding world had only lost Lavender a mere few months ago to the Battle of Hogwarts, and the Gryffindor felt extremely dirty 'borrowing' her identity.
Nonetheless, Hermione swallowed back the weary sensation with the mental reminder that this was mandatory for her safety; Draco simply wouldn't have cared to introduce the Muggleborn differently if he hadn't believed she was in some form of potential danger.
While mentally pinpointing the role of a woman scorned, Hermione decided that she would emulate Lavender's behavior during her tumultuous break up with Ron from their sixth year. She would be covering her tense body language and reserved demeanor by simply being highly displeased to be forced within the same capacity as an ex-boyfriend following a relatively fresh break up.
The subject, however, was unfortunately very real and close to home for Hermione. The truth of the matter was that she had put an end to her own romantic relationship with Ron as of last month.
Hermione was absolutely crushed by their separation, but it was her own doing. After nearly 10 years of companionship, the Gryffindor came to realize that she valued their friendship more than the fantasized idea of sharing a romance with the lifelong friend.
Time was of the essence, and Hermione re-centered her focus upon Draco while promptly improvising a failed romantic relationship with the Slytherin.
Draco's bright blue gaze pierced through her, visibly fascinated to see what the Gryffindor would come up with next.
Hermione loosened her grip on Crookshanks who pounced to the floor. She then crossed her legs and tightly bound her fingers over one knee with a scowl directed at Draco.
"Draco and I once dated," she commented offhandedly, her nose turned up at him. "Broke up before the war; Gryffindor, Slytherin rivalry nonsense."
Draco's eyebrows shot toward his hairline. But he then slowly relaxed his forehead with the dismissive back wave of his hand. "That's right," he sneered as his gaze reached the highest points of the ceiling. "Can't stand to look at her, really."
Hermione could feel Abraxas' heavy investigative gaze on her other side.
"I must admit, you do look rather familiar," the older Malfoy contemplated aloud, tracing his lower lip with his thumb as his gaze remained stagnant upon the prominent Gryffindor.
Hermione mindfully kept her head held high with the intention of coming across as aloof as possible.
Internally, her mind was running rampant. After all, she was Harry Potter's best friend whose celebrity comprised of herself and Ron. She was short of breath, yet kept her chest as still as possible.
"I can't say the same," she simply replied.
"You possess an angelic face that one might not forget, Lavender," Abraxas noted, continuously staring at her for much longer than comfort. "A peculiar thing, the lavender flower; it's renowned for its striking appearance. One would argue that it speaks of elegance, luxury.. refinement."
"Oh, what are you playing at?" Draco unexpectedly interjected. He placed his glass of whiskey on the side table before stiffly readjusting in his seat. "Have a shred of decency and try not to make a pathetic attempt of cracking on with my ex-girlfriend, will you?"
Hermione's eyes darted toward the Slytherin as she raised a hand to cover the small smirk hidden beneath. It was quite unexpected for Draco to stick up for her, but she was grateful; entertained at the very least.
Draco held his cousin's pensive glare for a moment before grabbing his own wand and flicking it toward the stereo. The radio instantly ignited to life as a strong, clear voice radiated from the speakers.
".. all teleports, from the Ministry of Magic to as far as Platform 9 ¾, have been sealed until further notice.."
"Exceptional timing," Abraxas scoffed.
Hermione leaned forward in her seat with pristine focus, mentally baring herself for what was next to come. She had instantly recognized the deep voice that emitted from the speakers as Kingsley Shacklebolt. And although it was moderately comforting to hear the familiar, friendly voice, the severity of his tone spoke to the gravity of the situation.
"Stay within hiding at a safe location and remain vigilant with your charms. The Ministry of Magic has been placed under attack by what appears to be a subsection of Muggles with a strong vengeance. We will give word as time progresses and we gain more sustainable information.."
The mention of the wizarding landmark that Hermione had been too distracted to consider up until that point made her eyes widen with horror.
Earlier that morning, Hermione began her solo journey of tracking down her parents following long term planning. Before parting ways with those at the Burrow where she resided post-war, there was a simultaneous sendoff for Harry and Ron who were beginning their jobs at the Ministry also that morning.
And the sun had only just set.
Hermione peered at Draco with a pained expression, desperate for something, anything to break the tension and deter the mental state of terror she was currently enduring. But the Slytherin was doing a much better job than the Gryffindor of hiding any visible disturbance.
"Something on your mind, Lavender?" Abraxas questioned, recapturing her attention. While lifting his chin in Crookshanks' direction curled around her foot, he added, "Cat got your tongue?"
On the contrary, Hermione had to bite her tongue in order to withhold a series of verbal retaliations that she had withheld since walking through the front door.
"Where are your manners, Abe?" Draco groaned while standing up. He crossed the room toward Hermione and extended a hand while offering her to her feet. "Clearly the girl is feeling ill."
Hermione gave a curt nod of agreement, wordlessly giving the Slytherin the green light to take direction. Whatever Draco had in mind, whether that was throwing her back out into the woods or simply giving her an opportunity to catch her breath, Hermione was willing to risk it if that meant getting out of Abraxas' bothersome presence for a moment.
"I'll show you off to your room," Draco offered.
"Trying to get her alone already, mate?" Abraxas chided.
Hermione halted in place, her hands curling into fists at the sides, as Draco placed his hand on the small of her back.
"Move, Granger," he snarled under his breath with a light shove.
"Oh, come on, love!" Abraxas cackled from behind. "The fun has only just begun!"
As Draco and Hermione exited the connected hallway, Crookshanks on their trail, a loud snap stopped them in their place. A hunched over, elderly house elf with a feeble disposition had made a swift appearance from out of thin air.
"Penelope, there you are," Draco greeted the elf, to which he received some form of grunt.
It wasn't unexpected to find a grumpy house elf moping about the Malfoy mansion. But at the very least, in contrast to Dobby, the female elf was properly dressed, had improved hygiene, and appeared be generally taken care of in contrast to their previous servant.
As the elf emerged further into the candlelight, its large bulbous eyes curiously feasted upon the Muggleborn. The skeptic gaze was nearly up to par with Abraxas'.
"Penelope," Draco addressed the elf once more with his arms tightly folded behind his back. "Assemble one of the guest bedrooms for Ms. Brown to stay the evening. She will need fresh towels, linens-"
"Oh, that won't be necessary," Hermione politely declined. "Just a spot to rest my head, really.."
Draco returned a polite smile, or something of forced courtesy, while firmly responding, "I insist."
After the short roll of her eyes, Hermione decided to keep quiet for the remainder of the night.
Following a speedy administration of fresh sheets and other necessities for the night, Penelope exited the guest bedroom with the bow of her head directed at the Slytherin, then to Hermione.
Hermione peeked inside at the surprisingly welcoming room that included a large canopy bed, floor length curtains, and an adjacent dresser. One of the walls was replaced by a succession of bookshelves which explained why Draco had presumably chosen the room for the bright Gryffindor in the first place.
Whether it was the lure of the location, the smell of fresh books, or simply the promise of being alone to process everything and plan her next move, Hermione was already feeling much better.
After taking a few short steps inside, she removed the purse and snow jacket from her shoulders. Penelope had re-reappeared beside her in an instant with an offering to take her coat and belongings.
"I'll hold onto this, thank you," Hermione softly rejected with a firm clutch on her purse. Meanwhile, she kept a mindful eye on Penelope with the premonition that she should heed carefully around the peculiar house elf.
Draco took a casual glance at his flashy diamond crusted wristwatch before instructing, "I believe it's well past your time to put on dinner, Penelope."
The house elf's ears drooped as it peered up at Draco with a snarled upper lip. "Penelope's apologies, sir," she drawled. "Right away sir."
With another abrupt snap, Hermione, Draco and Crookshanks were left alone once more.
The Slytherin brushed his hands together with a short gaze around the room. "Right, then," he dismissed. "Make yourself right at home, and all that nonsense. Good night, Miss Brown."
By the time Hermione even had the chance to reply, or thank him for protecting her thus far, the bedroom door had already closed shut.
While carefully walking through her dim surroundings, she made her way toward a dresser that had a lit candlestick on top. As she lifted the minimal source of lighting, it illuminated a world map that was framed on the wall above.
The enchanted geographical map showed isolated weather conditions that swirled across the continents, as well as the unique ability to highlight harmful elements such as fire across the landmarks. Scattered sections of the United Kingdom were set ablaze with sporadic patches of orangish fire.
With most wizarding towns being spread across Europe and America, Australia appeared to steer clear of the current war shed taking place elsewhere that was displayed by catastrophic fire.
Hermione traced the tip of her finger down the wide landmass and lengthy body of water that separated Europe from Australia. She introspectively outlined the most plausible route to her parents, but came to the prompt conclusion that there wasn't a realistic way that she could reach her mother and father.
Not now.
By the light of the candle, Hermione turned back to the bedroom door and concealed the entryway with her wand. She proceeded to cast a series of spells to ensure her safety and secure herself from anyone within the manor.
Hermione let out a resounding sigh while taking a seat at the foot of the bed with legs tucked. Crookshanks hopped up shortly thereafter, spinning in a circle before deeming the pile of blankets as acceptable to lay upon.
There was a strong likelihood that Hermione would not get a wink of sleep that night.
Aside from the unfamiliar objects surrounding her, or the complicated situation involving her estranged parents, Hermione knew that Harry and Ron were undoubtedly in danger.
There wasn't any direct means of communication other than radio at the moment until further notice. And even then, the one-sided mechanism lacked the ability to contact each party from both ends.
Conveniently, Hermione happened to craft her own effective device for stealth communication during her time as a directive administrator of Dumbledore's Army.
Crookshanks let out an irritated grumble as Hermione tugged on the strap of her miniature, fist-sized purse beneath him.
"Sorry, Crookshanks."
While searching a hand through several hidden compartments of her bag, elbow deep and then up to her armpit, her fingers finally came into contact with the curved, flattened object that she had been seeking.
Hermione began to fidget with the enchanted coin that she, along with Harry and Ron, had held onto post-war. They were used nowadays as more of a trinket, a fond token of what they had overcome, perhaps a lucky charm.
But now, it was quite literally a device that could indicate life or death.
Once the numbers were dispatched, the coin would turn red-hot on the receiving end, notifying Harry and Ron that she had attempted contact. At the very least, they would be given the ability to adjust the coin and prove that they were unharmed enough to respond.
Hermione gazed at the enchanted map while using her fingers to depict the appropriate coordinates into the coins crevices. After securing her exact location, she placed the coin beneath her pillow and rested her head.
While falling into a restless sleep, she held onto the hope that the coin would change by sunrise.