Missing
Draco Malfoy practically was restless in his seat as Professor Snape droned on about the ethics of brewing a potion commonly known as liquid luck. His foot tapped out an uneven rhythm against the stone floor. It echoed, like a broken heartbeat, each time the professor fell into silence. One hand gripped tightly at the robes by his waste, creasing the usually pristinely ironed cloth. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were dark.
The moment Professor Snape dismissed them he was out of his seat leaving his books behind as he rushed out of the classroom. Hermione was not far behind him, pausing only briefly to spell his books into her expanding bag before taking off down the hallway in a near sprint.
Breathing heavily, she finally caught up to him at the end of the hallway. He was frozen as he stared up at the heavy wooden door, too afraid to move.
Hermione looked at him cautiously. Slowly, she brought a hand up to rest on his shoulder, steadying him. She took her other hand and cautiously knocked on the door.
Nothing.
She knocked again and waited.
Still no response.
Draco through both his fists at the door, pounding on it, before sinking to the floor at its base, his legs curling into his chest.
Hermione moved to sit next to him, not close enough to touch him, but close, nonetheless. She pretended not to notice as he hid his head behind his folded arms and his breathing became ragged. She simply sat there with him, loosing herself to the silence.
They sat there all day.
If she didn’t know better, Hermione would have thought they were under an invisibility cloak. No one bothered them or even stopped to ask what was wrong.
The world seemed to just drift by.
In what was certainly hours but felt like only moments, the long strokes of sunset began to paint the hallways.
The trance slowly broke and Hermione felt her consciousness drift back into reality.
Her back ached and her bum was freezing from the stone beneath her. She cast a quick warming charm over herself and Draco before moving to stand up.
No words passed between them as she held out her arm to him. When Draco lifted his head at the movement, his eyes were red, his face streaked with the salty stains of long-dried tears.
He regarded her for a moment before nodding and reaching up to take her arm.
Hermione quickly pulled him to his feet and ushered him towards the kitchens. They both needed to eat, but neither was up for the Great Hall.
A few professors cast them curious glances on the way, likely surprised to see the Slytherin boy so visibly upset, but no one questioned them.
Hermione led him through the short door and to a windowsill in the back of the kitchens. He slumped down into the cold glass. With a snap of her fingers, Hermione pulled two plates and steaming bowls from the air, handing one set over to Draco who hesitantly accepted it. He looked down, regarding the warm grilled cheese and steaming tomato soup before him.
His lips rose slightly, likely reminiscing on same memory she was.
During her first year at Hogwarts, Hermione had been the only student to stay at the school over the winter holiday. She could’ve gone home, back to the orphanage, but she had figured that a Christmas alone at Hogwarts was better than a cold and dreary Christmas in London. Resigning herself to her isolation, Hermione had spent the holiday in the library, immersing herself in all the knowledge Hogwarts had to offer. She hadn’t even realized that Christmas had come. For that reason alone she was terribly surprised when Narcissa Black had appeared on the other side of her library table, a young Draco in tow. Without a word she had pulled out two perfectly wrapped presents, sliding them across the table to Hermione. As Hermione processed the situation, Narcissa had snapped her fingers and a tray of warm grilled cheese and large cauldron with tomato soup had appeared before them. When Hermione had looked up, shocked that her professor would allow her to eat in the library, Narcissa only smiled, quickly making a plate for Draco before encouraging Hermione to enjoy the food.
Hermione had never understood what possessed her professor to return to Hogwarts or why she had chosen to stay well into the evening, playing games and watching muggle movies with Hermione, but it was a memory she held close to her heart.
Hermione watched as Draco managed to take one bite of his sandwich and then another. Soon enough he was done. Satisfied that he had at least eaten something today, Hermione walked with Draco back to the dungeons, following him directly into the Slytherin common room and sitting with him until he fell asleep.
Narcissa did not return the next day, nor the day after that.
Hermione was starting to get genuinely worried. It wasn’t like the professor to be absent long, especially when she had not warned Draco.
Draco had tried to see Dumbledore the day after her absence began but he had been turned away at the door. Apparently, a professor’s absence was not important enough to distract from the planning of the second Triwizard task—a mother’s absence not compelling enough to send Draco home.
Two days after Professor Black’s disappearance, Fleur cornered Hermione in the library. Hermione had been so concerned for Draco that she had not found the time to speak with the Veela.
Hermione was sitting down at her usual table, hidden away in the back corner when she felt the steady magical pressure snake around her, diving through her to begin playful tapping at her core. The owner of the presence was not far behind.
Fleur stepped around a bookshelf and Hermione felt her brain falter. The Veela smirked at her, her eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sunlight. She was the image of a Greek god.
Fleur sauntered over towards Hermione and leaned her hip against the table.
“Are you avoiding me now?” Fleur asked, a smile in her voice, “I know I deserve it, but I thought we had decided to move past that.”
Hermione smiled gently back, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “No, Fleur. I’m not avoiding you. I just…I just have a lot on my mind.” Her smile fell and her eyes dropped to the table.
Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Fleur dropped down into the seat next to her, grabbing onto Hermione’s hand.
“What is wrong?” The Veela asked softly, as if talking to a skittish kitten who might bolt at the first sign of danger.
Hermione paused, before deciding to simply tell Fleur about Draco and Professor Black.
As she spoke, she watched as the smile rapidly dropped off Fleur’s face and her eyes hardened into a solid gold. Her grip on Hermione’s hand tightened, almost painfully. Hermione stopped speaking when she felt the magic that had been subtly zooming around her change. It squeezed down on her forcefully, magical thorns emerging and digging deeply into Hermione’s soul. She screamed out in pain.
As quickly as it came, the sensation stopped, instantly soothing itself. Fleur caught Hermione as she slipped out of her chair and pulled the girl close to her chest, whispering desperately into her hair.
“I’m sorry,” she said, panicked, “I’m so sorry. I lost control. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Fleur pulled Hermione into her arms, moving quickly through the library and out of the castle towards the carriage.
“S’okay.” Hermione mumbled, a sudden fatigue settling down on her.
“No, its not.” Fleur said forcefully.
Just before they reached the carriage door, a figure emerged before them. Eyes snapping to Hermione, the figure began to let out a low growl. Fleur’s chest began to rumble in response.
Hermione lifted her head up and was met by dark golden eyes.
In two steps Isabelle closed the distance between them. She reached her arms out expectingly. When Fleur made no move to release Hermione, Isabelle’s eyes flashed, an unsaid warning passing between the two Veela. Fleur sighed and slowly shifted Hermione into Isabelle’s arms, bending down to place a gentle kiss on Hermione’s forehead before they all entered the Beauxbatons carriage.
As Hermione’s eyes began to drift close, sleep pulling at her subconscious, she felt as Isabelle settled them onto a push couch, her hands gently stroking through Hermione’s hair. A soft, yet fiercely protective magic draped itself over Hermione as she quickly fell into a calm sleep.
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The moment she reluctantly transferred Hermione into Isabelle’s waiting arms, deep, unbridled anger surged forward in Fleur’s chest. She vibrated on her feet from the force of it.
This couldn’t be happening, not now.
Thinking about the circumstance only caused her anger to grow, exploding outwards from her body.
A group of quidditch players, nearly 100 yards away, dropped to the ground as the raw force of power washed over them.
Fleur growled deeply in her chest.
She was torn, a need to immediately do whatever was needed to make it up to Hermione battling with the duty to inform her clan of the developments her mate had exposed.
Eventually, duty won out. She had apologized to Hermione and she would be able to make it up to her once the girl woke up. She knew it must have felt overwhelming, painful even, but it would not, could not damage the girl. The quidditch players well, they would likely need to take a quick trip to visit Madame Pomfrey.
Fleur turned on her heel, walking towards the forest. There wasn’t time for an owl.
She quickly cast her Patronus and watched as the small kitten grew rapidly, expanding into a quite intimidating tiger. She regarded it for a moment, communicating her message.
It nodded once, its eyes hardening in determination, and set off through the forest in a golden-blue blur. She knew when it disappeared, running through time itself to reach its destination.
She only hoped that the time had not come.
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Oh, how a life can change in moments.
Not even ten minutes ago, Apolline Delacour had been standing silently by the grand window in her office, watching as a storm rolled in across the French countryside, her youngest daughter, Gabrielle, playing quietly in the corner.
Now, her heels echoed as she strode across the expensive black tiled floor, their surface so clean she could see her reflection. She walked quickly, not taking a moment for pleasantries as she burst into the grand library.
Rich wooden shelves stretched endlessly up towards the high ceilings as tiers of books filled the room. The woodwork was adorned with beautiful gold carvings, depicting the rich history of their people. The room was abuzz with magic, deep, ancient, and powerful. Apolline wouldn’t be surprised if the ancient power had found this a suitable place to rest.
Two women sat on a couch in the corner, bathed in a gentle candlelight. They were each absorbed in a book, but their hands were linked together, bridging the empty space between them.
When the library door slammed open, neither of them bothered to glance up.
“Bonjour Apolline,” the one on the right said, not unkindly, though her eyes still skimmed across the page, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Andromeda is on her way,” Apolline spoke, her voice remaining steady, “we will talk when she arrives.”
The witch to the left hummed in acknowledgement.
They only had to wait a moment before green flames surged in the fireplace and Andromeda Black stepped out.
“What’s all the hurry?” She spoke, wiping the soot from her dress, “Nymphadora is home today, we were just making dinner.”
“Narcissa is missing.” Apolline said firmly.
As her words entered the room, the air became suffocatingly silent. The witch sitting on the right of the couch snapped her eyes forward, the one on the left, froze in place. No one breathed.
Slowly the magic in the room stirred. Its steady dancing turning wild, picking up like waves crashing fiercely into the shore. The room shook. Books from the tallest shelves tumbling down as a fierce wind ripped across the open space, blowing all the candles out. An eerie light, drifting in from the storm outside, was the only thing that kept the room from descending into blackness.
Golden eyes snapped open and locked onto Apolline, the force of the magic surging forward and wrapping around her like a hand, locking the Veela in place.
“What do you mean she’s missing?” Bellatrix Black ground out.
The woman beside her attempted to rest a hand on the witch’s shoulder, but it bounced off as if a forcefield lay between them.
Bellatrix slowly rose to her feet, the magic propelling Apolline backwards and pinning her to a wall. While she could, she knew better than to fight it.
“What do you mean she’s missing?” Bella repeated slowly, advancing on Apolline.
Knowing words wouldn’t suffice, she quickly opened her mind to the Black sisters.
As Andromeda fell to the ground with a gasp, Apolline watched the fire grow in Bellatrix’s eyes, her hands rapidly extending into long, gleaming talons.
She surged towards Apolline but was stopped as a hand wrapped around her waist. She fought it for a moment, but it held her firmly.
Bellatrix sagged in the embrace, the woman behind her quickly pulling her into her arms.
The storm calmed. Apolline fell forward as the grip holding her to the wall retreated.
“This can’t be happening Sophie. Why now? Why is this happening again?” Bellatrix whispered into the woman’s shoulder.
The woman, Sophie, only held her tighter in response.
They all sat there for a few moments as the world settled down. With a flick of her wrist, Sophie set the library back to order—the books all flying to their places and the candles re-igniting, bringing a warmth back to the somber room.
Supporting Bella, she indicated for them all to move to a table to discuss this further.
It was happing faster than she expected. It wouldn’t be long now.
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The wooden door burst into a million shards as the magic tore through it.
Isabelle Dubois strode into the quiet room. She ran a finger along the bookshelf, a mark appearing in the dust that had just begun to settle.
With calculated eyes she took in her surroundings.
Other than the dust, the office appeared as she remembered it—pristine yet warm.
A glimmer drew her eye to the desk.
Something had happened here.
The picture frame still held its precious cargo, but a crack ran along the glass, splitting halfway down and dividing the protective barrier into three.
Isabelle frowned.
She walked forward and reached her hand out to it, quickly closing her eyes.
Two figures, slamming spell after spell against it. Their voices and appearance were unclear but their anger and determination were very apparent. She had been there, not moments before, but had been called away. Forced away by an unwilling bond.
Isabelle’s eyes snapped open. She let out a heavy breath.
Turning her back towards the frame she waved her hand at it casually.
Striding out the door and back towards the carriage she didn’t wait to see the door repair itself or the frame stitch back together, disappearing into the wall once more.