Where Are You?
Draco sat on the floor of his kitchen, the sound of a few trusted Auror’s footsteps echoing above him. Ginerva Weasley sat across from him, nursing a cup of tea that was originally Draco’s.
“You could—” She started, staring down at her Holyhead Harpies jersey.
“I truly couldn’t.” He breathed. “You think Granger—filled—with Dark Magic, currently, could be found?”
“You served as a Death Eater.” Theo growled as he walked in, slamming the door behind him. “You have every stupid power she has—and more control of it.”
Ginny scoffed as she stood. “I doubt that. Why would he be sitting on the floor then? When the Minister and almost ten Aurors haven’t slept in the last two days? When Harry—I haven’t fucking seen him in fucking forever, and Hermione is out there and—” Her voice began to rise before she stopped herself, rage seeping out of her. She pointed a finger at Draco. “You dragged Hermione into this. No one had their eyes on her before you came along and got your Malfoy claws into her—should’ve just put her on a poster with a target on her face instead before you did it.”
“Ginerva—” Theo started.
“It’s fucking Ginny.”
Draco didn’t bother to open his eyes as he leaned his head back against the wall. “You think I don’t know that?”
“Then it's obvious that you don’t care.”
“That’s enough. Take a walk.” Theo interrupted, taking a step towards Ginny.
“If anything happens to her, Malfoy, I’ll come back and kill you.” Her storming footsteps and the slam of a door marked her exit.
“It’s not your fault.” Theo said softly.
“It is.” Draco brought a hand up to his head.
Theo’s lips thinned.
“I’ve looked fucking everywhere, Theo. I’ve set alarms across every fucking nook and cranny in London so that if she shows up I’ll grab her. She knows better than to get caught. She was taught the same things as us, Theo. She won’t be found. Not by you, or the Aurors, and not even fucking Voldemort caught that woman when she ran for it.”
“This is—remember when we talked about, if we’d ever go back to how it used to be?” Theo whispered.
Draco’s eyes flitted open to stare at Theo’s face. “You—what?”
“If we’d ever… put the mask back on. If we were forced to.”
“Are you telling me you suddenly hate muggleborns, Theo?”
Theo ignored the remark. “I think it’s time you put the mask back on.”
“I don’t understand.”
“During his reign, you were relentless, Draco. You kept us alive—Blaise, Pansy, me. You did what he asked.”
“Psychotic you mean, I was psychotic.”
“I don’t really care what you call it. We need that now.”
“You want me to do what? Terrorize some muggles?”
Theo snarled. “Hunt down Granger, you ponce. Not the Auror way, not the oh-I’m-so-in-love-with-her-way. The way that Draco who had to live and breathe the same air as the Dark Lord, who has always finished what needed to be done.”
“Theo—”
“You’ve never needed anyone else, and I know we said we’d never go back, Draco, but I can’t fucking breathe not knowing if she’s with them, if she’s with Stefen or—”
Draco only heard white noise after that. He stood and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, displaying his faded his dark mark. He looked down at Theo, who was staring back at him with pleading eyes. The same eyes they all made at whoever had the most strength during the war when they were made to do atrocious things. “Tell Potter where I’ve gone.”
***
Hermione sat in her parent’s abandoned dentist clinic, swirling around in an empty doctor's chair. Before Apparating into this place, now technically owned by her, Hermione stopped at Madam Malkin's to pick up her red dress robes and gown. The gown in question was hanging up by its hanger against a cabinet.
An invitation card lay in her lap—a thick vanilla cardstock envelope with swirling silver and black patterns on its borders, sealed by the Malfoy crescent—the envelope now laying on the floor.
Miss Granger,
Please join myself and Narcissa for tea at the Manor. You are cordially invited for this afternoon, 3pm.
Lucius Malfoy I
Hermione frowned. She had bumped into the elder Malfoy at Madam Malkin's, and she had been as surprised to see him as he was to see her. He had given her a pleasant sneer and had immediately drafted up the letter for her, making her promise to meet with him and his wife, not bothering with pleasantries.
Hermione supposed she had no reason to say no—she couldn’t possibly refuse pureblood, though she couldn’t fathom what he wanted with her. Her frown deepened thinking of the younger Malfoy, who was so utterly repulsed by those that were muggleborn.
The wall clock she had hexed back into life was ticking closer to three. She stood, straightening her collar. Hermione carefully illusioned her bead bag to represent a purse, and slung it over her shoulder. No one would look for her at the Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire—she’d deal with the Malfoys, come back to the clinic, and wait until the Ministry speech event. Afterwards, perhaps she’d go to France. She hadn’t decided exactly where it was that she’d end up.
Hermione took a deep breath and straightened her clothes once more. Smoothing down her hair against her shoulders, she closed her eyes and Disapparated.
***
The Malfoy gates almost vibrated with ancient magic. Tall and proud, they stood protecting the path towards the white manor that loomed in the background. Hermione tapped her heel against the ground, her arms crossed. Would Lucius show up to the gates? A house elf in his stead?
As if the gates could listen to her, they slowly creaked open leaving a floodlit path up to the Manor. Little lights that hung underneath the trees that lined the stone path glimmered yellow light. Hermione frowned and trudged forwards, her heels clicking against the stones. Once in front of the looming doors of the Manor, she rapped her knuckles against the brass doors.
The door immediately opened, held by, of course, a house elf. Beside her, Lucius Malfoy.
Hermione bent into a slight bow before she stepped into the Manor, breaking her eye contact for a fraction of a second to flit her eyes to the ground. “Lord Malfoy.”
“Miss Granger. Welcome to the Manor. Narcissa will be down shortly.” His nasal tone filled the hallway. It was a barely illuminated house – in parts only by candlelight. The house elf seemed to have disappeared entirely as Hermione squared her shoulders. She had nothing to be frightened of. “Please, if you’ll follow me to the tea room. We might as well get down to business.”
She nodded once and followed the patriarch through a hallway, veering right and avoiding making eye contact with the portraits that she knew were making faces at her. They seemed to have been silenced.
“In here.” Lucius held open a French door, showing her a well-lit room painted a pale shade of yellow. “Draco often entertained his potential suitors in here—with Narcissa’s presence of course.”
“Potential?” She found herself asking.
Lucius motioned for her to take a seat. “It is customary for purebloods to find their partners by the time they graduate Hogwarts. Draco had quite a hard time…enjoying the presence of girls that were here to meet him.”
She kept her features neutral, unsure why any of this would matter to her. “I see.”
Lucius tilted his head slightly, his grey eyes so similar to that of Draco’s regarding her with years of age. “But he is now off the market, I take it?”
“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Malfoy.”
“There’s no need to be coy, Miss Granger. I can feel the ring—” He was interrupted by the handle of the French door opening.
Narcissa Malfoy stood there, half in the dark hallway and half in the yellow room, regarding Hermione with regality that even the Queen would shiver in. “Miss Granger, welcome to the Malfoy Manor.” Her voice was soft—exactly as how she remembered it.
“Thank you for inviting me, Lady Malfoy.” Hermione said, the words rolling off her tongue almost automatically. Her head felt almost fuzzy in the presence of the two purebloods.
Narcissa regarded her with narrow eyes. “Please, Tilly, if you’ll serve tea now.” The previous house elf Apparated into the room carrying a tea tray cluttered with an intricate balance of a filled teapot, threadbare teacups, jars filled with cream and sugar, and a plate of biscuits. She placed the tray on the table in front of them as Narcissa sat down, and Disapparated immediately.
“Miss Granger, what a surprise it is to have you here.” She started while pouring Hermione’s tea, sprinkling in an extra dash of tea leaves and sugar.
“Your husband invited me, actually. I’m still curious to see what this conversation was requested for.”
Lucius frowned. “Do you know where Draco is?”
She nodded. “He was last at your Beccles Manor.”
Narcissa sharply glanced up at her. “And what was he doing there?”
“We…” Hermione closed her eyes, frowning. “I can’t entirely remember.”
“Indeed. Drink your tea, Hermione.” She spoke, swirling cream into her own tea.
“Are you betrothed to Draco?” Lucius asked.
Hermione nearly spat out her tea. “I would never!” She gasped. “I’ve been practically forbidden from even speaking to a majority of purebloods regardless—”
“Forbidden, Miss Granger? By whom?”
Hermione’s head was beginning to spin. “There is…” Stars flickered amongst her sight as she heard her teacup clatter and fall to the floor. “Draco.”
***
Hermione let out a moan of pain as she sat slumped against a wall. The Malfoy matriarch stood a few meters away from her with a look of concern across her face. An elf stood beside her that Hermione didn’t recognize, wringing her lilac dress between her tiny fingers.
Hermione’s head pounded, so much so she wasn’t sure if she could hear anything else. “Narcissa?” She murmured.
“Shh…” She soothed, stepping forward. Hermione’s eyes focused on the witch’s withered face, her face resembling so much of Draco’s. Narcissa knelt down in front of her and pulled a wet cloth out to rest against her forehead.
“What’s going on?” She rasped.
“You’ve just taken a potion dear, everything should be better in a few hours.” Narcissa turned towards the door. “Lucius, come help me take the girl to her bed.”
Hermione was too tired to fight her as black dots pricked her eyes. “Where’s Draco—they have…” Darkness filled her once more as she felt someone’s almost familiar hands grab onto her shoulders.
***
Draco held the struggling man against his chest, almost bored with his babbling. Blood dripped down from the man’s chest and down from Draco’s fingers. “I’m losing my patience here, Stefen. Tell me where she is.” In his other hand, Draco held a paring knife that he was grazing up and down the man’s chest.
“I fucking told you, you monster—”
“No name calling.” Draco stood in a Beccles abandoned farmhouse after tracking down the man that had been Granger’s original legilimens teacher. Teacher and pureblood antic. “All you have to do is tell me, Stefen. Who are your masters? Where might she have gone?”
“She was instructed—” He let out a gasp as the knife moved up to his neck. “In-instructed to only reappear once it was time for the conference! She wasn’t to… spend time with you anymore, you were never supposed to be a part of—”
Draco pressed the knife against his throat, gripping Stefen’s hair with his other hand. “WHERE IS SHE?” He roared.
“I DON’T KNOW!”
“These will be your last words.”
“She—she… her parents.”
Draco stilled.
“Her parent’s house…or muggle clinic or… some foolish place! I DON’T KNOW!”
Draco sliced his knife down the man's back.
***
After he dumped a bleeding Stefen into the Auror’s department, Draco found himself a one-way portkey into the neighbourhood containing the Granger Orthodontist Clinic for Smiles.
Walking down Market Street, he could almost imagine a younger Granger darting down the street and into her parent’s clinic. It would make sense that she was shacking up here; Kingsley’s file on her had stated that she had Obliviated her parents at the start of the war and had sent them abroad. This was her last private place of them.
Draco carefully placed a disillusionment charm around himself. “Alohomora.” He whispered against the door lock. There weren’t any wards that he could feel. The bell hanging from the top of the door jingled as he stepped inside. “Granger?” He called.
He took a further few steps inside—the place smelt like sanitizer. The hair on his neck raised as he felt the familiar Disappartment magic in the air close to a patient room. As Draco inched into the room, he saw a red dress hanging off a cabinet and frowned. She had gone shopping after that shit show in Beccles?
“Granger?” He called again. “It’s me, it’s Dra—Malfoy. Come out if you’re here.”
Silence responded to him.
Draco nearly growled as he strode out of the room, his coat billowing and brushing a piece of paper off the counter space and onto the floor.
In front of his feet fell a familiar-looking invitation, a thick cardstock decorated with the Malfoy crescent. He felt a chill surround his body as he picked up the paper, inscribing Hermione’s name with his father’s writing.
Fuck.