In For A Penny, In For A Pound [PG-13] for Kyra4 (1/2)
Title: In For A Penny, In For A Pound
Author: Grander
Rating: Art - G, Fic - PG-13-ish
Recipient: Kyra4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I have not made any money from the writing of this story.
Words: ~17500
Warning(s): Mild violence, language
Author/Artist Note(s): I want to thank my beautiful and talented betas laurielover1912, ratherbsailing, and W - the beta who shall not be named - for all of their help. Any mistakes that made it through are completely mine! This story kind of got away from me and wanted to be much longer, but I had to end it somewhere! Kyra4 - You asked for emotion, drama, tension, snark, angst, but not tragedy, and I think this story fits the bill. I hope you enjoy it!
Summary: The story's a bit of a mystery, so I'm going to keep the summary vague to avoid spoilers! Draco's in trouble, and the only person who can help him is Hermione. What will she risk to save the man who broke her heart?
********
The wind tore at the crag like a beast driven mad by an unyielding master. Hermione pulled up her collar, but the cold pierced through her meager jacket, chilling her straight to the bone.
Scraps of moonlight filtered through the fog, but there was barely enough to light her way as she advanced toward the sound of crashing surf. The edge of the cliff threatened at every step, but she couldn't stop. Her legs burned with a power not her own, forcing her body, however unwilling, to heed its call.
Lightning cracked over a storm ravaged-sea, illuminating a tower rising towards the sky and a man standing at the precipice.
Draco
The strong, salt air whipped his long hair into a brilliant white frenzy that framed a bone-thin face stretched taut by years and anguish. He reached out for her, but she suddenly was unable to move. Opening her mouth, she wanted to call out to him, but even her voice was lost, ripped from her throat by a torrent of wind.
Tears blurred his form. Draco was so close, but he remained just out of reach.
An object appeared atop his palm: a serpent swallowing a pearl of light. Its image seared into her mind, and she couldn't drag her eyes away. Life pulsed within, demanding that she come closer, but her stubborn legs refused to obey.
Draco closed his fist, and Hermione finally wrenched her eyes free. He was trying to say something, but his words were lost as well. A warning darkened his eyes, but of what, Hermione couldn't tell. Fresh tears wet her cheeks as he began to disintegrate, his outstretched hand turning to dust. Wind swirled at his feet, pulling his body apart as it climbed in a slow, undulating funnel.
"Draco, no!" Hermione shouted, finally finding her voice even though she knew it was too late.
The funnel picked up speed until all that was left of Draco was a churning cloud which slowly unraveled as it was drawn out to sea.
********
Hermione winced as the click of her heels echoed off the obsidian walls of Azkaban prison, the clatter eliciting a gap-toothed grin from the guard waiting at the lift. The bastard could have warned her to perform a Silencing Spell before he took her wand. The racket she was sending up would alert the entire prison that a woman was visiting, and it didn't come as a surprise when the first wolf whistle drifted down from above.
"We don't get too many ladies around here," the guard said as he dragged his eyes over Hermione's body, his gaze lingering a bit too long over certain parts of her anatomy. "And the ones we do get don't wear nothin' as fancy as wot you got on."
Hermione took a deep breath, stifling the urge to knock the leer off his face with her fist. She probably should have worn a more sensible shoe and was definitely kicking herself for not having gone with trousers, but the guard's demeanor was inexcusable. He'd obviously never heard of Hermione Jean Granger.
"Officer Humbold," Hermione said, her clipped, officious tone stealing the mirth from his grin, "do you accost all female visitors to Azkaban with such outright lechery? Minister Shacklebolt has assured me that the old practices that proved so damaging to the Ministry's reputation had been rectified. Perhaps I should take him up on his offer to oversee the operations here to ascertain whether or not he's been properly informed."
The guard's mood visibly plummeted with every word that came out of Hermione's mouth. While she didn't take pleasure in throwing around the weight of her Ministry contacts, truth be told, her nerves had been on edge all morning. The last thing she needed was some letch on a power trip adding to her troubles.
The new practice of allowing visitors at Azkaban had been beneficial to everyone's morale, guard and prisoner alike. However, the new crop of Death Eater groupies had proved troublesome, and not just logistically. It dawned on Hermione as she and the guard traveled in silence up to the maximum-security level that she'd probably been mistaken for one of the tarts who'd been polluting the Ministry with their requests for visiting privileges. Most of them never requested another visit after the first; it seemed the ambience of Azkaban had a direct effect on the intensity of their undying affections. The Ministry's new attitude of reform and reconciliation required a certain degree of transparency, and so was obliged to honor each new request made by anyone dumb enough to actually volunteer a trip to the prison. But regardless of who the guard thought she was, if the treatment she'd just received was indicative of the norm, then the practice - and the guards - would be coming under renewed scrutiny.
When the lift doors slid open, Officer Humbold wasted no time exiting, and Hermione was given reason number two of the morning for regretting her choice of footwear as she struggled to match the guard's pace.
Steeling her spine, Hermione quickened her step and tried not to inhale too deeply the stench of human filth thickening the air. If this meeting hadn't been so urgent, she would have arranged to have had it take place at the Ministry. However, that would have come with its own set of problems, namely questions about why she wanted the prisoner transferred in the first place. It's not as if she could explain to her superiors the real reason why she needed to see one of Azkaban's most notorious residents. Making the trip out to the prison herself cut through layers of red tape and was worth a short amount of discomfort. No matter how god-awful that discomfort smelled.
Channeling all her concentration towards memorizing the path Humbold was cutting through the labyrinthine corridors had the happy side effect of blocking out all other sensory input. The only thing worse than having to traverse the maze of Azkaban alongside a disgruntled guard would be getting lost without him. And Hermione didn't entirely trust her lumbering friend to wait around and see her safely back to the lifts.
After what felt like an eternity, Humbold stopped at an unbroken stretch of wall and removed his wand. The outline of a door burned bright gold as he silently mouthed the words of an incantation, his efforts producing the low rumble of countless gears turning within the stone. With a lurch that vibrated through the rock beneath Hermione's feet, the door popped open. Officer Humbold promptly turned on his heel and didn't offer so much as a "nice day" before loping off down the hall.
A warm current of fresh-smelling air wafted out into the corridor, pulling Hermione towards its source. She hadn't realized just how foul and cold the air had been and couldn't help taking several deep breaths once inside. The harsh light provided by a pair of overhead globes fell in uneven shadows about the room but was concentrated around a rectangular metal table and two chairs, their form suggesting a more clinical use than comfort. A blush of self-consciousness threatened at her cheek when the guard waiting inside the interrogation room - who just half an hour earlier had escorted her from the Ministry to Azkaban and whose name escaped her - let out a snort.
"You wouldn't believe me right now," he said as he stood up from the corner of the table, "but you get used to the smell. Now, why don't you tell me what sort of business you have with this one," he said, punctuating his sentence with a sharp jerk of his thumb towards the prisoner. The prisoner's back was to the door, but even though Hermione couldn't see his face, that swath of blond hair falling down his back - even matted and filthy - was unmistakable.
It only took a moment for Hermione to recover her wits and remember the guard's name. "I don't believe that's any of your concern, Officer Craig. As you know, your orders were to bring the prisoner here and then wait outside until I was finished. What part of that was unclear?"
Craig made no effort to comply but continued staring at Hermione with an incredulous look on his face. The silence stretched out uncomfortably as they squared off. Hermione was taking a huge risk; if Craig pushed for authentication from one her superiors, then she would be completely screwed. Private interrogations of prisoners at Azkaban - away from the prying eyes and gossiping mouths of the guards - were not unheard of, but they required a strict adherence to certain protocols that she just couldn't abide at the moment. As she'd expected, Shacklebolt had signed off on her request without even reading the particulars, and she cringed at the thought of losing his trust should he discover her deceit.
If push came to shove, she'd throw the weight of her name at Officer Craig and hope that was enough to force his hand. However, that would be an absolute last resort. She still had to manage a return trip out of this god-forsaken maze. It wouldn't do to alienate all the guards, war hero or not.
"Have it your way, Miss," he said finally, "but I wouldn't get too close to that mouth of his if I were you. He's been known to bite. And spit."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Once again she questioned her own logic. If only there'd been another way …
"You're not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?" Craig asked as if reading her mind. "Anything happens to either one of you, and I'm the one who gets it."
"I'm hardly known for my stupidity," Hermione answered, feeling like an utter hypocrite. "Thank you, Officer Craig. I'll let you know when I'm ready to leave."
The guard studied the scene for a moment longer as if weighing whether or not to disobey his orders. In the end he just growled, "You're the boss," before slamming the door shut.
It wouldn't do to show any outward sign of fear, so Hermione wiped the sweat from her palms and then marched over to the empty chair, pulled it out with the force of resolution, and sat down. A swell of confidence lifted her spirit as she regarded her foe - head bent to his chest, his strength cowed by manacles at his wrists and chains across his chest. It even crossed her mind that she might be able to pull this off without resorting to more extreme methods, but then Lucius Malfoy informed her otherwise by lifting those steel grey eyes of his and flashing her a cocksure grin.
"Ah, Miss Granger. I thought I smelled Mudblood."
The insult cut deeper than she'd like to admit, and she couldn't help clenching her jaw. Two seconds in front of him and she was an awkward twelve year old again.
Hermione had imagined that Lucius Malfoy be a wasted hulk of his former self by now, but three years in Azkaban had done little more than tangle his hair. He still glowed with the vigor of health, which Hermione realized was most likely due to the prisoner reforms she'd spearheaded as her first official task at the Ministry. It was true - sometimes she really didn't know when to leave well enough alone.
"I haven't come to trade barbs with you, Lucius," she said, delighting in the wrinkles that formed at his eyes when his proper name crossed her lips. "I've come because Draco is in trouble, and I need your help finding him."
Pure hate radiated off Lucius, prompting Hermione to slip a hand within her robe pocket to finger the spare wand she'd secreted for just such a reason. But then his mask of condescension returned, and he let out a harsh laugh.
"You really think I'd help the Ministry find my own son? Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger. I thought you were smarter than that."
"I'm not here as a representative of the Ministry. I'm here because Draco sent me something. Something that will prove to you I'm telling the truth."
Lucius laughed again.
"So now you'd like me to believe that my son is corresponding with a Mudblood? And a Ministry Mudblood, no less? Excuse my mirth, but I never imagined this visit would be so entertaining."
Swallowing back an exasperated sigh, Hermione decided that she needed to take control of this conversation. And the best way to do that would be to shut Lucius up.
"So Draco never told you about the time we spent together?" Hermione asked, relishing the brief flash of shock that registered upon his face. "I'm not entirely surprised, considering your attitude. It wasn't long after the war. He and I both ended up in Australia, though for entirely different reasons. You must know that he was in Australia, at least. I was a bit stunned at how well we got on, but then again, the war had a lot to do with it. You wouldn't believe the things he told me about ..."
The desire for retribution fueled her tongue, even after a niggling doubt sprung up to announce that she should just hex him and get it over with. But it would have been a shame to waste the opportunity to give a captive Lucius Malfoy a piece of her mind. Nevertheless, it did seem a bit like overkill, what with him being shackled and chained and held prisoner. Hermione was about to shut up and get on with what she came to do when Lucius beat her to the punch, interrupting her by loudly clearing his throat.
"You do prattle on, don't you?" he said once she'd quieted. His steel-grey eyes gleamed with a manic sort of energy, and there was an undercurrent of danger in his tone that raised the hackles on Hermione's neck. "I believe I have you to thank for most of the changes instituted here at Azkaban. Conditions are very different from what I remember. For instance, when the Dementors were running things, I never would have been able to procure a key to my restraints."
The clatter of chains falling against stone filled the room, and panic seized Hermione's chest. How could she have been so stupid! She only had an instant to react, but it wasn't enough to unsheathe her wand. Pushing back against the table with her free hand, she watched in dumbstruck horror as Lucius Malfoy leapt cat-quick across it.
He struck her dead in the chest, knocking her to the floor. Head smashing against the stone, Hermione was still seeing stars when Lucius landed on her stomach with such force that he drive the wind from her lungs. Her hips came up almost automatically as she tried to dislodge his weight, but he was heavier by at least five stone and made short work of her struggles. Hermione felt like ragdoll when he took hold of her arms and flipped her over onto her belly, his body stretching out over hers and keeping her flush against the floor. The week-long Auror self-defense seminar flashed through Hermione's head, but she couldn't even move let alone stop Lucius' forearm from snaking under her throat to cut off her supply of air and blood.
"Three years I've spent in hell for a murder I didn't commit," Lucius hissed as he applied even more pressure to her neck. "If I'm to spend the rest of my life here, I might as well carry out the deed."
Pinpricks of light burst behind Hermione's eyelids as her fingers found his arm and scraped at his flesh. Calculating the seconds left until unconsciousness, she abandoned trying to pry him from her throat and fumbled wildly for her pocket. Muttering a hoarse "Accio wand" with her last breath, Hermione could have cried when the wand pried itself from the between her and the floor and flew to her hand. Pointing it at Lucius' arm, she sent off a Revulsion Jinx and prayed her aim had been true.
A blessed rush of air filled her lungs when Lucius was catapulted across the room. The jinx wouldn't last long, so she rolled over, pointing her wand just in time to catch Lucius springing to his feet. Water streamed from Hermione's eyes as she coughed and sputtered, and a variety of painful hexes sped through her mind before she shouted "Petrificus Totalus!"
Lucius froze with a snarl on his face and his body tensed to pounce. The position left him off-kilter; he fell over, his shoulder making a dull thud when it hit the floor.
Gathering her wits, Hermione cast a Healing Spell on her bruised neck and nearly gave in to the urge to kick Lucius square in the bollocks. It was only when her pulse had fallen back to normal and she was thinking clearly that it dawned on her that Officer Craig should have heard at least some of the commotion and come to check on her.
Pushing that thought from her mind, she set herself to the task of dealing with a petrified Lucius Malfoy.
********
Ten minutes and several spells later found Lucius Malfoy returned to his chair with all restraints reattached and looking none the worse for wear. Hermione considered conjuring a gag as well, but she needed information and so would have to deal with whatever came out of his mouth.
"Isn't it illegal to secret a wand into Azkaban?" Lucius asked when she finally unfroze his tongue, his casual tone betraying none of his homicidal rage. "Be careful, Miss Granger, or I might just develop some respect for you."
Hermione was beyond caring what he thought and rolled her eyes at the slight.
"Well, I was fairly certain you wouldn't help me out of the kindness of your heart. I really was serious when I told you Draco was in trouble. Urgency dictated my actions, not a desire to cast spells on you."
Surprisingly, Lucius didn't answer immediately. Pursed lips and a furrowed brow implied deep thought, though Hermione assumed he was just conjuring up some new variation of insult.
"Even if I was inclined towards helping you," he replied finally, "I doubt I'd be of any assistance. In case you hadn't noticed," Lucius said while wiggling his hands in his restraints, "I've been locked in Azkaban for the past three years. And since Draco hasn't been dropping in for tea to inform me of his whereabouts, I'm afraid that you came all the way out here for nothing. Not that it hasn't been lovely to see you again, of course."
Hermione twisted her wand between her fingers as she considered hexing him at least once for good measure. But the need to get this sorted out as quickly as possible won out over revenge.
"Perhaps you could tell me what you know about this," Hermione said, pulling a scrap of parchment from her cloak pocket and smoothing it out upon the table. "And don't deny it - I know you know what it is."
All pretense fell from Lucius' face when he looked down at the rough sketch of a twisted serpent swallowing a glowing orb.
"How do you know about this?" he asked, and Hermione discerned a tremble in his voice.
"Draco showed it to me last night. I had a vision of him holding it."
Lucius quirked up an eyebrow and scoffed. "You expect me to believe that you're having visions of my son?"
"Do you really think I'd come here and put my life and career at risk if it wasn't true?" Hermione was shocked by the unexpected flare of anger that charged her voice. "And how on earth would I have known about this otherwise?"
"Draco must be dead, then" Lucius said with a sadness that almost made Hermione feel sorry for him. "That's the only way you could have taken it from him."
"He isn't dead," Hermione said, her voice softening ever so slightly. "I would know if he were dead. In my vision, he was standing on the edge of a cliff with that" she said, pointing towards the drawing, "in his hand. And there was a tower behind him perched atop an island in the middle of a raging sea."
"If you're lying to me, witch -"
"I'm not! I wouldn't. Draco and I … we're connected. It's hard to explain, and I'm not sure why he never mentioned it to you, especially after everything that happened," Hermione said in a rush. She didn't feel the slightest bit comfortable confiding her most intimate of secrets to Lucius Malfoy, even if it did have to do with this son. The condensed version would have to do, absent the details sure to make her blush.
"The whole thing is your fault, really, so that's probably why he never told you. It happened at Malfoy Manor after I'd been captured. Remember ordering Draco to perform Legilimens on me while Bellatrix was interrogating Griphook?"
Lucius raised an eyebrow and sunk his eyes back in his head. He'd committed so many horrible deeds that torturing her probably didn't even rate his recollection.
"Well, I remember," she said, careful to keep her voice from rising in indignation. "And if I recall correctly, he begged you to do it yourself because he wasn't sure of his ability, but you muttered something about Draco having to prove his loyalty to Voldemort. I'm not sure what Draco did to the spell, but for a brief moment, his mind was linked with mine. He knew everything - knew that the sword within Bellatrix's vault was a fake and that we were searching for Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes. But I knew something too. I knew that Draco hated Voldemort and that he'd lied for us before and would again."
A scowl crossed Lucius' face when Hermione mentioned Draco's deception, but he held his tongue.
"After that, I would have dreams of your son - extremely vivid dreams, almost like hallucinations, as if he was there in my head again. I just attributed it to the stress of having lived through a war, but when he showed up in Australia, I knew that it wasn't just coincidence. I'd gone there to sort things out with my parents, who were none too happy about having been Obliviated and sent off to live in Sydney, and then one day there was Draco, having a cup of tea at a cafe down the street. It turned out that he was dreaming about me too and had been having visions about where I was living in Australia. We worked out that we weren't just dreaming about each other but experiencing bits of each others' lives. After that, we realized that we could communicate with each other during these dreams."
Hermione took a deep breath and considered telling Lucius the whole truth but quickly decided against it. He had just tried to kill her, so confiding that she'd carried on a nearly year-long affair with his son might not go over so well.
"That's how I know that your son is alive," she said. "What you have to figure out is whether or not you believe that I'm a Mudblood looking for revenge or if I'm someone who cares enough for your son to want to help him."
Lucius' gaze dropped as soon as she finished speaking, his eyes focused on the table as if he was willing himself to see straight through to the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice had an edge of intensity that matched his stare.
"You must do exactly as I say, Miss Granger, and without question. Guards are about to come through that door, and they will kill you for what you just told me. If you value your life, you will lock that door and silence the room."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, trying to digest what he'd just said, which prompted him to let out a low, almost feral growl.
"Now!"
Hermione jumped at his voice and her wand nearly skittered off the table. Lucius was glaring at her with such ferocity that her blood demanded she cower from the sight. He was scared - scared of whomever might be listening in on them right now. A flurry of thoughts fought for purchase - if someone was listening in, then they'd know that she'd brought a wand to Azkaban - but when gears began rumbling in the door, Hermione didn't hesitate to act.
"Colloportus," she shouted at the door. It would have been fairly miraculous timing for the guards to enter just when Lucius told her to lock the door. The coincidence couldn't be ignored. Pouring through her memorized repertoire of spells, she came up with two more locking spells and then surrounded the room with a Silencing Spell. Once the room was properly secured, Hermione finally noticed the shaking of her hands and realized she didn't particularly want to know the secrets Lucius was about to reveal.
"It won't take them long to get through those spells," he said with a scowl, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll knock out any guard that comes through that door."
"You've got to be joking! What I've just done is bad enough, but I'm not about to assault a guard! I'd be thrown in here with you!"
Lucius clicked his tongue in irritation. "You've dealt with a lot today, so I'll excuse your woeful lack of perception. But answer me this: just how, exactly, do you think I was able to procure a key to my restraints?"
Hermione's eyes widened. "You expect me to believe that the guards gave you the key?"
"You've stumbled upon something serious, Miss Granger. The minute you submitted the request to see me, your life was forfeit. While that isn't particularly troubling to me, what you said about Draco has now put his life at risk as well. If I believed for a second that my son wouldn't be better served with you helping him than dead, I'd just let them have your head. As it is, I'll have to suffer with the unfortunate circumstances of your birth and hope for the best. Now sit down and listen carefully. There isn't much time."
The insult barely registered with all the adrenaline buzzing through her system. The war had given her an uncanny instinct for sussing out deception, otherwise she might have been naïve enough to believe that Lucius was lying. Like it or not, what he said made more sense than what was comfortable to admit. No one but the guards could have given him a key to his restraints. But to think that they'd been planning on killing her? That was a bit too much to swallow.
Lucius' glare followed her until she did as he demanded and sat down.
"First, I don't know where Draco is, but I can tell you how to find him. It's a wonder that the Ministry hasn't figured this out already, but I suppose that's what you get for electing an idealistic Minister bound and determined to see only the good in his fellow wizard."
An argument sprang to Hermione's lips, and she nearly launched into a detailed account of Kingsley Shacklebolt's merits compared to the sorry lot of Ministers who'd held the office before him, but Lucius didn't give her a chance.
"Have you ever wondered what happened to all of the dark magic Voldemort accumulated over his lifetime?" Lucius asked, his face and voice infused with the excited energy of one reminiscing over past glories. "Do you think it just evaporated into the ether? Or maybe you'd like to believe that it was dragged down to whatever hell he's currently occupying?"
Hermione's mind raced as she tried to keep up with what Lucius was telling her. If Voldemort could manifest pieces of himself in an Horcrux, then perhaps his essence hadn't been completely destroyed …
No, it was too preposterous. Voldemort was dead. Nothing of him survived. Harry had made sure of that.
"Tell me, have you noticed anything strange happening beyond our shores since Voldemort's death? Beyond even the magical community? Acts of aggression, perhaps, that are extreme even for your lot?"
Lucius' eyes glittered as he waited for Hermione to reach the right conclusion. She wanted to yell at him to just spit it out, but then her thoughts snagged on a headline she'd seen just the day before in a Muggle newspaper. Terrorist bombings were on the rise all over the world, the death tolls in the thousands. A scoff had bubbled to her lips at the headline: Apocalypse Now? Many Religious Scholars Think So.
"It couldn't be," she breathed as understanding bloomed bright and horrific.
"Yes, my dear, naïve, Miss Granger. Voldmort's magic has spread like a disease where it has been condensing into pure malevolence and infecting those most susceptible to it. That object you saw Draco holding was a hardened vestige of Voldemort's magic, a talisman filled with enough evil to poison entire Muggle populations. Normally, I would have loved to watch the Muggles go to war and tear themselves apart from the influence of his magic. But I wasn't the only member of Voldemort's inner circle who understood what was happening, and I couldn't leave the vestiges of his power to fall into such inferior hands.
"My resources put me at an advantage, which didn't sit well with some of my former colleagues who thought me a traitor to the cause and unworthy of Voldemort's remains. And to be perfectly honest, my own arrogance blinded me to their collusion. I considered them a rag-tag group of bitter miscreants, and had no idea the lengths they'd go to see me undone. Which is why I'm currently sitting in shackles for a crime I didn't commit."
"But who are 'they'?" Hermione cried, unable to just sit quietly as ordered. "And what does this have to do with Draco?"
Lucius' face turned down in a scowl. "Our time is limited, so I suggest you shut your mouth and listen," he spat. "While the prosecution used the fact that I'd been Obliviated after Narcissa's death as both proof of a guilty conscience and evidence of my lying nature, my memory had indeed been wiped clean. I believed along with everyone else that Narcissa was dead, and I came to Azkaban armed with only the certainty of my innocence. It wasn't until my life was condemned to hell and my wealth disbursed to my sole heir that they approached Draco.
"Do you know why I believed your story of what happened when Draco used Legilimens on you? It's because he did the same thing to me, courtesy of the Ministry's new policy of allowing female visitors to Azkaban. He came to me Polyjuiced as some trollop and opened his mind to me the way he had done with you. And that's when I realized that Narcissa wasn't actually dead but taken prisoner by my former colleagues. Draco has been ordered to do their bidding, and only when the last of Voldemort's remains have been collected and delivered to them will they free Narcissa.
"Neither of us is foolish enough to believe that they'll actually let her go once Draco is finished his task, and that's why I'm risking everything right now. I'm useless to him in here, but you might be able to help him rescue Narcissa before they kill her. But I must warn you: if you go to the Ministry with what I've just told you, you'll be signing Draco's death warrant. My former colleagues placed enough spying charms on that building that you'll still be finding them all for decades."
Lucius' words swirled in a mad rush around Hermione's head, defying her to prove them false. She'd been more than happy to see Lucius Malfoy sent to prison for murdering his wife, considering it as much a punishment for one crime as for the many for which he'd been granted immunity. Still, she baulked at the idea of anyone being found guilty of a crime they didn't commit.
And it was true that sweeps of the Ministry were still coming up with spy glasses tucked into darkened corners and charmed objects designed to transmit information, though they were mostly confined to unused areas of the Ministry where classified information was unlikely to be shared. But there was always a chance …
"Now what you have to figure out is whether you believe I'm a murderous Death Eater looking for revenge or if I'm a father who cares enough about his son to risk everything to save him."
Hermione nearly winced to hear her own words thrown back at her. A memory flashed of the object sitting atop Draco's palm, of Voldemort's magic reaching out to her, crackling over the space between them, wanting to touch her. If she could feel all of that from just a vision, then what was it doing to Draco?
Believing Lucius wasn't easy. Every fiber in her being was screaming for her to go to Shacklebolt with what she'd just learned and let the Aurors sort it out. But she'd failed Draco once and walked away when he'd needed her most. Just thinking of Draco - of what he'd had to deal with all alone - had always produced such a swell of sadness that she'd considered Obliviation far more often than she'd have liked to admit. But now she was being give a second chance, with Draco's life hanging in the balance.
Ignoring the needling voice of reason playing at the back of her mind warning her that she was about to make a huge mistake, Hermione took a deep breath and then gave Lucius an answer.
"I'm in. What do you want me to do?"
********
Hermione's heels beat a harsh staccato as she marched out of the Ministry's Portkey terminal. There was no telling how much time she'd have before the guards were found tied up alongside Lucius Malfoy, and she needed to get to the Floo network while her Ministry credentials were still good.
It had been easy enough to Stupefy Officers Craig and Humbold once they'd managed to open the door. For all their training, they'd been woefully ill-prepared to react to her deception, which was something she'd make sure to remedy should she come out of this whole ordeal with her career intact, the possibility of which was dwindling with every step.
Hermione hadn't been convinced enough of their murderous intent to leave Lucius untied as he'd demanded. He might love his son, but like he'd said, there was little he could do inside of Azkaban. Leaving two bound and helpless guards to Lucius' mercy would have just compounded Hermione's problems tenfold, especially if he believed them part of the conspiracy that wrongly convicted him. The possibility that there were more than two corrupt guards had given her pause but not enough to set Lucius free. The echo of his indignant screams had reverberated in her ears long after the door was shut and the Silencing Spell claimed his voice.
The guards she'd encountered on the way back to the Portkey Terminal had all looked at her askance, and one had thought to inquire about why she was without escort, but none had prevented her from leaving. And upon arriving back at the Ministry, she'd been greeted as if it were any other day. Only on a normal day she wouldn't have been a complete and utter hypocrite about to throw her entire life away on the word of a Death Eater and convicted murderer.
Resolving to act naturally, Hermione had smoothed her skirts, tried to look irritated and stand-offish, and hoped to get out of the Ministry without seeing anyone who would be able to discern the difference.
Hermione held her breath as the grill clattered open for the lift, but let it out with an audible sigh to find no one else inside. The next stop was the main floor and the Floo network; only a pair of thick metal doors and fifty feet of tiled floor separated her from a clean escape. If she could manage find a place to collect her thoughts, perhaps she could make sense of all that had happened, because ever since her vision of Draco, she'd felt possessed by an energy not her own, and she was beginning to wonder if her desire to help him had been imbued with an undeserved measure of urgency.
The lift doors opened onto a scene that Hermione was all too familiar with: countless witches and wizards coming and going, though without any of the frenetic energy that would indicate a massive breach of security. No, this was just the usual hustle and bustle of the Ministry. Hermione stepped out with a renewed level of calm. She might just make it out of there.
And she did make it as far as the gaudy gold fountain, but at that moment the incoming Floos exploded with Aurors, many fastening belts and robes as if they'd been summoned in various states of undress. Hermione froze, certain they'd all come to participate in her arrest. But she was barely spared a glance as they brushed past to collect into queues for the lifts, ignored by all except for the one Auror who she really, really hoped would just pass on by.
"Hey! Hermione!" called a breathless Harry. "Have you heard the news?"
What news? That I secreted a second wand into Azkanban and used it to knock out and tie up two guards? Nope. Haven't heard a thing.
"No," she said, feigning surprise. "What's going on?"
"A prisoner and two guards were found dead at Azkaban. I heard it was Lucius Malfoy."
A rush of blood clouded Hermione's thoughts, threatening to upend her. "They're dead? But that's impossible! Are you sure?" she asked with such a force of emotion that even Harry noticed.
"That's the rumor," he said with knitted brow as he walked backwards to the lift. "I'll owl you later!"
Harry turned around and ran towards a pair of closing doors, slipping inside just before they shut.
Walling off the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to crumple her to the floor in a fit of tears, Hermione crossed the remaining ten feet to the first available floo. Lucius' words could haunt her later, but at the moment, she couldn't afford to break down.
Stepping into the hearth, she heard her name called from a distance and caught sight of Kingsley's secretary rushing from the lifts, but the green flames were already surrounding her.
In for a penny, in for a pound …
********
Making a mad dash around her flat, Hermione gathered all of her essentials, which basically amounted to grabbing the emergency bag sitting at the back of her closet that she kept packed at all times. The only other bit of business was to charm Crookshanks' bowls to keep them full of food and water. There was no telling how long she'd be gone, and she couldn't very well pop round the neighbors at the moment to ask them to look after her cat. Scratching off a note, she left it sitting on the front table.
"You'll be fine until Aunt Ginny comes to collect you," Hermione said as she bent to pet his orange head. "Try not to be too big of pig, okay?"
All in all, she was quite proud of the speed with which she was ready to flee, but then she heard the telltale sound of an owl's beak at her window and knew it hadn't been enough.
"Shit!" Hermione chewed her lip as she looked between the front door and the Floo. They had probably shut her out of the network by now, which meant that Aurors were either waiting for her outside or on their way. A peek out of the front window confirmed her worst fear: a tall, dark-haired man in mismatched Muggle clothing was walking up her path.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
Her flat was on the second floor, but the sound of a heavy hand beating on the main entrance down below could be clearly heard. The apartment building was warded against Apparation and lock-opening spells, but it would only be a matter of time before one of her neighbors answered the door and let the Aurors in.
Rushing out into the hall, she made for the only exit that made sense. If she could get to the roof, she could Apparate. After that … well, she'd worry about that mess when she got to it.
Straining lungs and burning legs groaned in unison when she reached the upper landing, but Hermione ignored the pain as she unlocked and pushed open the window overlooking the rear roof. A quick glance around the flat, tarred surface didn't reveal any Ministry representatives, so she stepped a leg out and ducked her torso under the sash.
A haze of absorbed heat was rising off the black surface; her heels sank into the soft tar, causing her to curse her choice of footwear for the third time that day. She made up her mind to throw the damned shoes into the first bin she found and was about to quit London entirely when the crack of Apparation sounded at her back.
"Hermione," Harry called, "wait! What are you doing?"
Hermione spun round as best she could on the tacky surface and nearly Stupefied her best friend, but she just couldn't bring herself to say the spell.
"I have to leave," she said, hoping that he wouldn't realize her outstretched wand was just a bluff.
"But what happened? Talk to me! I can help you!"
Lucius' words rang in her ears, warning her that the conspiracy had eyes and ears everywhere and that any Ministry involvement would result in a quick death for Draco and Narcissa. "You can't! I have to do this on my own. Please! You have to trust me, Harry!"
"I do trust you," Harry said as he stepped closed enough to reach out and push down her wand. "But I don't understand. What happened between you and Lucius today? They're saying you must have taken a wand into Azkaban and freed him."
"I didn't free him!" she screamed. A wave of suppressed emotion nearly demolished the thin veil of her composure. She wanted to tell Harry everything and plead for his help, but she couldn't involve him in this. One ruined career was enough. "I would never do that! And I don't believe that he killed those guards. He couldn't have! But I don't have time to explain. You have to let me leave, Harry. A person's life depends on it!"
Hermione had never confided in Harry about her affair with Draco, and right now was not the time to do it. He'd probably arrest her on the spot out of spite.
"What about the lives of those guards?" Harry blurted out in anger. "Do you even care that Lucius tortured them first?"
Nausea turned her stomach to think that her actions caused three deaths, but she couldn't afford to get sick over the dead.
"I don't believe that. Lucius and the guards were tied up and alive when I left," she explained even as she listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "I don't know what happened afterwards, and I'm absolutely sick about it. But you have to believe me when I tell you it was the only way!"
The look on Harry's face - anger mixed with disgust - forced her next move.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she said as she raised her wand.
They shouted their spells almost in unison, but Hermione surprised both of them by being the faster draw. Harry's wand flew from his hand. In the split second before Disapparition whisked her away, Hermione watched a look of profound sadness etch across the planes of Harry's face.
As if her day wasn't bad enough already …
********
"I missed my calling," Hermione muttered as she put the finishing touches on her new passport. "I should have been a bloody criminal from the start."
The grey of twilight filtered through the thin curtains and cast dull shadows across the quaint furniture. Hermione mused that half the Aurors in England would be looking for her right now. But even if they showed up to question the innkeepers, they'd be told that no woman matching Hermione's description was currently renting a room.
For all the teasing she got about her over-preparedness, if she hadn't been so thorough then she might be in Auror custody right now. But truth be told, even she had thought the bottle of Polyjuice Potion to be a bit of overkill until she actually needed it.
As far as the innkeepers were concerned, Mr. Gregory Hampton - one of her neighbors whose hair she'd surreptitiously harvested months ago when she'd first brewed the potion - was checked into their second-floor room, and his money was as good as anyone else's. Hermione hoped they never found out it was fake.
After doctoring her Muggle credentials to match her new persona, Hermione made a mental note to inform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to update their policies. The Ministry didn't consider it much of a crime to alter Muggle documents or forge Muggle currency. So while it might be impossible to transfigure anything but gold into a galleon, changing ordinary paper into Euros required little effort.
The Polyjuice Potion had worn off about an hour before, and even though she had several doses left, Hermione still planned on using it sparingly. Walking into an Apothecary to procure fresh ingredients would be akin to turning herself in, but it was a moot point anyway. She didn't plan on hiding out in Wales for the two months required to brew a new batch.
The tension that had hardened her muscles into knots started fading as soon as she stretched out upon the mattress. So many emotions had run rampant for the better part of the day that she was left teetering on exhaustion. Add to that the hour she'd spent crying about what an utter fool she'd been for thinking she could do this alone, and by rights, she should be in a coma by now. But Hermione just lay staring at the ceiling, unwilling to let her thoughts slip towards sleep.
She had to find Draco, but her heart dreaded the journey. Three years ago she'd vowed never to go seeking another connection with him, and for three years she'd been preventing it by being vigilant while awake and taking Dreamless Sleep at night. Draco's desire to see her must have been exceptionally strong to have broken through the protection of the draught. Pushing that thought away, as well as the promise it contained, Hermione closed her eyes and let her mind stray.
Her eyes flew open a moment later when the violent discharge of gunfire rang from somewhere close by. The harsh glare of a full sun greeted her, adding to the confusion of the room. Everything was wrong. She'd fallen asleep in a nicely decorated, albeit old-fashioned, bed and breakfast in Cardiff and woken up staring at cracked plaster and a water-stained ceiling. It had been so long since she'd experienced a full-on vision that she didn't immediately recognize the sensation. Her racing heart was sending her straight towards panic, and she couldn't help screaming when a hand closed round her arm and pulled her off the bed.
"What the hell are you doing in my head?" Draco hissed, his grey eyes holding her captive in a gaze suffused with anger and fear.
Hermione was rendered speechless. She'd pushed Draco's memory so far from her thoughts that she'd forgotten what the sight of him could do to her. The image of him beckoning at the cliff side melted and merged into the man standing in front of her; it had been so long since she'd allowed her mind to connect to his, that she reeled from the shock of how tangible he seemed. Draco's previously frenetic hair was smoothed back and tied at the nape, highlighting the hollow under his cheekbones and the sharp edges of his features. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, the color in stark contrast to the porcelain of his complexion.
The sound of shouting drifted up from the street, and Hermione thought it sounded like Spanish, though she couldn't quite make out what they were saying . Her eyes skirted around the shabby room, trying to absorb as much information as the meager furniture and decorations would allow, but Draco's hard stare demanded an answer.
Taking in a breath to speak, Hermione's mouth snapped shut as she tried to contain the sudden burst of emotion drawn out of hiding by his scent. Repressed memories tumbled from forgotten recesses, each one accompanied by the pain of rejection. It was far too easy to remember how much she'd loved him when he was standing so close, with the smell of his flesh urging her to touch.
"I …" was all she managed before a fresh volley of gunfire shook the room. Draco grabbed her to him, his arms wrapping protectively around her head. Enveloped in his warmth and surrounded by the heady, rich scent of his sweat, Hermione nearly returned the embrace, wanting to run her hands round his back and pull him even tighter. But almost as quickly as he'd reacted, he must have realized his foolishness, pushing Hermione away.
After all, she only existed in his head and hardly needed protection. Not from bullets, anyway.
"Damn it. What are you doing here, Hermione?" he asked again after he'd crossed the room and sat on the edge of a twin bed covered in threadbare sheets. The shoddiness of the room was shocking considering the occupant, but there was no time to dwell on the deficiencies of his surroundings.
"I know what's going on and I know what you're looking for. You came to me last night holding the remains of Voldemort's magic. I thought you needed my help."
Draco flopped back on the bed, pressing palms to his eyelids as he let out a low moan.
"I never meant for you to see that," he sighed. "I thought our connection had been broken."
Hermione had expected relief or maybe even gratitude, but Draco's reaction produced a well-worn ache of rejection, making her wish she'd never made the effort to find him. Defenses engaged, she considered shooting back an angry retort and leaving him to his fate. But the possibility of quitting now, especially after everything that had happened, was worse than the potential cut of his words.
"Well, I did see it, and now I know," she said a little more harshly than she'd planned. Taking a hesitant step forward, Hermione tried to read Draco's expression and noticed his jaw clenching the way it always did when he was searching for the exact thing to say. The last time it had been Mudblood, and she'd Disapparated before he could see the wound his words had cut across her heart.
She'd had three years to regret that decision and wasn't about to make the same mistake now.
"Did you really think you could do all of this by yourself? You could have come to me," she said, willing her voice to remain steady. "I would have helped you."
Draco bolted upright, his angular face turned down in a snarl. "I'm not sure what you think you know, but I don't want nor do I need your help. As a matter -"
"Give up, Draco!" Hermione shouted, not wanting to waste any more time dancing around the topic. "I've spoken to Lucius. I know what they're making you do -"
"Damn it, Hermione," Draco said, shooting off the bed to pace across the room then back again. "Can't you ever, for once in your life, mind your own fucking business! Lucius is a -"
"Lucius is dead," Hermione said softly, not at all surprised when Draco words fell off as he stared vacantly at the floor. After several seconds of heavy silence, she was about to offer some sort of condolence, but yelped instead when Draco stormed across the room and clamped a pair of iron fists upon her upper arms.
"Are you certain? Because even if you found a body -"
"I'm certain!" Hermione cried as she shrugged off his bruising hands and took a step back. "Harry told me they found him dead alongside two guards. How much more certain do you want it?"
"No," Draco said as he resumed his pacing across the ancient carpet. "No, no, no!"
"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said, lifting a hand to reach out to him but snatching it back instead. "I know how tragic this is, especially after finding out the truth about your mother's death."
The mattress groaned as Draco dropped onto it. When he looked up, his face was pinched in such a confusing mix of anger, fear and sadness that Hermione didn't know whether to offer comfort or run.
"You don't understand. Lucius -"
Hermione blinked, opening her eyes to find herself alone in darkness with the sound of exploding glass fading in her ears. For a split second, she thought she'd been blinded by a stray bullet, but sitting up, she discerned the shape of overstuffed furniture and realized that the noise of the city had been replaced by the soft chirping of crickets.
Her connection with Draco had been broken and she'd woken up back in Wales. Which meant that he had either been awakened too, or ...
No, she couldn't even think of the latter possibility. Draco wasn't stupid. He would have warded the room before falling asleep. Swinging her legs off the bed, she got up and marched straight over to her bag.
Stripping out of her bed clothes, she took a swig of Polyjuice Potion and chased it with a healthy dose of Invigoration Draught. Sleep would have to wait until a more convenient time.
Draco might not want her help, but he damn-well needed it. And she wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she didn't live up to certain expectations …
********
Part 2
ferretbush_post is the account the mods use to post the gifts. It has not created any of the gifts.
Author: Grander
Rating: Art - G, Fic - PG-13-ish
Recipient: Kyra4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters from it. I have not made any money from the writing of this story.
Words: ~17500
Warning(s): Mild violence, language
Author/Artist Note(s): I want to thank my beautiful and talented betas laurielover1912, ratherbsailing, and W - the beta who shall not be named - for all of their help. Any mistakes that made it through are completely mine! This story kind of got away from me and wanted to be much longer, but I had to end it somewhere! Kyra4 - You asked for emotion, drama, tension, snark, angst, but not tragedy, and I think this story fits the bill. I hope you enjoy it!
Summary: The story's a bit of a mystery, so I'm going to keep the summary vague to avoid spoilers! Draco's in trouble, and the only person who can help him is Hermione. What will she risk to save the man who broke her heart?
********
The wind tore at the crag like a beast driven mad by an unyielding master. Hermione pulled up her collar, but the cold pierced through her meager jacket, chilling her straight to the bone.
Scraps of moonlight filtered through the fog, but there was barely enough to light her way as she advanced toward the sound of crashing surf. The edge of the cliff threatened at every step, but she couldn't stop. Her legs burned with a power not her own, forcing her body, however unwilling, to heed its call.
Lightning cracked over a storm ravaged-sea, illuminating a tower rising towards the sky and a man standing at the precipice.
Draco
The strong, salt air whipped his long hair into a brilliant white frenzy that framed a bone-thin face stretched taut by years and anguish. He reached out for her, but she suddenly was unable to move. Opening her mouth, she wanted to call out to him, but even her voice was lost, ripped from her throat by a torrent of wind.
Tears blurred his form. Draco was so close, but he remained just out of reach.
An object appeared atop his palm: a serpent swallowing a pearl of light. Its image seared into her mind, and she couldn't drag her eyes away. Life pulsed within, demanding that she come closer, but her stubborn legs refused to obey.
Draco closed his fist, and Hermione finally wrenched her eyes free. He was trying to say something, but his words were lost as well. A warning darkened his eyes, but of what, Hermione couldn't tell. Fresh tears wet her cheeks as he began to disintegrate, his outstretched hand turning to dust. Wind swirled at his feet, pulling his body apart as it climbed in a slow, undulating funnel.
"Draco, no!" Hermione shouted, finally finding her voice even though she knew it was too late.
The funnel picked up speed until all that was left of Draco was a churning cloud which slowly unraveled as it was drawn out to sea.
********
Hermione winced as the click of her heels echoed off the obsidian walls of Azkaban prison, the clatter eliciting a gap-toothed grin from the guard waiting at the lift. The bastard could have warned her to perform a Silencing Spell before he took her wand. The racket she was sending up would alert the entire prison that a woman was visiting, and it didn't come as a surprise when the first wolf whistle drifted down from above.
"We don't get too many ladies around here," the guard said as he dragged his eyes over Hermione's body, his gaze lingering a bit too long over certain parts of her anatomy. "And the ones we do get don't wear nothin' as fancy as wot you got on."
Hermione took a deep breath, stifling the urge to knock the leer off his face with her fist. She probably should have worn a more sensible shoe and was definitely kicking herself for not having gone with trousers, but the guard's demeanor was inexcusable. He'd obviously never heard of Hermione Jean Granger.
"Officer Humbold," Hermione said, her clipped, officious tone stealing the mirth from his grin, "do you accost all female visitors to Azkaban with such outright lechery? Minister Shacklebolt has assured me that the old practices that proved so damaging to the Ministry's reputation had been rectified. Perhaps I should take him up on his offer to oversee the operations here to ascertain whether or not he's been properly informed."
The guard's mood visibly plummeted with every word that came out of Hermione's mouth. While she didn't take pleasure in throwing around the weight of her Ministry contacts, truth be told, her nerves had been on edge all morning. The last thing she needed was some letch on a power trip adding to her troubles.
The new practice of allowing visitors at Azkaban had been beneficial to everyone's morale, guard and prisoner alike. However, the new crop of Death Eater groupies had proved troublesome, and not just logistically. It dawned on Hermione as she and the guard traveled in silence up to the maximum-security level that she'd probably been mistaken for one of the tarts who'd been polluting the Ministry with their requests for visiting privileges. Most of them never requested another visit after the first; it seemed the ambience of Azkaban had a direct effect on the intensity of their undying affections. The Ministry's new attitude of reform and reconciliation required a certain degree of transparency, and so was obliged to honor each new request made by anyone dumb enough to actually volunteer a trip to the prison. But regardless of who the guard thought she was, if the treatment she'd just received was indicative of the norm, then the practice - and the guards - would be coming under renewed scrutiny.
When the lift doors slid open, Officer Humbold wasted no time exiting, and Hermione was given reason number two of the morning for regretting her choice of footwear as she struggled to match the guard's pace.
Steeling her spine, Hermione quickened her step and tried not to inhale too deeply the stench of human filth thickening the air. If this meeting hadn't been so urgent, she would have arranged to have had it take place at the Ministry. However, that would have come with its own set of problems, namely questions about why she wanted the prisoner transferred in the first place. It's not as if she could explain to her superiors the real reason why she needed to see one of Azkaban's most notorious residents. Making the trip out to the prison herself cut through layers of red tape and was worth a short amount of discomfort. No matter how god-awful that discomfort smelled.
Channeling all her concentration towards memorizing the path Humbold was cutting through the labyrinthine corridors had the happy side effect of blocking out all other sensory input. The only thing worse than having to traverse the maze of Azkaban alongside a disgruntled guard would be getting lost without him. And Hermione didn't entirely trust her lumbering friend to wait around and see her safely back to the lifts.
After what felt like an eternity, Humbold stopped at an unbroken stretch of wall and removed his wand. The outline of a door burned bright gold as he silently mouthed the words of an incantation, his efforts producing the low rumble of countless gears turning within the stone. With a lurch that vibrated through the rock beneath Hermione's feet, the door popped open. Officer Humbold promptly turned on his heel and didn't offer so much as a "nice day" before loping off down the hall.
A warm current of fresh-smelling air wafted out into the corridor, pulling Hermione towards its source. She hadn't realized just how foul and cold the air had been and couldn't help taking several deep breaths once inside. The harsh light provided by a pair of overhead globes fell in uneven shadows about the room but was concentrated around a rectangular metal table and two chairs, their form suggesting a more clinical use than comfort. A blush of self-consciousness threatened at her cheek when the guard waiting inside the interrogation room - who just half an hour earlier had escorted her from the Ministry to Azkaban and whose name escaped her - let out a snort.
"You wouldn't believe me right now," he said as he stood up from the corner of the table, "but you get used to the smell. Now, why don't you tell me what sort of business you have with this one," he said, punctuating his sentence with a sharp jerk of his thumb towards the prisoner. The prisoner's back was to the door, but even though Hermione couldn't see his face, that swath of blond hair falling down his back - even matted and filthy - was unmistakable.
It only took a moment for Hermione to recover her wits and remember the guard's name. "I don't believe that's any of your concern, Officer Craig. As you know, your orders were to bring the prisoner here and then wait outside until I was finished. What part of that was unclear?"
Craig made no effort to comply but continued staring at Hermione with an incredulous look on his face. The silence stretched out uncomfortably as they squared off. Hermione was taking a huge risk; if Craig pushed for authentication from one her superiors, then she would be completely screwed. Private interrogations of prisoners at Azkaban - away from the prying eyes and gossiping mouths of the guards - were not unheard of, but they required a strict adherence to certain protocols that she just couldn't abide at the moment. As she'd expected, Shacklebolt had signed off on her request without even reading the particulars, and she cringed at the thought of losing his trust should he discover her deceit.
If push came to shove, she'd throw the weight of her name at Officer Craig and hope that was enough to force his hand. However, that would be an absolute last resort. She still had to manage a return trip out of this god-forsaken maze. It wouldn't do to alienate all the guards, war hero or not.
"Have it your way, Miss," he said finally, "but I wouldn't get too close to that mouth of his if I were you. He's been known to bite. And spit."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Once again she questioned her own logic. If only there'd been another way …
"You're not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?" Craig asked as if reading her mind. "Anything happens to either one of you, and I'm the one who gets it."
"I'm hardly known for my stupidity," Hermione answered, feeling like an utter hypocrite. "Thank you, Officer Craig. I'll let you know when I'm ready to leave."
The guard studied the scene for a moment longer as if weighing whether or not to disobey his orders. In the end he just growled, "You're the boss," before slamming the door shut.
It wouldn't do to show any outward sign of fear, so Hermione wiped the sweat from her palms and then marched over to the empty chair, pulled it out with the force of resolution, and sat down. A swell of confidence lifted her spirit as she regarded her foe - head bent to his chest, his strength cowed by manacles at his wrists and chains across his chest. It even crossed her mind that she might be able to pull this off without resorting to more extreme methods, but then Lucius Malfoy informed her otherwise by lifting those steel grey eyes of his and flashing her a cocksure grin.
"Ah, Miss Granger. I thought I smelled Mudblood."
The insult cut deeper than she'd like to admit, and she couldn't help clenching her jaw. Two seconds in front of him and she was an awkward twelve year old again.
Hermione had imagined that Lucius Malfoy be a wasted hulk of his former self by now, but three years in Azkaban had done little more than tangle his hair. He still glowed with the vigor of health, which Hermione realized was most likely due to the prisoner reforms she'd spearheaded as her first official task at the Ministry. It was true - sometimes she really didn't know when to leave well enough alone.
"I haven't come to trade barbs with you, Lucius," she said, delighting in the wrinkles that formed at his eyes when his proper name crossed her lips. "I've come because Draco is in trouble, and I need your help finding him."
Pure hate radiated off Lucius, prompting Hermione to slip a hand within her robe pocket to finger the spare wand she'd secreted for just such a reason. But then his mask of condescension returned, and he let out a harsh laugh.
"You really think I'd help the Ministry find my own son? Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger. I thought you were smarter than that."
"I'm not here as a representative of the Ministry. I'm here because Draco sent me something. Something that will prove to you I'm telling the truth."
Lucius laughed again.
"So now you'd like me to believe that my son is corresponding with a Mudblood? And a Ministry Mudblood, no less? Excuse my mirth, but I never imagined this visit would be so entertaining."
Swallowing back an exasperated sigh, Hermione decided that she needed to take control of this conversation. And the best way to do that would be to shut Lucius up.
"So Draco never told you about the time we spent together?" Hermione asked, relishing the brief flash of shock that registered upon his face. "I'm not entirely surprised, considering your attitude. It wasn't long after the war. He and I both ended up in Australia, though for entirely different reasons. You must know that he was in Australia, at least. I was a bit stunned at how well we got on, but then again, the war had a lot to do with it. You wouldn't believe the things he told me about ..."
The desire for retribution fueled her tongue, even after a niggling doubt sprung up to announce that she should just hex him and get it over with. But it would have been a shame to waste the opportunity to give a captive Lucius Malfoy a piece of her mind. Nevertheless, it did seem a bit like overkill, what with him being shackled and chained and held prisoner. Hermione was about to shut up and get on with what she came to do when Lucius beat her to the punch, interrupting her by loudly clearing his throat.
"You do prattle on, don't you?" he said once she'd quieted. His steel-grey eyes gleamed with a manic sort of energy, and there was an undercurrent of danger in his tone that raised the hackles on Hermione's neck. "I believe I have you to thank for most of the changes instituted here at Azkaban. Conditions are very different from what I remember. For instance, when the Dementors were running things, I never would have been able to procure a key to my restraints."
The clatter of chains falling against stone filled the room, and panic seized Hermione's chest. How could she have been so stupid! She only had an instant to react, but it wasn't enough to unsheathe her wand. Pushing back against the table with her free hand, she watched in dumbstruck horror as Lucius Malfoy leapt cat-quick across it.
He struck her dead in the chest, knocking her to the floor. Head smashing against the stone, Hermione was still seeing stars when Lucius landed on her stomach with such force that he drive the wind from her lungs. Her hips came up almost automatically as she tried to dislodge his weight, but he was heavier by at least five stone and made short work of her struggles. Hermione felt like ragdoll when he took hold of her arms and flipped her over onto her belly, his body stretching out over hers and keeping her flush against the floor. The week-long Auror self-defense seminar flashed through Hermione's head, but she couldn't even move let alone stop Lucius' forearm from snaking under her throat to cut off her supply of air and blood.
"Three years I've spent in hell for a murder I didn't commit," Lucius hissed as he applied even more pressure to her neck. "If I'm to spend the rest of my life here, I might as well carry out the deed."
Pinpricks of light burst behind Hermione's eyelids as her fingers found his arm and scraped at his flesh. Calculating the seconds left until unconsciousness, she abandoned trying to pry him from her throat and fumbled wildly for her pocket. Muttering a hoarse "Accio wand" with her last breath, Hermione could have cried when the wand pried itself from the between her and the floor and flew to her hand. Pointing it at Lucius' arm, she sent off a Revulsion Jinx and prayed her aim had been true.
A blessed rush of air filled her lungs when Lucius was catapulted across the room. The jinx wouldn't last long, so she rolled over, pointing her wand just in time to catch Lucius springing to his feet. Water streamed from Hermione's eyes as she coughed and sputtered, and a variety of painful hexes sped through her mind before she shouted "Petrificus Totalus!"
Lucius froze with a snarl on his face and his body tensed to pounce. The position left him off-kilter; he fell over, his shoulder making a dull thud when it hit the floor.
Gathering her wits, Hermione cast a Healing Spell on her bruised neck and nearly gave in to the urge to kick Lucius square in the bollocks. It was only when her pulse had fallen back to normal and she was thinking clearly that it dawned on her that Officer Craig should have heard at least some of the commotion and come to check on her.
Pushing that thought from her mind, she set herself to the task of dealing with a petrified Lucius Malfoy.
********
Ten minutes and several spells later found Lucius Malfoy returned to his chair with all restraints reattached and looking none the worse for wear. Hermione considered conjuring a gag as well, but she needed information and so would have to deal with whatever came out of his mouth.
"Isn't it illegal to secret a wand into Azkaban?" Lucius asked when she finally unfroze his tongue, his casual tone betraying none of his homicidal rage. "Be careful, Miss Granger, or I might just develop some respect for you."
Hermione was beyond caring what he thought and rolled her eyes at the slight.
"Well, I was fairly certain you wouldn't help me out of the kindness of your heart. I really was serious when I told you Draco was in trouble. Urgency dictated my actions, not a desire to cast spells on you."
Surprisingly, Lucius didn't answer immediately. Pursed lips and a furrowed brow implied deep thought, though Hermione assumed he was just conjuring up some new variation of insult.
"Even if I was inclined towards helping you," he replied finally, "I doubt I'd be of any assistance. In case you hadn't noticed," Lucius said while wiggling his hands in his restraints, "I've been locked in Azkaban for the past three years. And since Draco hasn't been dropping in for tea to inform me of his whereabouts, I'm afraid that you came all the way out here for nothing. Not that it hasn't been lovely to see you again, of course."
Hermione twisted her wand between her fingers as she considered hexing him at least once for good measure. But the need to get this sorted out as quickly as possible won out over revenge.
"Perhaps you could tell me what you know about this," Hermione said, pulling a scrap of parchment from her cloak pocket and smoothing it out upon the table. "And don't deny it - I know you know what it is."
All pretense fell from Lucius' face when he looked down at the rough sketch of a twisted serpent swallowing a glowing orb.
"How do you know about this?" he asked, and Hermione discerned a tremble in his voice.
"Draco showed it to me last night. I had a vision of him holding it."
Lucius quirked up an eyebrow and scoffed. "You expect me to believe that you're having visions of my son?"
"Do you really think I'd come here and put my life and career at risk if it wasn't true?" Hermione was shocked by the unexpected flare of anger that charged her voice. "And how on earth would I have known about this otherwise?"
"Draco must be dead, then" Lucius said with a sadness that almost made Hermione feel sorry for him. "That's the only way you could have taken it from him."
"He isn't dead," Hermione said, her voice softening ever so slightly. "I would know if he were dead. In my vision, he was standing on the edge of a cliff with that" she said, pointing towards the drawing, "in his hand. And there was a tower behind him perched atop an island in the middle of a raging sea."
"If you're lying to me, witch -"
"I'm not! I wouldn't. Draco and I … we're connected. It's hard to explain, and I'm not sure why he never mentioned it to you, especially after everything that happened," Hermione said in a rush. She didn't feel the slightest bit comfortable confiding her most intimate of secrets to Lucius Malfoy, even if it did have to do with this son. The condensed version would have to do, absent the details sure to make her blush.
"The whole thing is your fault, really, so that's probably why he never told you. It happened at Malfoy Manor after I'd been captured. Remember ordering Draco to perform Legilimens on me while Bellatrix was interrogating Griphook?"
Lucius raised an eyebrow and sunk his eyes back in his head. He'd committed so many horrible deeds that torturing her probably didn't even rate his recollection.
"Well, I remember," she said, careful to keep her voice from rising in indignation. "And if I recall correctly, he begged you to do it yourself because he wasn't sure of his ability, but you muttered something about Draco having to prove his loyalty to Voldemort. I'm not sure what Draco did to the spell, but for a brief moment, his mind was linked with mine. He knew everything - knew that the sword within Bellatrix's vault was a fake and that we were searching for Voldemort's remaining Horcruxes. But I knew something too. I knew that Draco hated Voldemort and that he'd lied for us before and would again."
A scowl crossed Lucius' face when Hermione mentioned Draco's deception, but he held his tongue.
"After that, I would have dreams of your son - extremely vivid dreams, almost like hallucinations, as if he was there in my head again. I just attributed it to the stress of having lived through a war, but when he showed up in Australia, I knew that it wasn't just coincidence. I'd gone there to sort things out with my parents, who were none too happy about having been Obliviated and sent off to live in Sydney, and then one day there was Draco, having a cup of tea at a cafe down the street. It turned out that he was dreaming about me too and had been having visions about where I was living in Australia. We worked out that we weren't just dreaming about each other but experiencing bits of each others' lives. After that, we realized that we could communicate with each other during these dreams."
Hermione took a deep breath and considered telling Lucius the whole truth but quickly decided against it. He had just tried to kill her, so confiding that she'd carried on a nearly year-long affair with his son might not go over so well.
"That's how I know that your son is alive," she said. "What you have to figure out is whether or not you believe that I'm a Mudblood looking for revenge or if I'm someone who cares enough for your son to want to help him."
Lucius' gaze dropped as soon as she finished speaking, his eyes focused on the table as if he was willing himself to see straight through to the floor. When he finally spoke, his voice had an edge of intensity that matched his stare.
"You must do exactly as I say, Miss Granger, and without question. Guards are about to come through that door, and they will kill you for what you just told me. If you value your life, you will lock that door and silence the room."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, trying to digest what he'd just said, which prompted him to let out a low, almost feral growl.
"Now!"
Hermione jumped at his voice and her wand nearly skittered off the table. Lucius was glaring at her with such ferocity that her blood demanded she cower from the sight. He was scared - scared of whomever might be listening in on them right now. A flurry of thoughts fought for purchase - if someone was listening in, then they'd know that she'd brought a wand to Azkaban - but when gears began rumbling in the door, Hermione didn't hesitate to act.
"Colloportus," she shouted at the door. It would have been fairly miraculous timing for the guards to enter just when Lucius told her to lock the door. The coincidence couldn't be ignored. Pouring through her memorized repertoire of spells, she came up with two more locking spells and then surrounded the room with a Silencing Spell. Once the room was properly secured, Hermione finally noticed the shaking of her hands and realized she didn't particularly want to know the secrets Lucius was about to reveal.
"It won't take them long to get through those spells," he said with a scowl, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll knock out any guard that comes through that door."
"You've got to be joking! What I've just done is bad enough, but I'm not about to assault a guard! I'd be thrown in here with you!"
Lucius clicked his tongue in irritation. "You've dealt with a lot today, so I'll excuse your woeful lack of perception. But answer me this: just how, exactly, do you think I was able to procure a key to my restraints?"
Hermione's eyes widened. "You expect me to believe that the guards gave you the key?"
"You've stumbled upon something serious, Miss Granger. The minute you submitted the request to see me, your life was forfeit. While that isn't particularly troubling to me, what you said about Draco has now put his life at risk as well. If I believed for a second that my son wouldn't be better served with you helping him than dead, I'd just let them have your head. As it is, I'll have to suffer with the unfortunate circumstances of your birth and hope for the best. Now sit down and listen carefully. There isn't much time."
The insult barely registered with all the adrenaline buzzing through her system. The war had given her an uncanny instinct for sussing out deception, otherwise she might have been naïve enough to believe that Lucius was lying. Like it or not, what he said made more sense than what was comfortable to admit. No one but the guards could have given him a key to his restraints. But to think that they'd been planning on killing her? That was a bit too much to swallow.
Lucius' glare followed her until she did as he demanded and sat down.
"First, I don't know where Draco is, but I can tell you how to find him. It's a wonder that the Ministry hasn't figured this out already, but I suppose that's what you get for electing an idealistic Minister bound and determined to see only the good in his fellow wizard."
An argument sprang to Hermione's lips, and she nearly launched into a detailed account of Kingsley Shacklebolt's merits compared to the sorry lot of Ministers who'd held the office before him, but Lucius didn't give her a chance.
"Have you ever wondered what happened to all of the dark magic Voldemort accumulated over his lifetime?" Lucius asked, his face and voice infused with the excited energy of one reminiscing over past glories. "Do you think it just evaporated into the ether? Or maybe you'd like to believe that it was dragged down to whatever hell he's currently occupying?"
Hermione's mind raced as she tried to keep up with what Lucius was telling her. If Voldemort could manifest pieces of himself in an Horcrux, then perhaps his essence hadn't been completely destroyed …
No, it was too preposterous. Voldemort was dead. Nothing of him survived. Harry had made sure of that.
"Tell me, have you noticed anything strange happening beyond our shores since Voldemort's death? Beyond even the magical community? Acts of aggression, perhaps, that are extreme even for your lot?"
Lucius' eyes glittered as he waited for Hermione to reach the right conclusion. She wanted to yell at him to just spit it out, but then her thoughts snagged on a headline she'd seen just the day before in a Muggle newspaper. Terrorist bombings were on the rise all over the world, the death tolls in the thousands. A scoff had bubbled to her lips at the headline: Apocalypse Now? Many Religious Scholars Think So.
"It couldn't be," she breathed as understanding bloomed bright and horrific.
"Yes, my dear, naïve, Miss Granger. Voldmort's magic has spread like a disease where it has been condensing into pure malevolence and infecting those most susceptible to it. That object you saw Draco holding was a hardened vestige of Voldemort's magic, a talisman filled with enough evil to poison entire Muggle populations. Normally, I would have loved to watch the Muggles go to war and tear themselves apart from the influence of his magic. But I wasn't the only member of Voldemort's inner circle who understood what was happening, and I couldn't leave the vestiges of his power to fall into such inferior hands.
"My resources put me at an advantage, which didn't sit well with some of my former colleagues who thought me a traitor to the cause and unworthy of Voldemort's remains. And to be perfectly honest, my own arrogance blinded me to their collusion. I considered them a rag-tag group of bitter miscreants, and had no idea the lengths they'd go to see me undone. Which is why I'm currently sitting in shackles for a crime I didn't commit."
"But who are 'they'?" Hermione cried, unable to just sit quietly as ordered. "And what does this have to do with Draco?"
Lucius' face turned down in a scowl. "Our time is limited, so I suggest you shut your mouth and listen," he spat. "While the prosecution used the fact that I'd been Obliviated after Narcissa's death as both proof of a guilty conscience and evidence of my lying nature, my memory had indeed been wiped clean. I believed along with everyone else that Narcissa was dead, and I came to Azkaban armed with only the certainty of my innocence. It wasn't until my life was condemned to hell and my wealth disbursed to my sole heir that they approached Draco.
"Do you know why I believed your story of what happened when Draco used Legilimens on you? It's because he did the same thing to me, courtesy of the Ministry's new policy of allowing female visitors to Azkaban. He came to me Polyjuiced as some trollop and opened his mind to me the way he had done with you. And that's when I realized that Narcissa wasn't actually dead but taken prisoner by my former colleagues. Draco has been ordered to do their bidding, and only when the last of Voldemort's remains have been collected and delivered to them will they free Narcissa.
"Neither of us is foolish enough to believe that they'll actually let her go once Draco is finished his task, and that's why I'm risking everything right now. I'm useless to him in here, but you might be able to help him rescue Narcissa before they kill her. But I must warn you: if you go to the Ministry with what I've just told you, you'll be signing Draco's death warrant. My former colleagues placed enough spying charms on that building that you'll still be finding them all for decades."
Lucius' words swirled in a mad rush around Hermione's head, defying her to prove them false. She'd been more than happy to see Lucius Malfoy sent to prison for murdering his wife, considering it as much a punishment for one crime as for the many for which he'd been granted immunity. Still, she baulked at the idea of anyone being found guilty of a crime they didn't commit.
And it was true that sweeps of the Ministry were still coming up with spy glasses tucked into darkened corners and charmed objects designed to transmit information, though they were mostly confined to unused areas of the Ministry where classified information was unlikely to be shared. But there was always a chance …
"Now what you have to figure out is whether you believe I'm a murderous Death Eater looking for revenge or if I'm a father who cares enough about his son to risk everything to save him."
Hermione nearly winced to hear her own words thrown back at her. A memory flashed of the object sitting atop Draco's palm, of Voldemort's magic reaching out to her, crackling over the space between them, wanting to touch her. If she could feel all of that from just a vision, then what was it doing to Draco?
Believing Lucius wasn't easy. Every fiber in her being was screaming for her to go to Shacklebolt with what she'd just learned and let the Aurors sort it out. But she'd failed Draco once and walked away when he'd needed her most. Just thinking of Draco - of what he'd had to deal with all alone - had always produced such a swell of sadness that she'd considered Obliviation far more often than she'd have liked to admit. But now she was being give a second chance, with Draco's life hanging in the balance.
Ignoring the needling voice of reason playing at the back of her mind warning her that she was about to make a huge mistake, Hermione took a deep breath and then gave Lucius an answer.
"I'm in. What do you want me to do?"
********
Hermione's heels beat a harsh staccato as she marched out of the Ministry's Portkey terminal. There was no telling how much time she'd have before the guards were found tied up alongside Lucius Malfoy, and she needed to get to the Floo network while her Ministry credentials were still good.
It had been easy enough to Stupefy Officers Craig and Humbold once they'd managed to open the door. For all their training, they'd been woefully ill-prepared to react to her deception, which was something she'd make sure to remedy should she come out of this whole ordeal with her career intact, the possibility of which was dwindling with every step.
Hermione hadn't been convinced enough of their murderous intent to leave Lucius untied as he'd demanded. He might love his son, but like he'd said, there was little he could do inside of Azkaban. Leaving two bound and helpless guards to Lucius' mercy would have just compounded Hermione's problems tenfold, especially if he believed them part of the conspiracy that wrongly convicted him. The possibility that there were more than two corrupt guards had given her pause but not enough to set Lucius free. The echo of his indignant screams had reverberated in her ears long after the door was shut and the Silencing Spell claimed his voice.
The guards she'd encountered on the way back to the Portkey Terminal had all looked at her askance, and one had thought to inquire about why she was without escort, but none had prevented her from leaving. And upon arriving back at the Ministry, she'd been greeted as if it were any other day. Only on a normal day she wouldn't have been a complete and utter hypocrite about to throw her entire life away on the word of a Death Eater and convicted murderer.
Resolving to act naturally, Hermione had smoothed her skirts, tried to look irritated and stand-offish, and hoped to get out of the Ministry without seeing anyone who would be able to discern the difference.
Hermione held her breath as the grill clattered open for the lift, but let it out with an audible sigh to find no one else inside. The next stop was the main floor and the Floo network; only a pair of thick metal doors and fifty feet of tiled floor separated her from a clean escape. If she could manage find a place to collect her thoughts, perhaps she could make sense of all that had happened, because ever since her vision of Draco, she'd felt possessed by an energy not her own, and she was beginning to wonder if her desire to help him had been imbued with an undeserved measure of urgency.
The lift doors opened onto a scene that Hermione was all too familiar with: countless witches and wizards coming and going, though without any of the frenetic energy that would indicate a massive breach of security. No, this was just the usual hustle and bustle of the Ministry. Hermione stepped out with a renewed level of calm. She might just make it out of there.
And she did make it as far as the gaudy gold fountain, but at that moment the incoming Floos exploded with Aurors, many fastening belts and robes as if they'd been summoned in various states of undress. Hermione froze, certain they'd all come to participate in her arrest. But she was barely spared a glance as they brushed past to collect into queues for the lifts, ignored by all except for the one Auror who she really, really hoped would just pass on by.
"Hey! Hermione!" called a breathless Harry. "Have you heard the news?"
What news? That I secreted a second wand into Azkanban and used it to knock out and tie up two guards? Nope. Haven't heard a thing.
"No," she said, feigning surprise. "What's going on?"
"A prisoner and two guards were found dead at Azkaban. I heard it was Lucius Malfoy."
A rush of blood clouded Hermione's thoughts, threatening to upend her. "They're dead? But that's impossible! Are you sure?" she asked with such a force of emotion that even Harry noticed.
"That's the rumor," he said with knitted brow as he walked backwards to the lift. "I'll owl you later!"
Harry turned around and ran towards a pair of closing doors, slipping inside just before they shut.
Walling off the whirlwind of emotions that threatened to crumple her to the floor in a fit of tears, Hermione crossed the remaining ten feet to the first available floo. Lucius' words could haunt her later, but at the moment, she couldn't afford to break down.
Stepping into the hearth, she heard her name called from a distance and caught sight of Kingsley's secretary rushing from the lifts, but the green flames were already surrounding her.
In for a penny, in for a pound …
********
Making a mad dash around her flat, Hermione gathered all of her essentials, which basically amounted to grabbing the emergency bag sitting at the back of her closet that she kept packed at all times. The only other bit of business was to charm Crookshanks' bowls to keep them full of food and water. There was no telling how long she'd be gone, and she couldn't very well pop round the neighbors at the moment to ask them to look after her cat. Scratching off a note, she left it sitting on the front table.
"You'll be fine until Aunt Ginny comes to collect you," Hermione said as she bent to pet his orange head. "Try not to be too big of pig, okay?"
All in all, she was quite proud of the speed with which she was ready to flee, but then she heard the telltale sound of an owl's beak at her window and knew it hadn't been enough.
"Shit!" Hermione chewed her lip as she looked between the front door and the Floo. They had probably shut her out of the network by now, which meant that Aurors were either waiting for her outside or on their way. A peek out of the front window confirmed her worst fear: a tall, dark-haired man in mismatched Muggle clothing was walking up her path.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
Her flat was on the second floor, but the sound of a heavy hand beating on the main entrance down below could be clearly heard. The apartment building was warded against Apparation and lock-opening spells, but it would only be a matter of time before one of her neighbors answered the door and let the Aurors in.
Rushing out into the hall, she made for the only exit that made sense. If she could get to the roof, she could Apparate. After that … well, she'd worry about that mess when she got to it.
Straining lungs and burning legs groaned in unison when she reached the upper landing, but Hermione ignored the pain as she unlocked and pushed open the window overlooking the rear roof. A quick glance around the flat, tarred surface didn't reveal any Ministry representatives, so she stepped a leg out and ducked her torso under the sash.
A haze of absorbed heat was rising off the black surface; her heels sank into the soft tar, causing her to curse her choice of footwear for the third time that day. She made up her mind to throw the damned shoes into the first bin she found and was about to quit London entirely when the crack of Apparation sounded at her back.
"Hermione," Harry called, "wait! What are you doing?"
Hermione spun round as best she could on the tacky surface and nearly Stupefied her best friend, but she just couldn't bring herself to say the spell.
"I have to leave," she said, hoping that he wouldn't realize her outstretched wand was just a bluff.
"But what happened? Talk to me! I can help you!"
Lucius' words rang in her ears, warning her that the conspiracy had eyes and ears everywhere and that any Ministry involvement would result in a quick death for Draco and Narcissa. "You can't! I have to do this on my own. Please! You have to trust me, Harry!"
"I do trust you," Harry said as he stepped closed enough to reach out and push down her wand. "But I don't understand. What happened between you and Lucius today? They're saying you must have taken a wand into Azkaban and freed him."
"I didn't free him!" she screamed. A wave of suppressed emotion nearly demolished the thin veil of her composure. She wanted to tell Harry everything and plead for his help, but she couldn't involve him in this. One ruined career was enough. "I would never do that! And I don't believe that he killed those guards. He couldn't have! But I don't have time to explain. You have to let me leave, Harry. A person's life depends on it!"
Hermione had never confided in Harry about her affair with Draco, and right now was not the time to do it. He'd probably arrest her on the spot out of spite.
"What about the lives of those guards?" Harry blurted out in anger. "Do you even care that Lucius tortured them first?"
Nausea turned her stomach to think that her actions caused three deaths, but she couldn't afford to get sick over the dead.
"I don't believe that. Lucius and the guards were tied up and alive when I left," she explained even as she listened for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. "I don't know what happened afterwards, and I'm absolutely sick about it. But you have to believe me when I tell you it was the only way!"
The look on Harry's face - anger mixed with disgust - forced her next move.
"I'm sorry, Harry," she said as she raised her wand.
They shouted their spells almost in unison, but Hermione surprised both of them by being the faster draw. Harry's wand flew from his hand. In the split second before Disapparition whisked her away, Hermione watched a look of profound sadness etch across the planes of Harry's face.
As if her day wasn't bad enough already …
********
"I missed my calling," Hermione muttered as she put the finishing touches on her new passport. "I should have been a bloody criminal from the start."
The grey of twilight filtered through the thin curtains and cast dull shadows across the quaint furniture. Hermione mused that half the Aurors in England would be looking for her right now. But even if they showed up to question the innkeepers, they'd be told that no woman matching Hermione's description was currently renting a room.
For all the teasing she got about her over-preparedness, if she hadn't been so thorough then she might be in Auror custody right now. But truth be told, even she had thought the bottle of Polyjuice Potion to be a bit of overkill until she actually needed it.
As far as the innkeepers were concerned, Mr. Gregory Hampton - one of her neighbors whose hair she'd surreptitiously harvested months ago when she'd first brewed the potion - was checked into their second-floor room, and his money was as good as anyone else's. Hermione hoped they never found out it was fake.
After doctoring her Muggle credentials to match her new persona, Hermione made a mental note to inform the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to update their policies. The Ministry didn't consider it much of a crime to alter Muggle documents or forge Muggle currency. So while it might be impossible to transfigure anything but gold into a galleon, changing ordinary paper into Euros required little effort.
The Polyjuice Potion had worn off about an hour before, and even though she had several doses left, Hermione still planned on using it sparingly. Walking into an Apothecary to procure fresh ingredients would be akin to turning herself in, but it was a moot point anyway. She didn't plan on hiding out in Wales for the two months required to brew a new batch.
The tension that had hardened her muscles into knots started fading as soon as she stretched out upon the mattress. So many emotions had run rampant for the better part of the day that she was left teetering on exhaustion. Add to that the hour she'd spent crying about what an utter fool she'd been for thinking she could do this alone, and by rights, she should be in a coma by now. But Hermione just lay staring at the ceiling, unwilling to let her thoughts slip towards sleep.
She had to find Draco, but her heart dreaded the journey. Three years ago she'd vowed never to go seeking another connection with him, and for three years she'd been preventing it by being vigilant while awake and taking Dreamless Sleep at night. Draco's desire to see her must have been exceptionally strong to have broken through the protection of the draught. Pushing that thought away, as well as the promise it contained, Hermione closed her eyes and let her mind stray.
Her eyes flew open a moment later when the violent discharge of gunfire rang from somewhere close by. The harsh glare of a full sun greeted her, adding to the confusion of the room. Everything was wrong. She'd fallen asleep in a nicely decorated, albeit old-fashioned, bed and breakfast in Cardiff and woken up staring at cracked plaster and a water-stained ceiling. It had been so long since she'd experienced a full-on vision that she didn't immediately recognize the sensation. Her racing heart was sending her straight towards panic, and she couldn't help screaming when a hand closed round her arm and pulled her off the bed.
"What the hell are you doing in my head?" Draco hissed, his grey eyes holding her captive in a gaze suffused with anger and fear.
Hermione was rendered speechless. She'd pushed Draco's memory so far from her thoughts that she'd forgotten what the sight of him could do to her. The image of him beckoning at the cliff side melted and merged into the man standing in front of her; it had been so long since she'd allowed her mind to connect to his, that she reeled from the shock of how tangible he seemed. Draco's previously frenetic hair was smoothed back and tied at the nape, highlighting the hollow under his cheekbones and the sharp edges of his features. Dark circles stood out under his eyes, the color in stark contrast to the porcelain of his complexion.
The sound of shouting drifted up from the street, and Hermione thought it sounded like Spanish, though she couldn't quite make out what they were saying . Her eyes skirted around the shabby room, trying to absorb as much information as the meager furniture and decorations would allow, but Draco's hard stare demanded an answer.
Taking in a breath to speak, Hermione's mouth snapped shut as she tried to contain the sudden burst of emotion drawn out of hiding by his scent. Repressed memories tumbled from forgotten recesses, each one accompanied by the pain of rejection. It was far too easy to remember how much she'd loved him when he was standing so close, with the smell of his flesh urging her to touch.
"I …" was all she managed before a fresh volley of gunfire shook the room. Draco grabbed her to him, his arms wrapping protectively around her head. Enveloped in his warmth and surrounded by the heady, rich scent of his sweat, Hermione nearly returned the embrace, wanting to run her hands round his back and pull him even tighter. But almost as quickly as he'd reacted, he must have realized his foolishness, pushing Hermione away.
After all, she only existed in his head and hardly needed protection. Not from bullets, anyway.
"Damn it. What are you doing here, Hermione?" he asked again after he'd crossed the room and sat on the edge of a twin bed covered in threadbare sheets. The shoddiness of the room was shocking considering the occupant, but there was no time to dwell on the deficiencies of his surroundings.
"I know what's going on and I know what you're looking for. You came to me last night holding the remains of Voldemort's magic. I thought you needed my help."
Draco flopped back on the bed, pressing palms to his eyelids as he let out a low moan.
"I never meant for you to see that," he sighed. "I thought our connection had been broken."
Hermione had expected relief or maybe even gratitude, but Draco's reaction produced a well-worn ache of rejection, making her wish she'd never made the effort to find him. Defenses engaged, she considered shooting back an angry retort and leaving him to his fate. But the possibility of quitting now, especially after everything that had happened, was worse than the potential cut of his words.
"Well, I did see it, and now I know," she said a little more harshly than she'd planned. Taking a hesitant step forward, Hermione tried to read Draco's expression and noticed his jaw clenching the way it always did when he was searching for the exact thing to say. The last time it had been Mudblood, and she'd Disapparated before he could see the wound his words had cut across her heart.
She'd had three years to regret that decision and wasn't about to make the same mistake now.
"Did you really think you could do all of this by yourself? You could have come to me," she said, willing her voice to remain steady. "I would have helped you."
Draco bolted upright, his angular face turned down in a snarl. "I'm not sure what you think you know, but I don't want nor do I need your help. As a matter -"
"Give up, Draco!" Hermione shouted, not wanting to waste any more time dancing around the topic. "I've spoken to Lucius. I know what they're making you do -"
"Damn it, Hermione," Draco said, shooting off the bed to pace across the room then back again. "Can't you ever, for once in your life, mind your own fucking business! Lucius is a -"
"Lucius is dead," Hermione said softly, not at all surprised when Draco words fell off as he stared vacantly at the floor. After several seconds of heavy silence, she was about to offer some sort of condolence, but yelped instead when Draco stormed across the room and clamped a pair of iron fists upon her upper arms.
"Are you certain? Because even if you found a body -"
"I'm certain!" Hermione cried as she shrugged off his bruising hands and took a step back. "Harry told me they found him dead alongside two guards. How much more certain do you want it?"
"No," Draco said as he resumed his pacing across the ancient carpet. "No, no, no!"
"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said, lifting a hand to reach out to him but snatching it back instead. "I know how tragic this is, especially after finding out the truth about your mother's death."
The mattress groaned as Draco dropped onto it. When he looked up, his face was pinched in such a confusing mix of anger, fear and sadness that Hermione didn't know whether to offer comfort or run.
"You don't understand. Lucius -"
Hermione blinked, opening her eyes to find herself alone in darkness with the sound of exploding glass fading in her ears. For a split second, she thought she'd been blinded by a stray bullet, but sitting up, she discerned the shape of overstuffed furniture and realized that the noise of the city had been replaced by the soft chirping of crickets.
Her connection with Draco had been broken and she'd woken up back in Wales. Which meant that he had either been awakened too, or ...
No, she couldn't even think of the latter possibility. Draco wasn't stupid. He would have warded the room before falling asleep. Swinging her legs off the bed, she got up and marched straight over to her bag.
Stripping out of her bed clothes, she took a swig of Polyjuice Potion and chased it with a healthy dose of Invigoration Draught. Sleep would have to wait until a more convenient time.
Draco might not want her help, but he damn-well needed it. And she wouldn't be Hermione Granger if she didn't live up to certain expectations …
********
Part 2
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