CHAPTER 2

The first thing Hermione was conscious of was a bright flash of white light.

It burnt through her eyelids, coloring them blood-red, and she instinctively threw an arm over her face. Her muscles moved stiffly, and something in her neck snapped at the sudden movement. She winced with pain, and then wondered where she was. Opening her eyes cautiously, she blinked twice and then looked around.

She was lying down on the floor of a small room. As she twisted her neck, she caught sight of the door slamming shut, and the hem of someone's robes whipping past it. There came a grating noise of a bolt being drawn, and she realized that she was trapped. She sat up, and pressed her palms against her temples as bits and pieces of her memory came back to her. She had been at the tavern, with Ron, and then she had gone to the bathroom, and walked in on-

Her eyes widened and she sat up very straight.

She turned her head to one side with some difficulty and eyed the room. It was little, with cement flooring, and plain whitewashed walls. A small table and chair set sat in the far corner, and an electric fan was nailed to the wall. She did a quick scan: no windows, no vents, and no other way to get out of it.

'Alright,' she muttered to herself. The sound of her own voice had a calming effect on her: the silence of the room had been vaguely alarming. 'You don't have your wand and you're locked in- go over to that table and check its drawers.'

She tried to hoist herself to her feet, but let out a muffled yelp of pain as the weight fell on her twisted ankle. She had entirely forgotten that she had wrenched it, but judging from the splinters that were racing through the bones, it wasn't very much better. Someone had taken off both her heels, and she could see that it was swollen dramatically. She groaned, wishing she had her wand with her at least to heal herself. She cast a determined look towards the table, and then pressed her palms against the floor, inching her way across it on her bum till she got to the wall. Her fingers groped across the splintered, white-washed surface from cracks, and then used them to brace herself into a standing position.

'Okay,' she murmured, firmly. 'Now, simply make your way to the table. Come on, you know you can.'

She subjected it to another intense look, and then began to slide across the wall, hopping ridiculously on one leg. Her back was pressed up against the powdery surface, and she was sure she was getting white dust all over the back of her jacket.

Oh, yes, Hermione, because that's what you should be worrying about right now.

She heaved a sigh of relief as she crossed the corner to the table, and rested her thighs against it, trying to soothe the pain that was throbbing in her ankle. The backs of her hands brushed against the wood, and she bent forward a little, opening the small drawers under the top. The first one had nothing but paper clips, staples, and a punch. She considered unwinding a paper clip and trying to pick the lock of the door, but then remembered that it was bolted and shook her head.

The second drawer had a small sheaf of papers, stapled together. Biting her lip, Hermione pulled the first one out, and flipped over it. It seemed to be a list of cities- mostly in Eastern countries- with corresponding numbers beside them. Wondering vaguely whether she had stumbled into the operations of a spy organization, she put it back and opened the third drawer.

In which she found a revolver.

Hermione's eyes widened, as she saw it. It was a dark metal, gleaming almost black. It was tucked into a nest of cloth that she realized was a crumpled up jacket, and a small piece of checked material that transpired to be a scarf. She stared at it for a few moments, afraid to even touch it.

She was just about to close the drawer, certain she'd never be able to hold a gun, when she heard light footsteps outside her room. Instinctively, her fingers closed around the butt of the revolver- wincing when she felt the sharp coldness of the metal- and a second later, she had dropped it into the wide pockets of her trousers. She slid the drawer shut, slumped to the floor, and made her way to the center of the room before the bolt was drawn back and the door opened.

She recognized the man standing at the door. With his hood removed, Joel transpired to have wispy auburn hair, a fox-like face, and narrow dark eyes. His robes were slightly askew, and he observed her with the same sense of contemplation that she had noticed before.

'Who are you?' she asked, pleased to realize her voice was steady this time. The cold lump of the revolver against her thigh gave her surprising confidence. 'Why did you bring me here?'

He didn't answer. Instead, he stepped into the room, and leaned forward. One of his arms gripped her forearm, and Hermione flinched, but before she could do anything he had slung another one under her armpit, and hauled her to her feet. She winced as she gingerly tested the weight of her body on her ankle- she wasn't sure if she could walk- but the next moment he had picked her up and shrugged her into a more comfortable position in his arms.

Hermione didn't wriggle too much. She knew he was having a little difficulty carrying her, and thought that causing him to drop her probably wasn't the smartest move. Besides, she didn't want to alert him to the fact that she currently had a revolver in her pocket. Instead, she remained very stiff as he walked out of the room and kicked the door shut with his foot. It was only when he started traipsing down a wide, short corridor, that she remarked, a little curtly, 'You know, if you just healed my ankle, I could walk perfectly well myself.'

'That's what I'm worried about,' said Joel.

Hermione blinked with surprise. She hadn't really expected him to answer, but he seemed comfortable enough. The corridor had ended and dissolved into a large room with an oval table and chairs dotted around it. She looked around, but once against couldn't find windows. The room was dim and cool, with brisk silver fittings, and the chairs were upholstered in comfortable black. She glanced back at Joel, and then decided to try her luck.

'Where am I?' she asked.

He chuckled. 'Do you really think I'm going to tell you that?'

'Why have you brought me here?'

He glanced down at her, and then walked across to one the chairs. Tipping her lightly into it, he said, 'Now we wait.'

'For what?' asked Hermione. She received no reply. Annoyed, and not a little frightened, she folded her arms across her chest, and said, 'How long have I been out?'

This time, he answered. 'Six hours.' he said.

She did a quick calculation. 'So it's three in the morning?'

'Could be.'

'How did you get me out of the tavern? When are you letting me go?'

'Stop asking so many questions.' For the first time he sounded annoyed, and Hermione decided to let it drop. She bent down, and let her fingers brush lightly against her ankle. It was painfully stiff and sore, not helped my the fact that without her shoes her feet were cold.

Joel had turned his back to her, and instead, was arranging a sheaf of papers on the table. Hermione wondered whether she could get out of the room before he noticed, but ruefully abandoned that thought. She could barely walk, and besides, she was nakedly wandless. Instead, she tried to crane her neck as subtly as she could and catch a glimpse of the papers he was arranging. As far as she could make out, it was a list of words with numbers along side them, like the ones she had found in the desk.

Steps sounded in the corridor, and both Hermione and Joel looked up. Joel clicked his tongue with satisfaction, and crossed the table, taking the seat directly opposite Hermione. She felt her throat contract with fear, and let her hand drop quietly to the bulge in her pocket: the revolver was strangely comforting.

Long shadows crossed into the room, and three figures entered.

Hermione eyed them carefully. As far as she could make out, all three were unknown to her. Two of them were tall, with messy crops of dark hair. The third was a little shorter and stockier, and he wore a baseball cap low over his face. Unlike the others, who were in robes, he was dressed in a ridiculously large tee shirt and jeans. Hermione sniffed with disgust.

They entered the room and took their seats silently. The boy in the baseball cap eyed Hermione speculatively, but the other two ignored her presence. They had leaned over the table, and were talking in hushed voices with Joel.

'-end up being the biggest catastrophe,' said the first man. Hermione noticed that both looked very alike, and had similar expressions of concern and anxiety etched across their faces. She wondered if they were brothers.

'I don't think so,' replied Joel. 'What you've got to understand, Robin, is that it was a spur of the moment decision.'

Neither Robin nor his brother- if that was what he was- looked pleased. 'And he really said it would work out?'

'He seemed pleased. I think he knows her.'

Hermione pricked her ears up.

'How on earth-?'

'Nothing definite he told me, I just got the idea, is all. And not in an impersonal way, either. When I told him her name, he sort of blinked and nodded.'

'And he really thinks that she can be useful?'

'He seems to.'

'I don't believe it.' Robin's eyes flickered towards her, and then back to Joel. 'She doesn't look like the useful kind. More like the type of corporate floozy in a cocktail party, or-'

'Excuse me,' said Hermione, loudly. All the occupants of the table started and looked at her. Well, she thought, furiously, that was their problem. She might be scared and clueless as to where she was, but they had no business talking about her as though she weren't there.

'Are you talking about me?' she asked, coldly.

Joel blinked.

'I thought I told you not to ask so many questions.' he said.

'That was before you started discussing me without even including me in the conversation!'

The boy in the cap raised his eyebrows. Robin frowned. 'This does not concern you-' he began, in a pompous manner, but Hermione cut him off.

'I'm afraid it does.'

'We weren't talking about you.'

'I don't believe that. You've brought me here against my own will, and you're nothing but a bunch of cowardly murderers! Now, either you explain to me what the fuck is going on, or you let me go, and I-'

She had been working herself up into a proper temper, which was mirrored in their faces. But as she spoke, she saw their anger slowly fade, and be replaced by an expression of deference and nervousness. Her voice trailed off, and she stared at them.

'Well, what's wrong? Of all the lily-livered little-'

'Excuse them, Granger, but they've never shown the best of courage.'

Hermione whirled around in her seat, and instinctively tried to bolt to her feet. Her twisted ankle crumpled, she let out a little shriek as she lost her balance and fell to the floor. In the split second it took her to fall she was conscious of a tall, lean figure dressed in black, and bright, flame colored hair, and the next thing she knew her shoulder was crashing into the ground, and a wave of pain was spreading across her torso.

'Son of a BITCH!'

She swore loudly as the pain peaked. Her ear was pressed against the floor, and she heard someone take quick steps towards her. Suddenly, cool hands were moving across her arms, gripping her shoulders tightly and helping her sit up. Supple fingers found the gap between her collarbone and the lapels of her jacket and pressed into the skin, numbing the pain a little. She blinked hard, trying to dispel the tears that had gathered from the pain, and then looked blearily up.

A pale face swum in and out of focus. Whoever it was was crouched on the ground beside her. One of his hands was snug between her shoulder blades, supporting her back, and the other was continuing its soothing movements at the base of her neck. She blinked up at the person a few more times, and caught sight of a wide brow, a long slender nose, and a supple mouth that hovered above an aggressive chin. Dark gray eyes, the color of old iron, inspected her shoulder. She looked up at his ridiculously bright hair, and at the same time, remembered his voice from before, and then it clicked.

'You!'

She gasped, and her eyes widened. She tried to inch away from him, but his hand closed down on her wrist, and Draco Malfoy stared angrily down at her.

'That's not exactly polite, Granger.' he said, a touch rebukingly. 'I am trying to help you, after all.'

'I don't need your help!' she snapped. She was suddenly very aware of how cold his hand was around her wrist, and felt a wave of disgust. Her face curved into a snarl, and she tried jerking her arm from his.

Malfoy looked amused. 'Relax,' he said. 'You're shoulder's bruised. I'll see to that in a moment. For now, will you please stop wriggling around so that I can pick you up and put you on a chair?'

'Don't TOUCH me,' Hermione snarled, but he was already fixing his arms around her back and lifting her. He carried her to the chair she'd been on and helped her into it. Hermione fixed a scowl on her face, glaring up at him as he stepped back and inclined his head towards the others at the table.

Her mind was working furiously. What was Draco Malfoy doing here? Was he the elusive "he" that Joel had been talking about? Did he have something to do with the murder she had just seen? And more importantly, what the hell did he want with her?

The four people seated at the table had nodded towards Malfoy with expressions of respect. Hermione stared at them in disgust. Joel had stood up, and indicated the papers he had been arranging.

'That's the reports from Hong Kong,' he said, 'The ones you wanted in detail. I got Feng to send them to me. He's a little pissed, by the way.'

'That's his problem,' said Malfoy, curtly. 'Not a big deal, anyway. If it gets worse, bring it up in the next meeting. I called this one solely for Granger's benefit.'

All eyes turned to her, but her expression remained mutinous. Joel looked faintly anxious, and the baseball cap boy raised his eyebrows even further up. Robin looked annoyed.

'Draco, I wanted to talk to you about that.'

'Her,' said Draco, mildly. Robin blinked.

'Her, then. Are you sure bringing her here was the right thing to do?'

'I should think so,' said Draco. His voice remained neutral, but Hermione detected a hint of anger behind his words. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she surveyed him.

'Draco, I-'

'Robin, keep quiet for a moment. We'll talk about your problems later. First, I think Granger has a right to know why she was brought here.'

'And,' Hermione interjected, coldly. 'Where here really is.'

Malfoy's eyes turned towards her, and rested on her face.

'Right,' he said, with the beginnings of a smile. 'Where here really is.'

The rain was trickling down to a drizzle by the time Ron eased his car into the parking lot of the Ministry's Muggle Entrance. His movement's were quick and frantic as he cut the engine and raced out of the car. It was late enough that the lobby was relatively empty, and he rushed to the elevators, conscious of every second that passed. The elevator doors rattled as he slammed them shut and jabbed at the button. It's movements seemed unnaturally slow today; he hopped up and down on his heels as it travelled to the fourth floor, and then dashed out the minute the doors opened.

His blood pounded in his ears as he raced down the corridor, and skidded to a stop beside a door that was marked, Harry Potter, Vice-President, Sub-Division C, Auror Department. He knocked impatiently on the door.

Harry's voice sounded annoyed. 'Come in.'

He yanked the door open and strode into the room. Despite the fact that it was almost one in the morning, Harry was sitting at his desk with the lamp on. Scores of papers were scattered around him, and he was inking them with his signature. He looked up as Ron entered, and his impatient expression was replaced with one of concern.

'Ron? What are you doing here? What-'

Ron cut him off. 'It's Hermione.' he said. 'I can't find her.'

Harry frowned. 'Is that it? I'm sure she's gone out for a late night drink, or something. In the morning-'

'No, Harry, you don't understand,' said Ron, interrupting him again. 'We were having dinner at the tavern, and she went to the bathroom and never came back.'

Harry blinked.

'What? When was this?'

Ron bit his lower lip. 'About nine,' he admitted.

Harry glanced at his watch. 'Ron- it's past midnight!'

'I know! I waited for ages. I thought she might need a minute alone, you know. We were talking about some- stuff. Anyway, after about twenty minutes, I went to the loo, and then combed out that entire fucking tavern. I even got the keeper to open some of the rooms upstairs to check if she was there. I thought maybe she'd got upset and just left, but she'd left her bag at the table and her car keys were in it. So I drove around for a while looking for her on the road- I went right up to the crossroads, in fact.'

Harry ground his nails into his palm, trying to curtain his frustration. It annoyed him sometimes, how little Ron understood Hermione. She wasn't the type to lose her mind and do stupid things. If she had really gotten so upset that she wanted to leave, she would calmly apparated out of there- without leaving her handbag behind. It was that more than anything else that convinced him that something was wrong.

He stood up and ran his hands through his hair.

'Fine,' he said, 'Fine- here's what we're going to do. I want you to go to the tavern and make sure that nobody leaves it, and that the washroom is left untouched, so that we can check it for magical traces. I'll call a team, register a case, and be there in ten minutes.'

Author's Note: Well? What do you think? It was a little disappointing, because when I read over it over, it seemed a little boring, which is not how I want Draco to enter the story. I tried rewriting it a couple of times, and now I'm a little happier.

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