A/N- This is a tiny bit longer than the other chapters, I hope you enjoy! And Amy, Ginny/Virginia makes a brief appearance, hah! Also, major thankees to everyone who reviewed, gave me ideas, whatever! Draco Ginny Fan Fic and hpfics- thanks for putting up with my incessant, highly eccentric ramblings.
Draco- More like mad mutterings.
Shut up, you. ::mutters about the inability of Slytherin muses::
Draco- I heard that.
::ahem:: Anyway, enjoy! Oh, and leave a BIG ol' honkin' review in the little box!
The Search
Chapter Four: In-Laws, Out-Laws, and No-Laws
Saturday morning, 10:35
"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you're kidding."
"I can't lie, Penny."
"Tell that to your husband. How long has she been missing?"
"Since last night, I think. I've been calling family all morning."
"Don't go running after her like amateur sleuths, the way you three did in college. Percy wanted to ring your necks."
"Harry's a professional detective, Penny, and what else is Ron supposed to do? You know he and Virginia were close as kids. He feels awfully guilty about all this."
"Well, I would too. Have you called Mom?"
"Molly? No, I was saving her for last. Give the clan my love, will you Penny? And don't tell the kids, it's bad enough with the adults worrying, never mind having a bunch of six-year-olds in hysterics."
"All right, Hermione. I'll talk to you later."
Hermione said good-bye to her sister-in-law and hung up the phone. She gave a heavy sigh and raked a hand through her hair. She was used to playing mental ring-around-the-rosy with investors and clients of all mental plateaus, but running the family gauntlet with bad news in hand always left her brain feeling withered and unresponsive.
"Who next…" She ran a finger down the hastily scribbled list of names on a stray paper napkin Ron had left on the kitchen table the night before. Bill and Enid knew all about it, she'd called them first. Charlie was out of the country, so Hermione had skipped him. Penny and Percy knew, obviously. So did George and Marisa. No one knew where Fred was- always the black sheep of the family, he'd disappeared eight months previous and no one had seen hide nor hair of him since, least of all his ex-girlfriend Angie, who was still extremely mad at him for pulling a Houdini on her.
The only ones left were Molly and Arthur Weasley. They lived about an hour south of Ron and Hermione's house. Hermione momentarily toyed with the idea of driving to their house to drop the bomb in person.
"Ron, would your parents react better if we told them about Virginia in person?" Hermione called absently, fiddling with her pen.
Ron didn't answer. Frowning slightly, Hermione put down the pen and walked into the front room. It was empty.
"Ron?"
"In here." Ron's voice was slightly muffled, but Hermione was able to follow it.
Ron was sitting on the floor on the den, flipping through an old family photo album. Hermione crouched next to him, curiously looking over his shoulder.
It was Ron's old album, the one he'd had when he'd suddenly found an interest in candid photography in high school. He'd given it up in favor of sports, but he still had all his photographs.
The current page was covered in pictures of Virginia just after the last practical joke Fred had played on her. Her hair was bright blue, sticking out in all directions, tears of laughter on her face.
"That was a long time ago, wasn't it," said Ron, his voice sounding oddly detached. "It's weird, how things can change so much."
He was drifting through the lovely place called Memory Lane, that was obvious. But Hermione knew him well enough to read all his emotions like an open book.
"Stop blaming yourself. She's a big girl, she can take care of herself."
"I know that, Hermione," said Ron, sounding vaguely irritated. "But if I hadn't started ignoring her so much, I might have found out when she got in over her head."
"I'd say that happened last night. There's not that much you can do about this."
Ron looked up at Hermione; skepticism mixed with a trickle of anger and about fifty tons of determination on his tan, freckled face. "We got her back before, Hermione. We can do it again."
"Virginia did half the work that time. Riddle isn't going to let her get away this time around."
"And I'm not going to let him keep her, either."
Hermione wanted to help too, but this was ludicrous! Ron thought he was going to just march into Riddle's headquarters and demand to have his baby sister back, and they'd just hand her over.
"You're a minor league baseball player, Ron!" cried Hermione, exasperated. "I'm an investment broker, for crying out loud! How could we possibly track down the most elusive terrorist on the planet?"
"We've done it before," said Ron stubbornly.
"So?!"
Ron cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Fine. We'll go save your sister," said Hermione, annoyed, knowing she wasn't going to win no matter what she did. Which was frustrating, as Ron wasn't even arguing. "Just don't blame me if your get your head blown off."
"I thought it was your job to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Being backup for you is like asking for death by firing squad, honestly Ron. Look, what are we going to do about your parents? We have to tell them some time."
Ron shrugged. "You're the one telling everyone." He cringed at the sharp look his wife gave him.
"I'm going to tell them in person, and you're going to come with me," said Hermione. "Let's go."
* * *
Saturday, 12:05
Molly Weasley looked critically at the rolls through the oven door. They weren't quite done, she could tell by just looking at them.
Someone knocked on the door. Molly straightened quickly and walked out of the kitchen, past her sleeping husband in the living room, and to the front door.
Quickly wiping her floury hands off on her apron, she grasped doorknob and pulled the door open. "Oh, hello!" said Molly, startled, when she saw her son and his wife standing on the porch.
"Hey, Mum," said Ron. "How is everything?"
"Lovely. Come in, come in." She stepped back to allow the couple entrance.
"Where's Arthur?" asked Hermione curiously, looking around the entry hall.
"He fell asleep on the sofa." Molly closed the door and began taking off her apron. Cooking could wait.
"What're you cooking?" asked Ron wandering into the kitchen.
"Bread, in various forms. Would you like a slice, dear?"
"No, but thanks anyway."
"If you're sure, dear." Molly placed a bowl of bread dough in the refrigerator and hung her apron over the back of a kitchen chair. She gestured for her son to follow her into the living room.
"Arthur, wake up," coaxed Molly, prodding her husband's shoulder. He batted her hand away and snored on.
"Let me handle it," said Hermione, with an eerie sort of detached-looking smile. Ignoring her mother-in-law's questioning look, she stood in front of the sofa. Then, before anyone could stop her, she grabbed Arthur's foot and wrist and yanked him off the sofa.
Thump!
Arthur let out a yelp of surprise, snapping instantly into awareness. Molly gave Hermione a scandalized look.
"Was that really necessary, dear?"
"This isn't the time for coaxing, Molly, we need him awake and perfectly aware," said Hermione, ignoring Molly's horrified look. Ron easily read Hermione's actions as being those of a woman frazzled to her nerve's end, with absolutely no patience left. Hermione rarely got this way, except after dealing with a very stubborn investor or with her boss, but only then in exceptionally rare cases. He determined to steer clear of her the rest of the day.
Arthur stood, running his hands through his almost non-existent red and gray hair. "What on earth are you two doing here?" he asked, seeing Ron and Hermione.
"Yes, why did you drop by?" asked Molly. "We're rather out of the way, you know."
Ron took a deep breath, taking leadership of the crazy situation. Hermione was a bit too stressed to take anymore of all this.
"We've a bit of bad news," said Ron hesitantly. "You might want to sit down, at least then you'll pass out on something soft," he joked feebly. Molly and Arthur both took a seat on the sofa. Hermione took a perch on the armchair.
Ron nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "It's about Virginia," he said, trying to break it gently.
"What about her?" asked Molly cautiously, her eyes darting quickly from Ron to Hermione and back again.
"She… she's been abducted."
Molly turned white. Arthur gaped at his youngest son, disbelief etched across his slightly wrinkled face.
"They're pretty sure that it's Riddle again," said Hermione softly, her hands clenched into fists. "Of course, your son wants to go and find her. Again."
"Are you sure?" Molly asked weakly, hands knotted together like a cauliflower.
"Who ever is?" said Hermione. "But Molly, you know she's obsessed with tracking this guy. She probably knows more about him than the entire department combined. All things considered, this really isn't that surprising."
"Does anyone else know?" asked Arthur, surprisingly levelheaded.
"All Weasleys I could contact. We wanted to tell you two in person, though."
Molly nodded mutely.
"Doesn't Harry work at the department in your city?" asked Arthur suddenly. "Shouldn't he know something about this?"
"I have no idea," said Ron, shaking his head. "Draco Malfoy—remember him, Virginia's friend from college?" He made it sound like the title was very inappropriate for the pair's relationship. "Her partner? Well, he dropped by this morning and dumped this bombshell in our laps. That's all we know about anything."
"All right," said Molly softly, startling the other three. "You've contacted all your brothers, Ron?"
"Hermione did it. She couldn't get to Charlie, and no one knows where Fred is."
Arthur nodded. "Thank you for stopping by," he said, his baritone voice surprisingly soft. "Tell us what you find out, will you?"
"Sure." Ron twiddled his thumbs, unsure of what to do next.
Hermione stood abruptly. "We'd better go, Ron. People to see, things to do, you know. Sorry we can't stay longer," she added, directing the statement to Ron's parents.
"Yeah." Ron followed Hermione towards the door. "We'll let you know what happens."
They left the house, the door closing with a sharp snap behind them.
Molly let out a gasping sob and buried her face in her arms.
* * *
Saturday, 4:18 PM
A sharp clatter rang through the dark room, followed by a scream of pure rage.
"Shut up in there!"
The only reply was the sound of something being thrown forcefully against the concrete wall.
Breathing hard, Virginia Weasley sank down onto the small, itchy cot in the corner of her makeshift prison. She flopped backwards and stared at the ceiling.
She growled a few expletives under her breath. "Disgusting little rats," she hissed through clenched teeth. "What did I ever do to them!"
Virginia had a pretty good idea, but chose to keep it buried in her subconscious.
She ran a hair through her tangled hair, wishing fervently that she had a brush. The auburn waves had always been easily knotted, and now she was finding herself living under a red rat's nest. And it hadn't even been twenty-four hours yet!
Virginia stifled her anger—an amazing feat for someone with such a short temper—and forced herself to analyze the situation.
No windows. One door, deadbolted and with a constant guard. A typical dirty basement, except for the guard and the metal door. A small half bath in one corner, a cot in the other, and mess everywhere else.
No escaping.
Virginia ignored the thought drifting through her head in favor of the more optimistic type.
Last time it didn't seem like there was a way out, and I got out anyway. Just wait for an opportunity, like when you're playing chess. Lull the enemy into a sense of security, then whomp on 'em like nuts. And meanwhile, gather information.
Okay. So… what did she know?
She had a very vague idea of what her attackers looked like. There were three men, one tall, the other two at least five inches shorter than the first. The one who had tackled her had a stocky build, like a football player.
A disturbing thought occurred to Virginia. She shook her head. No, it was impossible.
Better safe than sorry,
said that little voice in the back of her head. See if you can eavesdrop at all.That little voice had saved Virginia's skin more than once, so she knew from experience to follow its suggestions. She slid off the cot and walked up the short set of steps to the door.
There were voices on the other side, she noted absently. She crouched on the top step and pressed her ear against the door, wondering if she could pick up any voices that sounded familiar.
A few minutes later, she wished she hadn't.
* * *
Sunday, 7:32 AM
"ZZzzzzZZzzzzz…"
"Meow…"
Draco blearily opened his eyes, wondering what on earth that obnoxious thing was. Something fuzzy batted his nose.
He blinked, forcing his eyes to focus.
"Ahhhh!"
Bowen jumped and hissed. He streaked off the bed and out of the room.
Draco sat bolt upright, feeling like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs (pun intended). After a moment he realized what had happened and let out a self-deprecating laugh.
"Stupid cat!
His only answer was Bowen's hiss of anger from the other room.
Draco rolled his eyes in annoyance, again wondering what on earth had made him go to Virginia's apartment and kidnap her cat. He wondered if he was a masochist, to have done that to himself.
Of course, Virginia would be mad if her cat starved to death. So he bore the inconvenience.
He glanced at the digital alarm clock and groaned. It wasn't even eight o' clock yet, and it was the weekend, for cryin' out loud! He made it his personal goal to sleep in until at least eleven one day a week, and that stupid cat had effectively wrecked his sleep restoration plans. He determined to wring Bowen's neck as soon as he found the nasty little hairball.
Seeing as his brain had started working, Draco flung back the blankets and paraded into the kitchen in his Garfield boxers, studiously ignoring Bowen's stare from his perch atop the refrigerator.
"You do know the only reason you're still alive is 'cause I'm too tired, right?" said Draco absently as he glared at the refrigerator's innards, trying to decide if he should eat the probably stale cinnamon buns shoved in the back, or go with his typical cold cereal. He grabbed the orange juice and took a drink from the container, still eyeballing the package of buns.
That's what he liked about living by himself- no rules, no dress code, just whatever you wanted. So if he wanted he could do the hula in the living room while playing a ukulele and singing the Star-Spangled Banner.
No that he would, of course…
Draco shuddered at the mental image and replaced the juice.
Okay, mornings were now officially Evil Creations designed for no other reason that to Aggravate the General Populace. Evil, you hear me?
Draco looked mournfully at the clawed chair, then glared daggers at Bowen. Bowen calmly stretched and hopped down onto the counter, strolling along like he owned the place.
Draco growled under his breath. He was going to commit murder, who cared if Virginia didn't like him anymore because of it.
Draco lunged at the cat. Bowen leapt to the floor. Draco rammed into the counter and grunted as the wind blew out of his lungs. The cat clawed his way up Draco's leg, hissing the whole time.
Draco seized the cat by the tail and threw it across the kitchen. Bowen hit the ground running and dashed down the hallway.
"Bloody feline," Draco spat, gingerly poking at his battle wounds. He commenced cursing a blue streak as he walked down the hallway and into the bathroom on a crusade for antiseptic.
While he was busy torturing himself (otherwise known as cleaning his cuts with alcohol) the telephone rang. Grumbling, he walked into his bedroom and grabbed it.
"What?!"
"Sorry," said Snape, sounding insulted. "I'll just take my information elsewhere, if you're going to be so catty."
Draco felt the sudden urge to rip out Snape's throat. I'll give you catty, you little- He cut the thought short.
"It's not you, I'm just having a bad day," said Draco hurriedly. "What is it?"
"Meet me at ten o'clock in City Park, on the boat dock. I'll talk to you then." Snape hung up before Draco could formulate a response.
Draco turned off the telephone and threw it down in disgust. Mornings were evil all right, especially when they had such unsavory characters as Bowen and Chef Boy-are-Snape in it.
After growling about the unfairness of life, Draco finally got over it and pulled on his clothes for the day- jeans and a skull and crossbones t-shirt. He probably looked strange, what with his pale coloring and fair hair, dressed all in black. He honestly didn't care.
While he was thus occupied, the telephone rang. Again. Draco finished pulling the shirt over his head and grabbed the phone from his nightstand, straightening his shirt with his free hand as he did so.
"Malfoy."
"Hi. It's Potter."
"Hey, Potter. Any witty remarks for me this morning?" asked Draco, instantly happy. Potter sounded like crap.
"All sold out, sorry," said Harry dryly. "I still need you to pick up those blasted notebooks, you know."
The night before, Draco had scribbled down Harry's address, then tactfully decided it was best not to be seen going to another man's apartment in the middle of the night. It would be Very Bad for his reputation. So the notebooks were still floating through Harry's apartment, waiting for a translator.
He was hit by a sudden bout of rare insight. "Meet me at ten o'clock this morning, over at the boat dock in City Park."
"Whatever, Malfoy. I'll bring the stuff."
"Good. Just don't put it in a turkey, okay?"
"Huh?"
Draco sighed. No one ever got his jokes. "Never mind. I'll see you later."
AN- Like I said, please write a review in the little box on the bottom. Cuz until I get 35 reviews, this is it, buckaroos!
Draco- ::whines:: but I wanna kill the cat!
Hush, you.
Draco- ::walks off pouting::
::looks at Draco's rear:: Okay, what was I saying? ::blush::
Yes, I'm mad. Don't forget it, either. Anyways, REVIEW!!!!!