There was an air of uneasiness within the flat. It had been five years since he had walked through those doors, into his former home. Draco sat silently in the lounge with Nott seated across from him. The men avoided each other's eyes and waited for their one common link to return from her bath. It was an odd hour to have a bath, but Draco figured Hermione had been too distressed to wash up for the past three days. He'd been the same, having finally taken a quick shower before leaving his own flat.

His surroundings hadn't changed much. The furniture was still the same: mahogany, magical artifacts and worn leather sofas. It was classic and comfortable. He could still remember the day they moved in. It was just after Hermione had given birth to Cissy. Before then, they'd been living in the villa, in Tuscany, deciding it was best for her to go through her pregnancy whilst in the countryside.

He missed those days.

"How has she been?" Draco asked, unable to handle the silence any longer.

Nott glanced up at him, leaning back against the sofa. "Unwell," he answered, confirming his short response with the look on his face. It was a mixture of fear and concern.

As if on cue, the shower turned off and within moments, Hermione entered the lounge in a pair of jeans and a light blue button-up. Her hair was soaking wet. There were dark circles under her eyes and even in three days, she looked visibly thinner. It made Draco's chest contract, the way it did when he worried for her. She obviously hadn't eaten anything. He didn't blame her but it still sparked a feeling of discomfort within his bloodstream.

The men stood from their seats as Hermione approached. She stared between them with an eyebrow arched, and then moved to the desk where she had kept the letter.

Draco followed her with his eyes, having read the letter as soon as he came over. Nott showed it to him, looking grim and not at all comfortable with the plan. The poor bloke had no idea Cissy's parents planned on going vigilante. He wasn't like them. He abided by the law. He followed orders. He never stepped on anyone's toes for anything.

It had to be the sole reason he'd managed to survive the Second Wizarding War. Nott had been one of few people to remain in the middle, unbiased, and uninvolved.

Hermione strolled past her boyfriend and handed Draco the part of the letter that contained the wax seal. "Numbers," she started, wearing the same determination she perfected during her teenaged adventures with Harry and Ron. "I have an idea what they mean, but I need your opinion."

His eyes glossed over the numbers, once again. 25. It could have meant anything. It could have simply been a borrowed stamp or a wide variety of different, mundane things – but this number meant something to Draco and to Hermione. It was the number of their room at the Wyvern Wing Inn. It was the number of the room they had stayed in, during their short stop over in Sterling Harbour.

It was safe to say the owner of the Wyvern Wing Inn had a bone to pick with them. Because of them, his nephew – William Forbes – had died a tragic death. Because of them, he lost his last remaining family member. Because of them, he was alone. This provided Richard Forbes with the intent to hurt them, the intent to seek revenge for all he had lost.

Cissy was the perfect piece to the puzzle, but there was one problem in this otherwise sound theory.

"Richard Forbes is still locked up in Azkaban," Hermione verbalized. "He – He could very well have people on the outside, but something doesn't feel right…"

Draco nodded his head, in deep thought. "The wedding was secure," he reflected, rising to pace the room. "There were men patrolling the venue at all times. Ron and Gemma had taken every measure necessary to ensure the guests were safe."

"What if the kidnapper was a guest?" Nott ventured, staring between them.

Hermione shook her head and sunk down beside him, combing through her wet hair with quivering fingers. "I've already taken a look at the guest list and there no names that seemed at all suspicious." She'd clearly thought about this multiple times.

"The attacker could have been under the Imperius Curse," Draco chimed in, turning to Nott. "Run through your story again. Don't leave anything out."

By then, Nott had explained his side of the events at least twenty times, but he agreed nonetheless. There was always the chance he'd left out a minor detail by mistake, and in their case, every detail was important. He closed his eyes a moment and recalled the setting and the situation.

"I'd taken Cissy for a walk, after our dance," he started. "She wanted to see both of you, but I knew you were still catching up, so I did all I could to distract her. I pointed out funny hats the guests were wearing and I took her to the refreshment table for some snacks …but none of that worked."

"How did you arrive at the tapestry?" Draco asked, still pacing the room.

Nott rubbed his face, visibly exhausted. "Cissy took me there. She said there was a picture in the ceremony room that looked interesting. I followed her inside and realized she'd been talking about one of the tapestries. I explained the story behind it, knowing she had a knack for art, and for the first time …she seemed genuinely interested in something I was saying, so I continued." His expression turned hollow, as he reached the end of the story. "I talked for maybe ten or twelve minutes …and then I heard something behind us. It sounded like footsteps." His eyes darkened. "But as I had a look around, I saw nothing. The room was empty, save for us. Then…I turned to Cissy and saw the look on her face. She was looking directly at me with her eyes as wide as Galleons. She was …terrified." He took a deep breath. "Then it happened. It was quick. I tried to ask her what she had seen, what made her look at me with such fear in her eyes, but before I could get a word across …everything went dark." He exhaled. "She was gone, and the next thing I remember was waking up on the floor with you two hovering over me."

Hermione closed her eyes, knowing the story by heart. It tugged at her chest muscles and made her quake with worry. Cissy was a tough girl, but even the dark seemed to terrify the toddler. Her mother could only imagine the fear that had coursed through her daughter's veins when she'd been taken. She must have wept. She must have screamed. She must have had an absolute fit …and nobody knew, nobody could hear her. The music had been loud. The guests had been chatting and laughing and dancing the night away.

It was the perfect crime.

She sifted through her boyfriend's story for another five or six minutes, in silence, and then it dawned on her. "Hold on –" Hermione turned to Theodore. "The last thing you saw was the fear in Cissy's eyes?"

He nodded, unable to decipher the reason behind her sudden interest in that specific detail. "Yes, but –"

"Her eyes were focused on you?" the brunette furthered.

Theodore nodded again. "I didn't see anyone but me reflected in her eyes, if that's what you're getting at." It clearly hadn't occurred to him, the single most important part to his story. "I saw only myself."

Draco paused mid-step, having listened to the exchange up until that point. He then realized what Hermione was thinking, and slowly …he realized the truth behind what happened. "Where were you before the wedding?" he asked Nott, sounding a little more aggressive than he'd intended. "Do you remember?"

The dark-haired wizard stared between Cissy's parents, bewildered. "You're not suggesting I had anything to do with her disappearance…" he exhaled, in disbelief, looking to his girlfriend for some form of support. Her expression didn't waver. Nott swallowed hard. "You are…"

"Do you remember?" Draco asked again, using a different, calmer tone of voice.

"Of course I remember," Theodore answered, confident in his words. "I was in Diagon Alley getting my dress robes tailored for the wedding, and then I – I –" His expression faltered. His eyes went wide. He stared at Hermione and then at Draco, and then everything went blank. "I can't remember," he breathed, in a voice so low it was barely audible. "It – It was me. I – I did do it."

His school chum wore a look that suggested otherwise. "You were clearly under the Imperius Curse," Draco said, surprising everyone including himself with his willingness to dismiss Nott as the primary culprit. "There's no need to feel guilty. It could have been any number of us under the curse, but the kidnapper chose you because you're –"

"My boyfriend," Hermione interjected, nodding along and taking Theo's hands in hers. "I understand you feel horrible about what happened, but right now …I need you to focus and I need you to tell me the last place you remember being, before arriving at this flat and escorting me to the wedding."

Nott sunk low in his chair. "I was strolling out of the tailor shop, and then I took to Gringott's to make a quick deposit."

"What happened after that?" Draco asked, trying his best to stay calm and composed.

"I went to my vault and – and –" Theo expression turned dismal. "That's it. That's all I remember."

Hermione breathed in, deeply. "Someone was waiting for you in your vault," she deduced. "It had to have been a goblin. The security measures in Gringott's have increased exponentially since the war …but what could a goblin want with a child?"

"It's not the child," Draco speculated. "It's what the primary kidnapper offered the goblin, in exchange for access to Theo's vault." His theory was perfectly plausible. "The goblin was as much of a pawn as Theo."

There was silence in the lounge, as all three of them were immersed in their cohesive thoughts. The pieces had finally fallen into place. They were getting somewhere. It had been three days and finally, they were getting somewhere.

Hermione rose from the sofa, practically shaking with anticipation. "Cissy must have been taken somewhere close to the venue," she said, thinking out loud. "Draco and I had only been separated from her for fifteen minutes, before we found Theo sprawled on the floor of the ceremony room." She faced her boyfriend. "There wasn't much time to spare."

In other words, whilst under the Imperius Curse, Theodore had to have taken Cissy to one of the surroundings estates. There wasn't enough time to take her further, without causing a panic and being discovered. It had to be quick. It had to be fool proof.

"It's settled then," Draco announced, nodding his head up and down. "We'll search through the area, through every estate and every inch of surrounding land."

"What about Gringott's?" asked Nott. "Surely we're better off searching the vault for clues."

Hermione nodded. "We'll split up and search both," she decided. "In pairs."

Draco and Nott exchanged a quick look, and then Draco questioned the obvious. "There are only three of us."

"Right – erm –" The brunette rushed to her desk and poured over a roll of parchment. She wrote with haste, with trembling fingers.

Dear Severus…

The room was smoky and dim. It smelled of sweat and cigarettes, and in the middle of the otherwise empty, darkened vicinity rested a bed. It was old and creaky, and just barely held itself together against the pressure overtop. A woman – young and auburn-haired – tossed her head back and emitted a soft, sensual moan. She can't have been more than twenty-five, and after a lot of painstaking seduction and bodily persuasion, she managed to get her much older, much more sophisticated partner in bed.

She had first met him in Manhattan. He'd been frequenting one of the wizarding pubs in the area, down the street from her apartment. She had just been hired as a bartender at the pub and had eyes for this older gentleman from the moment she first saw him. He wasn't particularly handsome, just brooding and introverted. It caused her imagination to run wild, thinking of what his story could possibly be.

The more time she spent wondering, the more he began to notice her wandering glances and dreamy-eyed looks.

"I'm Louise," she had introduced, having served him an abundance of alcohol by that point. "What's your name?"

His dark eyes had regarded her with curiosity. He was probably wondering why such a young and attractive witch was speaking to him. Her advances had gone unnoticed, during the first few moments of their conversation, but he was then able to connect the dots.

"I'm flattered," he'd told her, wearing an aged, experienced smile. "But I'm old enough to be your father."

Louise didn't stop there. She had to show him there wasn't much of a difference between them. She had to show him she was mature. It took another week before she was able to do so, through intellectual conversation and some innocent research into his area of expertise: potions.

"You know…" she told him, wiping the counter after a long night. "Mixing drinks is a lot like potion-making."

He laughed then. It wasn't a sarcastic laugh or at all insulting. It was kind and genuine, and through it the barrier had been broken. He had leaned in and whispered something into her ear, making her blush and causing an almost childlike giggle to escape her glossed lips. They continued to chat and to laugh and to delve deeper into this unexpected connection. The truth of the matter was that Louise wouldn't have pursued him at all, had he not been stealing quick glances at her during those initial nights. He'd been attracted to her from the beginning, but hadn't planned to do anything about it until she stepped in and took charge.

She'd never been with someone like him. It wasn't just the age difference. It was the maturity, the honesty. It appeared as though he'd had his heart broken before, and Louise was no different. She was broken, too. She needed fixing, just as much he did …and so there they were, on top of the bed, licking each other's wounds along with many, many other things.

Her chest rose and fell with ferocity, as she climaxed, grinding her hips against him and riding through the orgasm. It was her fourth orgasm that night, and still …he kept going. His stamina was unbelievable. He whisked her through every inch of the room – on the floor, against the wall, on the balcony, and then finally …that same rippling sensation coursed through his body and they fell together, in a mess of heavy breathing and tangled limbs.

Louise arched her back and panted for breath. "That was – That was intense."

"Was I too rough?" he asked, speaking for the first time since the beginning of their heated interlude.

She rolled onto her front and combed the damp hair from his forehead. "I like it like that."

A hint of a blush crept onto his cheeks. He'd never been with someone so forward, so willing. It was new territory, and part of him felt scandalous for even flirting with a woman so young, but something about Louise seemed safe and familiar. She was more than glossed lips and tight skirts. She was a good person, or so he told himself.

His attention then drifted to the balcony where an owl swooped in, carrying with it a letter. The man rose to his feet and had a look.

"What does it say?" asked Louise, following him and noticing the change in his expression. "Severus?"

"I – I have to go home," he said. "I have to go to England – immediately."

Louise raised both eyebrows. "Now? I thought you were on leave from work."

"I am," he confirmed. "This isn't work. This is …personal."

Her face fell. "Oh."

Severus folded the letter into his palm and kissed the top of her forehead. "I'll be back soon," he promised, uncertain as to whether or not this would actually be the case. "Hopefully."

A/N: Thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a review.

Cheers

xo.