"Harry! Harry, stop! HARRY!"
Ron gripped his best friend's shoulder, but Harry tugged forward. Ron, refusing to let go, pushed back, and they stumbled and fell into a pile of autumn leaves, sticky and wet from the recent rain.
"Wait, Harry," Ron gasped, brushing out several twigs from his hair in short, jerky movements. "You can't go in there."
The Malfoy Manor gates, forged in the 16'th century of wrought-iron, stood before them. A proud and thorny 'M' was woven into their center; an apt comparison to the generations of Malfoy that had resided within. The territory behind them was dark, illuminated only by the twisting light of a wicked moon, half-shrouded behind wisps of torn cloud. A structure, both gloomy and grand, loomed in the distance, only a few of its widows lit.
"Are you mad?" Harry snapped, whirling on his friend. "Hermione's in there! In there! Do you even remember what her last visit was like?!"
"I know, mate, I know, and I want to get her just as much as you do, but - think about this for just a second!"
Ron was panting, trying to formulate thought into words as quick as possible.
"Think!" he said again in a hurried and hushed tone. "It's the middle of the night, and we get a letter from, of all people, Malfoy? And its sole purpose is to have you rushing here, alone, to this place?! The place where Vol… Voldemort lived." He choked a little on the hated wizard's name but continued nonetheless.
"You don't know what's waiting for you there. It could very well be a trap, and news of Hermione is…
"...the perfect bait," Harry finished with a groan. "You're right. But - damn! What if it's really her? That was Malfoy's handwriting, I'm certain. You know him: he was a bully, a coward and a prat, but even at the very worst, he was never a killer."
"But he could have been threatened, or, I dunno, imperiused even. Or maybe he's behind the whole thing altogether! He wrote he found her, but what does that even mean? Like, he was walking in a park, and oh, look over there: it's the missing girl I used to bully in school. A bit convenient, isn't it?"
"He wrote she was obliviated…"
"...and maybe he was one who did it in the first place."
Although there were several holes in that logic, the overall point made sense: rushing in was dangerous. Frustrated at the delay, Harry ran a hand through his tousled hair, which was in desperate need of a haircut. Again.
"Damn it!" He hissed through clenched teeth and punched the ground beside him. Months of worry and despair almost caused him to throw caution to the wind. He rose, glancing at Ron with gratitude, and extended a hand, offering a lift. Ron took it, and together they surveyed the gated area beyond.
Casting several spells aimed at unmasking concealed enemies revealed nothing. Only a lonely wind whistled through the trees' unburdened crowns.
"We still don't know what's inside," Ron said, peering into the darkness.
"Alright then." Harry thought out loud. "I'll send a patronus to the Ministry; Rawlings and Cray are on duty tonight. I'll tell them to alert the others, and come back us up as soon as they can. And in the meanwhile, we'll…"
Harry gestured towards the Manor.
Ron nodded. The prudent thing to do would be to wait for a full team and invade the premises in one fell swoop. But there was a chance that Malfoy spoke the truth, and Hermione really was stuck inside that horrid place. And that just wouldn't do. As long as the other aurors knew their location, their backs were reasonably covered.
"Ready, mate?" Harry summoned his patronus, and the stag, upon receiving its instructions, rapidly bounded away in a haze of milky-white light.
"Always."
Ron pushed the gates open.
. . . .
Draco Malfoy was about to rush up the stairs and demand what was taking his unexpected guest so long when he felt the ground wards tingle, signaling Potter and Weasley's arrival. He had no doubt that one would with come with the other; after all, disregarding a few spats, they'd been joined at the hip for years.
He left his study and walked towards the front hall, waiting for the two numbnuts to make the trek up to the house. They had to, for very few people could apparate directly onto Malfoy land itself; in fact, only Draco and Narcissa, as family, currently held that privilege. Such a precaution was necessary, unfortunately, because being a Malfoy these days was risky business. Too much resentment and animosity from those wronged by the Dark Lord and his minions meant that he always had to keep his eyes open. Constant Vigilance, he thought with dry humor.
At least he felt secure within this domain. A thousand years it had belonged to his family. The blood and bones of his ancestors nourished the ground beneath, and generations of spell work made the estate impenetrable to enemy intrusion.
Of course, you can't spend your life hiding behind walls, no matter how appealing that option may seem sometimes.
He swung the door open before they even had a chance to knock, and was instantly greeted by a pair of raised wands.
"My, my, my," Malfoy murmured, "aren't we excited to see me?"
"Shove it, Malfoy. Where is she?" A scowl cut across Ron's freckled features.
"I see even notoriety couldn't teach you any manners, Weasley," Malfoy sneered in response, irked by such disrespect. This was his home, he was doing them a favor, and they respond by waving wands in his face? Outrageous! "Then, of course," he continued, "given your ill breeding-"
"Breeding that taught me right from wrong, you fucking ferret-"
"Alright!" Harry broke up the brewing dispute and cautiously advanced inside. His wand was out, and he carefully analyzed his surroundings.
"You can put your wands down," Malfoy stated, deducing the reason behind their hesitant yet hostile approach. "There's no one here but me… and her."
It wasn't even that difficult to figure out. No doubt, the paucity of gray matter within their thick skulls had come to the unfortunate conclusion that he had concocted some elaborate scheme to lure them into danger. Idiots. He didn't have the standing with any party to pull something like that off. Pureblood supremacists hated him for the Malfoys' last-minute betrayal, while the majority of the other witches and wizards loathed him for just about everything else.
Then again, these two were Gryffindors. He should have anticipated they'd barge in with wands held high, brains lagging in the distance.
"Well, we can't exactly take your word for it," Harry replied. His eyes scanned the corners of the hall, looking for any signs of danger.
"This is ridiculous," Malfoy snarled, but the two aurors cast a number of spells to ensure their safety anyway. "Are you satisfied now?"
After confirming that they were, indeed, the only ones present, Harry and Ron relaxed slightly and sheathed their wands.
"Don't get all giddy, Malfoy, this just proves that maybe you're not a total lying sack of sh-"
"Ron!" Harry placed a hand on his partner's shoulder, silencing him, and then quickly addressed the blond wizard before the latter had a chance to respond.
"Ok, Malfoy, we're sorry about that, but you have to understand we were a tad skeptical. Still are, actually. So is… is Hermione actually here? Is she fine?" Harry's voice wavered ever so very slightly by the end of his sentence. Draco didn't catch it, but Ron did, and he shot a supportive glance towards his friend.
Draco was distracted by looks his one-time enemies were giving him. Both aurors suddenly had such yearning in their eyes that the slytherin almost, almost gave in to his prattish nature, and told them that, no, it was a giant joke, and she was probably lying dead in some forgotten ditch, and that they could sod off and go screw their respective mo- hmm, Potter's was dead, he might take it the wrong way, and such behavior was too reminiscent of his school days, anyway.
So instead, he just grunted, "She's upstairs freshening up. Been taking her pretty time too."
The effect those words had on Harry and Ron was immeasurable. It was like the weight of the world had been lifted off their shoulders, and their faces lit up with relief and joy similar to that the kind convicted men feel upon receiving a sudden stay of their execution.
Harry sagged against one of the marble columns that lined the entryway. He took off his glasses and rubbed them with the bottom of his untucked shirt, trying to hide the tremor seizing his hands. Ron looked up to the vaulted ceiling, blinking rapidly, and then quickly raised a hand to his eyes, wiping away several beads of moisture.
"She's back," he breathed out. "She's really back…"
Malfoy, observing their reactions, suddenly felt a painful longing fill his chest. Granger had friends - real friends that had looked for her relentlessly, and, if they had to, would walk into hell itself to save her. All he had was his mother, and she wasn't even fit to take care of herself these days. He turned away, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat. There was a real connection between those three: Potter, Weasley and Granger. What would it feel like to be a part of that? To know that someone had your back unconditionally, and would do anything for you? Would he ever find someone he could trust so blindly and love so fiercely?
A momentary silence filled the hall, as the three men - once bitter rivals - were each lost in their own emotional landscape.
"Take us to her," Harry finally requested after somewhat awkwardly clearing his throat. "And, um, how did you find her? Is she alright? Has she been hurt in any way? Where was she?"
The Boy-Who-Lived couldn't stop the questions rolling off his tongue. Months of hollow worry and ineffectual guesswork came bubbling up in an eager demand to find out everything he could now. Malfoy didn't smirk or sneer in response; faced by the unforgiving scarcity of his own companionships, he just answered in a low, flat tone.
"She's alright. Obliviated, but it seemed fairly weak. I think she would have broke through it on her own, eventually. Emotionally, she's worse off. Tired, too. I lent her one of the guest rooms to rest up a bit. Was about to fetch her, when you two showed up."
"Wait." Ron suddenly broke in. "You didn't… she didn't see the room, did she? The one where…"
There really was no point in continuing that sentence. They all knew what room the redhead was referring too. The one where Hermione's blood had been spilled; where a mad witch had tortured her for information, carving evil into her arm.
"Merlin, Weasley. Fuck you. You think I would take her there? I'm not some-" Malfoy wanted to say he's wasn't a monster, but his voice tapered off, because he really wasn't sure. Would a monster even know it's a monster?
"Anyways," he went on after a heavy pause, "I'll have my house-elf show you the way. You'll want to apparate her to St. Mungo's to remove the charm. Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out."
He was about to summon Linny when he felt a familiar tingling in his extremities. He froze, clenching his hands into fists, and a look of barely restrained fury flashed over his face.
"Potter," he spit out in cold, clipped tones. "Would you care to explain why a team of aurors is approaching my home?"
