The Missing Painting

Chapter 9

In which Draco and Hermione prepare to meet.

A/N- Remember, I don't own any of this, and my only revenue is your review.

"One week! I have one week left!" Hermione shouted to her empty flat as she entered after another long day of staging her show at the museum. It was opening in one week and she felt like there were still so many things to be done. In reality, she had finalized everything the first week, but her panic levels were rising and she was feeling overwhelmed.

She walked over to the hutch in the dining room and opened the doors to look for a bottle of wine. As she looked for a suitable red, she noticed the unopened package that she had placed in there a few weeks ago. The delivery slipped her mind in the early weeks of her show, and now she remembered that she never opened it. She pulled a bottle off the shelf, grabbed the package, and put them both on the table. She got a glass and a corkscrew out of the kitchen, opened the bottle, and sat down as she examined the package. It was rare that her father sent her a package, and she thought that it must be something that made her think of her mother, which is why she didn't open it, and put it out of sight. Pouring the wine into her glass, Hermione reminisced about her mother, and how difficult it was to lose her. She thought that St. Mungo's could help cure her mother's cancer, but when they failed, the seriousness of the situation finally sunk in. In anger, she got the Ministry to approve her Unplottability, and Hermione was determined not to look back. She was very alone at her mother's funeral and nothing much had changed since. Tears welled up in her eyes as she took a drink, trying to forget the pain of losing her mother. After a few more, Hermione was having a good cry about how terrible everything was in her life. Dead mother, no friends, no love interest…she didn't even have a cat. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve, she finally tore into the package and found a small painting of a pastoral scene that just had an empty spot where a subject should have been. Her crying renewed.

"Oh great, my life is so terrible that I get an empty painting to immortalize my failures," she bawled. Hermione's crying continued as she placed the frame on an easel on the table and drained her glass. She put her head down and sobbed.

After a moment, Hermione heard another voice crying. A thought occurred to her as she raised her head. Wait, this is a magical painting? How did my mother get a magical painting? She slowly raised her head to see that the subject in the painting had returned. The young woman was also crying, with her face in her hands. There were a few woodland creatures gathered around looking worried. Hermione said to the painting, "Why are you crying?"

The young woman in the painting kept her hands over her eyes, now looking more like she was playing peek-a-boo, and said, "Because you are crying, it makes me so sad."

Hermione was starting to get annoyed at the little painting making fun of her, and said, "Well cut it out. I don't need any help feeling sad."

"I bet I can cheer you up," the painting proposed, and the girl removed her hands and said, "Boo!"

Hermione recoiled from the painting and cried out in shock at seeing herself in a magical painting that she never posed for. The Hermione in the painting cried out in mock fright, then started laughing.

Hermione admonished the painting, "Why are you laughing?" The laughter was so contagious that she had to smile a little.

The Hermione in the painting answered, "That's just what I do. I'm here to make you feel better. Sure took you enough time to open me up."

"How did my mother get this painting made?"

"Your mother? I've not met your mother, what's she like?"

"She's dead."

"Oh, that's so sad," the Hermione in the painting said, starting to sniffle.

"Cut that out!" Hermione shouted over the sound of the painting's crying. "Where did you come from?"

"It's a long story. I suggest you pour yourself another glass," the painting said with a smile, and a bluebird landed on her shoulder as she started her story.

(Break)

Hours later, Hermione was drunk, but she heard the painting's story and understood. All of Draco's pain, all his Pureblood training, the craziness that his parents put him through because of Voldemort, that did really explain…him. Maybe he was as miserable as she. He did go through a lot of trouble to get this painting made by Viktor's father.

The best that she could figure was that Krasimir Krum created this painting from memory, and added certain enhancements to it through some sort of dark magic. It certainly had the ability to get Hermione to drink more than she should, and it told a very compelling story. Maybe it was created just to get Draco and Hermione together just like it said. The possibility really made Hermione think. She turned the bottle up and saw that it was finally empty, and put it next to the other empty one. If she kept this up, there was no way she was going to be able to stagger into work tomorrow. "I have to go to sleep now. I have work tomorrow."

"Wait," the painting said. "You need to meet with Draco. I can get a message to him, just tell me when."

Hermione paused and thought about the suggestion. Through her hazy thoughts she caught glimpses of remembering Draco in school. He was a complete arse for sure, but there was no denying that he was hot. She snuck glances at him during Potions, and enjoyed watching him in Quidditch matches. He was Ron's polar opposite; smart, ripped and polished. Now really drunk, she said, "Next week, at my museum exhibit opening. I don't have anyone else to take. I guess if it goes horribly, at least I'll be in a public place." Hermione gave the painting the message and then staggered off to bed. "Oh, what did I just agree to?" she said to herself as she fell asleep, still in her clothes.

(Break)

Draco landed in the middle of the Quidditch pitch as his teammates shouted congratulations and gathered around him to celebrate. They had just won a scrimmage match against their other teammates and Draco was overjoyed. The past few weeks had left him feeling like a new man. He was invigorated, strong and healthy. The bags under his eyes were gone, and because of team regulations, he hadn't touched a drop of alcohol. He had a new group of friends that were not clouded by House loyalties, or Pureblood manifestos. They were just teammates. He enjoyed training with the team, and he wished he had been able to pursue a Quidditch career, but he knew that this was only temporary, and he loved every minute of it.

The team went into the locker room, and Draco shucked his Quidditch robes, grabbed a towel, and headed into the showers. He lathered himself up, proud to feel that his old muscle tone was returning. His arms and legs had more definition, and the six-pack that he was so proud of was almost back to its full glory. Everyone on the team was in the shower at once, and soon the place was a steam room, with raucous laughter and off color jokes. The noise was so loud that Draco barely heard the faint pop of his House-elf into the shower room. He turned around and bumped into a soaking wet Winky, covering her eyes and standing right behind him.

"Sorry Master Draco, but Winky needs to speak to you," she said timidly.

"Oi! That's a female House-elf," someone shouted from the far side of the steam. "Get her out of here!"

"Oh, Master Draco," Winky wailed, still covering her eyes and wandering around in small circles, obviously becoming more panicked.

"Merlin's beard," Draco exclaimed, and shut off the water to his showerhead. He grabbed his towel with one hand, Winky's hand with the other, and led her out to the locker room. He finally covered himself with his towel, and took her around the corner to his locker. "What are you doing here, Winky?" he asked.

Winky finally opened her eyes and looked around. Once she knew there was no one nearby, she jumped up on the bench nearest to Draco so that she could be close enough to whisper. Whispering, however, was just a fanciful idea to House-elves, and as usual, her whispers were nearly as loud as her regular speaking voice. "It's Hermione Granger, Master Draco," Winky whispered in a loud, raspy voice. "She's agreed to meet with you."

Draco wouldn't have admitted it, but he came close to fainting at the sound of her name, and sat down hard on the bench next to Winky. He was stunned and could only say, "What?"

"I said," Winky started to repeat in the same ridiculous faux whisper, "its Hermione Grang…"

"I heard that, Winky. Why is she agreeing to meet me? Who set this up? It is completely unexpected, I don't know what to think."

"Lady Malfoy organized it, with the help of your painting, Master Draco. She had Mr. Granger give Hermione a smaller copy of your painting, and the two Hermiones spoke. The painting convinced her to see you. This Saturday night."

"This Saturday night? That is less than a week away! I've got to plan, I have to get something to wear, and I have to come up with something to say…about a hundred apologies I expect!"

"Master Draco," Winky said, holding Draco's arm to get his attention and calm him down. "It will be fine. You are going to meet at her museum exhibit opening. There is nothing you need to do, but be there."

Draco looked into the old House-elf's face and saw her smiling up at him. He relaxed, and realized that he was being given a second chance, because of his mother of all people, and very likely this little House-elf too. If he didn't know better, he thought that his eyes might start watering. He straightened up, and threw down his towel as he started getting dressed, ignoring the noises Winky made out of embarrassment. "I need new clothes and a haircut, Winky. Let's get out of here; we've got things to do." He grabbed up the rest of his belongings, and Winky Disapparated them with a loud crack.

(Break)

Hermione stood outside the Ministry's exits. She remembered waiting here for Mafalda Hopkirk all those years ago, when she, Ron, and Harry were going to break into the ministry to steal Salazar Slytherin's locket. The difference now was that instead of trying to hide from the departing workers, she was hidden from them. Even though she was standing in the middle of the wave of employees, no one could see her, and as they moved close to where she stood, the Unplottability Charm forced them to turn, stumble, or just move away from her so that no one made any contact. She stifled a giggle, but it wouldn't have mattered, no one would have heard a sidesplitting laugh either.

Finally, the one person she was waiting for caught her eye. Mortimer Lightwood, the Minister's Legal Secretary that she met on the flight to Bulgaria, saw her, and smiled. He motioned for her to move out of the crowd of people and off towards the side of the building. As they finally got away from the crowd, he shook her hand warmly.

"Miss Granger, it is a pleasure," the older gentleman said happily. "To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again?"

"Mr. Lightwood," Hermione began tentatively, "I have a favor to ask."

"Anything you want, my dear."

"I wondered if you would make one Wizard exempt from my Unplottability Charm."

"It is possible, are you sure that is what you want? It will be very difficult to reinstate it once I remove it from them. Is it Harry Potter? I have the form in here somewhere," he said rifling through his briefcase.

"Actually, no. It's Draco Malfoy."

Mr. Lightwood stopped looking in his briefcase, and stared at Hermione. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. I invited him to my museum opening on Saturday," Hermione said defiantly.

"How did you invite him? How could you contact him? I'm not sure that he could read a note from you even if you could find an owl to deliver it. My charm was very thorough," Mr. Lightwood looked stressed, as though he had failed.

"No, nothing like that," Hermione answered, trying to reassure him. "Draco has this enchanted painting of me that he had created in Bulgaria by Viktor Krum's father, and his Mother saw me in Bulgaria, but couldn't get the other painting to me in time so she…"

Mr. Lightwood waved her off as she became more animated. "Fine, fine, just sign here," he said, holding his briefcase out as an impromptu desk and handing her a quill. "This form says that you wish to have your Charm altered, and you agree to have the Ministry make the change. If you want to have it changed back, you must sign a new form within thirty days."

"I hope that I don't have to do that," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"So do I," Mr. Lightwood responded. He took the signed document, and placed it into his briefcase. "Well, best of luck Miss Granger," he said, extending his hand.

Hermione shook it warmly. "Did you just happen to have the one form that I needed to sign in your briefcase? That seems pretty farfetched," she said skeptically.

Mr. Lightwood laughed as he turned to leave, "Miss Granger, I have every form in here. Expect your Charm to be changed first thing in the morning."

Hermione watched him disappear into the crowd and thought to herself, What in the world am I going to wear?