A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.
May 2003—
"Zabini, your bags!" Draco snapped across the room. He had owled Blaise, Luna, and Hermione with instructions to meet him at Gringotts Bank on the following Wednesday at nine o'clock sharp to finalize supplies. He'd reserved an anteroom specifically for this purpose, as he always did before setting out on an assignment. This room was similar to the sitting room where he'd met with Xenophilius Lovegood, except it was larger and interspersed with wide tables perfect for laying out mass quantities of supplies.
Blaise shrugged and waved his wand. His bags flew across the room and landed neatly on the table in front of Draco with a loud thud that made Draco's eyes twitch. He was usually a bit on edge before starting an expedition, but last night he had barely slept. That by itself would normally be a minor inconvenience, since he spent more nights awake than asleep anyway, but this time it brought on a pounding headache. Every tiny noise grated against his ears and turned his mood increasingly dour.
"Is there an inspection queue?" Luna asked, skipping into the room and levitating her hodgepodge assortment of bags in front of her. Draco ignored her.
"No, Draco's just a control freak," Blaise muttered to her with a smirk. Draco ignored this too. "He likes to check everyone's supplies to make sure we all have the right things packed."
"You mean making sure we've brought enough clothes and food?" Luna asked. Draco rolled his eyes and poked through Blaise's things with his wand.
"Well, more like your, er—less personal supplies. If we've got one spare pop-up tent, for example, that might be handy. If we've got three spare, that's a waste of space. Better to swap them for different supplies, you see?"
"Oh, yes! I haven't brought a tent though. Should I have?"
Draco heard Blaise begin to reply in a patient tone he thought better fitted a child and tuned him out. He sorted Blaise's things into two piles, keep and discard, all the while making a running tally in his head.
"Right, Zabini, get rid of this bit," he commanded when the last item was sorted. "No need for snow gear where we're headed. Get that pair of self-shrinking kayaks you bought in Tasmania last year instead. And double your potion stock."
"Yessir," Blaise mock saluted. He took his bags and set off, not-so-subtly winking at Luna on his way out. Without prompting, Luna alighted her four bags onto the same table before Draco that Blaise's bags had just vacated. Draco noticed long lures were tied to each bag at one end, and at the other end were looped around Luna's wrist. The effect made her look like she was preparing to walk four legless, lumpy dogs. He sighed.
"This is all so exciting," Luna crooned. "Do you think we'll leave soon?" Draco was staring at Luna's assortment of bags with such disgust that he didn't even hear her.
"What in Salazar's name is all of this shit?" he asked.
"Oh, they're my bags. Aren't they wonderful? Daddy and I found each one in a different country. This one is from—"
"Why are there four?" Draco interrupted.
"Four is the perfect number for bags, I think. I've got clothes in this one," she pointed to the first lumpy bag that looked not unlike a knitted quilt that had been tied into a large pouch. Then she indicated each of her remaining bags in turn. "This one has food, utensils, and teas. This one has outdoor gear for swimming, climbing, and spelunking. And this one has miscellaneous tools, such as Daddy's recreation of Rowena Ravenclaw's lost diadem, glasses for seeing wrackspurts, spare phials for gernumbli saliva or—"
"I get it," Draco cut her off and massaged his temples. "Reorganize these into two bags at most. One personal and one for all other supplies. We can't waste time sorting through bags in a pinch. Call for me when you're done." Draco strode across the room and yanked open the door. A mass of bushy curls toppled all over his chest as Hermione came falling through the other side.
"Merlin's beard, Malfoy, what is wrong with you." Hermione huffed loudly and pushed off of him.
"It's nine-fifteen, Granger," he snarled.
"Congratulations, you can read a clock. Why am I here, anyway?"
"Supplies. Where are your bags? I need to check them before we leave." Draco whirled on the spot and moved behind a table opposite Luna's. Hermione eyed him intently. He braced himself for a scathing reply, but held his ground.
"No," she said at last.
"What do you mean, 'No?'"
"I won't let you rummage through my things," Hermione said flatly.
"It wasn't a question, Granger," Draco spat. "Where in the bloody hell are your bags?" Hermione shrugged, causing Draco to roll his eyes, then he realized something: she was indicating the small backpack strapped to her back, not shrugging at him.
Luna seemed to notice the same thing, because she started cooing again, "Ooh, are we going without gear and looking for Curse Breaker hideouts?" Draco tried to ignore her, but she kept talking. "Daddy told me all about those. They're hidden camps that only Curse Breakers can find, and they're filled with food and water and soft beds. Some even have tents with proper kitchens and bathrooms. There's a secret society of Curse Breakers that maintains them around the globe. Are you a member, Draco? How wonderful—should I leave my things behind, too?"
"Don't be a bloody idiot," Draco drawled. He turned back to Hermione, who was rolling her eyes at Luna as well. When he caught her eye, he couldn't suppress his smirk even as she scowled at him, but he saw her cheeks flushed lightly nonetheless.
"If you think," she leveled him with a withering glare as she spoke, "that I don't know how to survive on my own, think back to how I spent what should've been my seventh year at Hogwarts. If that isn't enough proof for you, I can't help you."
Draco swallowed hard. He knew exactly how she and the remainder of the Golden Trio had spent that year, hunting horcruxes on their own, while on the run from the entire wizarding world.
"Fine," he said sharply, and Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Just help your bumbling friend reduce her clutter. Zabini!" he shouted as he left the room, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and that perfectly-honed wit.
Hermione began helping Luna pack essentials and discard useless oddities. She wrestled from Luna an entire sack of gurdyroots, several bottles of clear liquid labeled "gernumbli saliva" (which Hermione was pretty sure actually contained diluted doxicide), and several yards of beaded necklace made from large, shriveled beads that reminded her of peach pits. She moved on to examining Luna's next pile, one eye still on the ridiculous diadem recreation, when the doors burst open. Draco and Blaise bolted in followed by several jets of red light.
"Secure the door!" Draco shouted at Blaise, who already had his wand pointed at the door. Draco forced it shut. They could hear shouts outside: some in Garbledygook and some in a Slavic language. Draco knew there was no time to waste. He grabbed his bag and began chanting the countercurse that would lift the anti-apparition wards. Blaise hurriedly packed Luna's last belongings into her bags and forced them crisscrossed over her shoulders. He looked to Draco, waiting for instruction.
BANG!
An explosion sounded on the other side of the door. There was a loud scream, then more shouting.
BANG!
Someone was hurling hexes directly at the door. It shuddered ominously.
BANG! BANG! Crrrrrraaaaa...AACK!
The door blasted off its hinges and exploded into shards. Giant splinters peppered Draco's skin, drawing blood down the side of his forearms and face. He stood still and continued his chanting, knowing that even one second delay would cost them all dearly. The air in the room shuddered, and for a moment everything stood still, as if time itself suspended. This was when Draco acted.
"Take her," he barked at Blaise, indicating Luna. "Rendezvous one. Thirty minutes. Go!" Blaise pummeled into Luna, gripping her tightly around the waste, and was gone. The air shuddered again, then four figures in blood-red robes filed in, wands raised. Draco sent red sparks flying at them.
"Protego!" He heard Hermione scream as he ducked a curse. Flashes of green, red, and purple rebounded off Hermione's shield charm. Draco crossed the room in three long strides and threw himself onto Hermione. He turned on the spot, and they were sucked into blackness. Pressure engulfed Draco from every direction, and he felt Hermione slip in his arms. He squeezed her body tightly to his chest. Then, their feet hit solid ground, and Draco was pushed full force onto his back.
"What in the bloody hell was that?!" Hermione shrieked at him. The world came into focus, and he found himself lying spread eagle, back aching, but very much alive. Hermione, aside from violently shaking with rage or terror (it was hard to tell which), appeared to be fine. He could see only two scratches on her arm from the splintered door. A sigh escaped his lips. Her shield charm was a damn good one and probably saved their lives, not that he wanted to admit it.
"Are you mute?" Hermione shouted at him, and he realized she'd been red-faced and rapid-firing questions at him. "I said, what in Godric's good name just happened?"
"I'd bloody well like to know myself," Draco retorted as he picked himself up. This seemed to mollify her, and she turned away (though still in a huff). He inspected the scratches on his arm: bleeding a fair amount but not serious. He healed each and saw Hermione doing the same her own couple of scratches from the corner of his eye. He tried to touch his face, which was stinging angrily, but he involuntarily winced at his own touch, and his fingers came away bloody.
"Just let me," Hermione said, not bothering to hide the exasperation in her voice. She stepped in front of him and peered up intently at his cheek. Draco stood still and focused on keeping his breaths even, but his eyes locked on her face. Her eyebrows knitted together in that familiar pattern as she concentrated. She bit her lower lip, and he knew she'd be holding her breath. He couldn't help getting sucked in by her intensity. She reached up and cradled his jaw in her palm, slowly turning his face to the side with her thumb and holding it in place. Steady, he reminded himself. In and out, breathe in… breathe out… He felt the side of his face heat up unnaturally as Hermione's magic went to work.
"There," she muttered after a few minutes. "I think that's all of them." She released his jaw but trailed her fingers down his cheek, feeling for scars. He swallowed, closing his eyes to her touch, which was gone too soon, leaving his cheek cold and exposed. His eyes snapped open and instantly met hers. They were boring into him, searching for something. What was that intensity? What was she questioning in him? She opened her mouth, and he could feel the words on the tip of her tongue.
"Your daft friend had better have a damn good explanation," Draco said, not entirely sure why he'd cut her off. He turned away from her, letting his back block her from seeing the shame on his face. This was not the time for reminiscing. He shook his head slightly and stalked off down the path to his left, leaving Hermione to scurry after him. They had reappeared in an expanse of private gardens with several pebbled paths snaking through. Thankfully, Hermione trailed behind Draco without any complaint, so he marched on in silence. He was in no mood for questions; his mind was reeling. The four, crimson-robed men had targeted them specifically, having no apparent interest in the treasures of Gringotts. How had they gotten in past the Goblin security measures? How did they know exactly when and where to find their small group? How could they possibly be encountering trouble before their journey had even begun?
Draco couldn't see there being innocent answers to any of his questions. He continued on, winding through the garden trails automatically, and knowing only one thing for certain. Either one or both of the Lovegoods were liars.