The best thing about the future is that it only comes one day at a time. ~ Abraham Lincoln
Chapter Twenty-nine: Repaint Tomorrow
"Their mobile must have died."
"They can die?" Ron asked from the corner, closing the manila folder in his hands.
"... Yes, they can. Well, at least we still got the location. We're waiting for the muggles to finish processing the map."
It seemed that somehow, the Ministry had gotten people into various muggle law enforcement facilities for such an occasion. That way, whenever the muggle police got calls about things like biting doorknobs and barking chairs, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement got on it quicker than one could say uh-oh.
Ron nodded, reopening the folder. Harry looked at him skeptically, wondering where the distinct sadness was in Ron's demeanor. He looked almost normal today. "Are you feeling better, Ron?"
He shrugged. "My new job is keeping me busy, so I don't really have time to 'feel' anything." There was a bitter note in his voice, as if he was being sarcastic just for the appearance of sarcasm.
Harry furrowed his brows. "Where are you working again?"
Ron looked up, giving Harry the look he'd been wanting to give him for almost a month. "Now you care?"
"I've always cared... it's just that... it seems like I never see you anymore."
"I wonder why that is."
Harry sighed angrily. "Lookit, are you just going to keep being stupid about this or are you going to tell me what's wrong? I really want to hear it."
"Do you, now?" Ron calmly slapped the folder onto the desk next to him. "Alright then. How about this - where was my friend when I needed him?"
"I've been here, trying to get all of this cleared up and Hermione here where she belongs!"
"No. I needed you to be there because you get it. You know? You get how big of a loss this is." Ron shook his head, his familiar expression returning - that dead look.
Harry eyed him. "She's not dead, Ron."
Ron grumbled something like, "She might as well be."
"We tried to involve you, but you never seemed thrilled about it. Ever."
"What's this 'we' bullshit? You and Nora? Is she your new best buddy now?"
Harry squinted incredulously at the redhead. "What? No! She's the only one taking this seriously, and we need all the help we can get - "
"I don't want to hear it, Potter."
Harry's eyes widened. His memory tried desperately to conjure any instances where Ron had used his surname. He spoke it as if Harry was so unfamiliar to him, like he hadn't spent the better part of his life being friends with him. Harry put his head in his hand and scratched at his old scar, as was a new habit of his. "Ron, let's not do this."
Ron faltered a little bit. Harry was right - they were bickering when they were supposed to be sticking together. "We just used to do things ourselves, you know? And now, it just seems like everyone is getting involved. I don't care if it's helping - it's just not how we do things."
Harry stopped scratching his face. "I'm so tired of that, though. We've been doing that since... forever. I just want… some help for once."
Ron shrugged, fingering the edge of the folder. "I guess I know what you mean."
The door opened, revealing an animated Kingsley Shacklebolt and a tired Nora Constable. "We went through hell getting these, but we've got their location!" he said warmly, waving the muggle pieces of paper he was holding in the air briefly.
Nora nodded and closed the door behind him. "Let's have a look, shall we?"
The four gathered around the table, Harry scooting the paper so he could put a finger on the crosshair in the center of the page. He looked confusedly at the map, wondering at the lack of any sort of townage - but wait, there was one, a little further up. Tok? Where the hell was that?
"Where the hell is Tok?" His eyes moved down the page to the statistics underneath the map. "Alaska, USA, 16:32 hours." He paused. "They're in the States?"
"Alaska?" Nora asked, her voice taking on a tone he'd never heard coming from her before. Harry looked up at her face. It was paler than usual.
"Is... is there something about Alaska, Nora?"
Her hand, which had flown to cover her mouth, went to scoot the paper closer so she could see for herself.
"Nora?"
She shook her head. "Not Alaska. But... it's too close... too close to Canada."
"America does share a border with Canada," Ron suggested, obviously trying to be somewhat helpful.
"Not the lower forty-eight," she said dismissively. "I mean... Alaska."
"Alaska's not part of main mass, Ron," Kingsley murmured, looking at a different sheet. "Their velocity was... huh. Now that can't be right."
"What?"
Kingsley showed the number to Harry, who furrowed his brows. "Are they traveling by broom or something? That's pretty fast for walking."
"Maybe they fell down one of those mountains," Ron said, pointing at the map. Seeing as he kept a straight face, he was probably unaware of how morbid the thought was.
Harry glanced sharply at Ron, not sure if he was just being a dick. "For Hermione's sake, I hope you're wrong."
Nora stood up straight. "Alright. You lot know what this means. Kingsley, if you will, send for the head of your department. Ron, I know you have to be at work in an hour, but could you go down to St. Mungo's and retrieve the cure? They should have finished it a few hours ago. Harry, I need to talk to you in my office."
The group parted, Harry stacking up the white sheets and bringing them with him to her office. Once inside, he set them down on her sofa by the door and waited for her to speak.
He realized almost immediately that she was fighting back tears.
"What - Nora, what happened?"
She shook her head, wiping her eyes. "Ugh, I don't know, Harry. I... I have a theory. I just hope I'm wrong." She forced a smile on her face, and Harry quirked his head. She really looked creepy when she tried to fake-smile.
"I need you to do something you may not like."
Hermione munched happily on her food. She had come up with a system for eating.
She had read somewhere (naturally) that in case the lights ever went out because of enemies during the Second Great War, it was a good idea to establish the location of everything one needed using a clock system. So if things started to get hairy and one could not see one's surroundings, one would still know that the door was at about ten o'clock, the fireplace about three o'clock, etcetera. If she applied this to her memories of eating, she realized that her drink was usually around two o'clock, her utensils usually at three o'clock (since she was right handed,) and any belonging she possessed sat directly in front of her feet.
Loki's head popped up next to Hermione's hand and lightly touched it with her nose.
"Chips?" Hermione asked, grabbing a few and putting them on the table next to Loki's face. The cat sniffed at the unfamiliar food.
"She wants your chicken, I think," Draco said, twirling a fork in his spaghetti.
"Alright." Hermione felt around for the chicken on her plate.
Draco chuckled at the scene. "Your fingers are getting all icky, you know."
"Yes, I know."
Draco watched for another few seconds before he said, "Don't you think you should, I don't know, clean them?"
Hermione smirked. "Wow, Malfoy, I had no idea you wanted to sleep on the floor tonight."
He raised his eyebrows slightly, letting his astonishment peek through before covering his face with a nonchalant mask. "I had no idea you wanted to sleep on the roof, Granger."
Hermione raised her own eyebrows, picking up the piece of chicken and ripping a few pieces off for Loki. The cat munched on them happily.
After further inspection of the motel (and another look at the amount of cash he had), Draco shook his head. "I'm not in the mood to squat right now," he muttered, settling back in his seat. "How would you like to sleep in the car tonight, Hermione?"
Hermione's first thought was seatbelt buckles digging into her back and her knees aching in the morning, but she pushed these thoughts and memories down. They were wizards; they'd figure it out. "Know any space-altering spells?"
Despite the amount Hermione Granger had changed since that night on a lonely drive in Edinburgh, he could still hear a bit of her old self in her voice. She was testing him; although her tone was nonchalant, it was also slightly expectant, as if she was curious to see his ability. Draco nodded and pointed at the back seat with his wand, reciting spells and altering the interior so that it was twice as big in both directions, though would appear normal once outside of it.
"Impressive," Hermione murmured after hearing the spells he'd used, stretching her arms carefully as to not punch him in the face.
"I always figured you'd go for the intellectual type."
"Rather than a scoundrel. Turns out I go for both."
"I really am a scoundrel, aren't I?" He ran his fingertips along her outstretched arm, causing her to jump. Hermione turned her head as if to look at him in surprise, then seemed to remember that this was not possible, so she settled for staring blankly in his direction.
Draco continued up her arm until he reached her hand; he used his thumb to rub gentle circles in her wrist. Her breath caught a bit.
There it is, was the excited thought that flitted across his mind; he realized then that he'd been trying for the better part of their relationship to find something that would make her forget the discomfort with her lack of sight and just feel. It turns out that she didn't need to be sneak attacked, she didn't need to be tired or sleepy, and she didn't need to be led up to it a little at a time... she just needed a sensation that overpowered her senses.
As he found himself staring at her, he once again tried to put the face of the girl she had been in school in front of him, trying to convince himself that it was the same person. It seemed like in a way, he'd never actually hated her in the strict sense; in reality, besides always grinding his nerves like no other and always outshining him like no other, he really hadn't given a shit about her. That is to say, there were worse people in the world, people he actually hated.
Was he trying to rationalize the infatuation that had seemed to blossom out of nowhere? Maybe. Or maybe she did seem a heck of a lot different now that she did not have Harry Potter and Ron Weasley hanging about.
He pushed aside these thoughts as he really assessed her appearance. She had changed a lot since Edinburgh; her hair, which had been still bushy, was now darker and a little lifeless, hanging down past her shoulders in lank waves; her face was thinner, revealing a beautiful neck and graceful jawline. Even her body had changed - she seemed taller than he remembered, and definitely slimmer. She didn't look bad, but it was noticeable enough. He missed the fullness she seemed to possess before all this had happened.
His fingertips...
Hermione remembered them well, and what they were capable of. It seemed that she could add more to that lengthy list. "Scoundrel," she commented.
"I think we established that."
She shook her head, knowing that he was pulling her towards him and deciding not to fight it.
Instead of pulling her onto his lap, he gently pushed her back through the space between the seats, following her; she found that the back seat was further back than it should have been, so she promptly hit the stiff carpeted floor with him a breath away from tripping right on top of her.
Hermione had to scoot back a bit; while he had altered the width and length of the car, the height was the same. Draco bared her to the carpet; her hair formed dark sun rays around her head as she lied back.
He was suddenly hesitant, realizing that her eyes were wide with anticipation; despite her lack of sight, she could sense his position over her and what normal couples do in this position.
But we are not a normal couple, are we? He brushed some of her hair away from her face so he could kiss her on the cheek.
Hermione had other plans though; as his lips touched her skin, she used her legs to pull his body against hers. He had to brace himself on his elbows to not crush her as suddenly her hands delved into his pants and pulled his shirt up.
"My god," he gasped as she tried to pull the thing off; he sat up as much as he could given the low ceiling and her constricting legs and removed the garment, tossing it behind him and probably over the steering wheel. Loki was meowing somewhere off to his right, probably wondering why the car was shaking so much as Hermione rolled him over.
She was above him, her hair brushing his face and neck and smelling like freshly cut grass; she pulled her own shirt off, revealing her plain white bra and pink wounds. Draco was momentarily blinded by them before he realized that she had clumsily felt her way to his hands. She placed them on her hips, trying to get him to take off her jeans.
"What... Hermione, stop for a second..." Her hands halted their movements, resting on his navel.
One of her more troublesome wounds had reopened, and was bleeding freely, a red line trailing down her pale stomach.
She hadn't said anything yet, but behind her unsteady breathing, the question on her face was clear - Why are we stopping when I was on a roll?
"One of your scabs opened," he muttered weakly, hoping that the after-effect of her aggressiveness - which she was currently sitting on - wasn't freaking her out.
"I know," she said breathily, wiping the blood away before it could reach her pants, leaving a streak in its wake. She cleaned her hand on the carpet next to them, her body shifting the slightest bit, though it wasn't slight enough for Draco's lower half not to respond. Hermione froze.
It seemed that she finally realized what she had been doing. Her posture visibly changed, and she attempted to cover her chest, though this just caused her body to shift again. She cleared her throat nervously.
Draco smiled openly. "You're so bossy," he murmured, pulling her hands away from her chest. "I like that a lot better than this scared little thing. We just don't have to put that bossiness to use just yet."
"Right," she said, shaking her head in an attempt to rid herself of the blush now covering her cheeks. Draco moved his hips back and forth a little, and Hermione gasped and stiffened, her fingers digging into his navel.
"You'll be feeling more than that in the future if I can help it," he whispered, sitting up and wrapping his arms around her bare waist; her posture softened, and she gripped his back.
The metallic smell of her blood reached him then, and he pushed his palm against the open gash to stop the bleeding. Hermione groaned, perhaps in pain, but allowed him to press his hand against her stomach.
"I feel like I'm not putting out or something," Hermione muttered, feeling around until her hand found his.
Draco shook his head, trying to concentrate on applying pressure to her stomach. "You should already know that I don't really care about that so much. Besides," he removed his hand, happy to see that the bleeding had stopped, "you aren't withholding anything, and I'm not rushing you. If I was, I would have let you continue."
She nodded numbly, wondering when she had become so reckless. Probably around the same time she had pointed her wand at his neck and confessed her feelings. Or maybe just by not leaving his side the second she'd heard Neville's voice.
They sat like this in silence, Hermione still straddling his lap and Draco holding her hand. Hermione lessened the curtain around her mind and rubbed it against his a bit, attempting to calm his heartbeat, which she could feel against her own chest.
It now felt as if he had let her continue; it didn't matter that they were still somewhat clothed. Her desire, which had been waning, began to heat again.
:All we need is this.:
She tilted her head, probably attempting to nod in agreement; unfortunately, she found it hard to focus on something as complicated and strenuous as nodding her head now.
Harry looked around the dark, deserted corridor, following the instructions that Nora had given him. She was right - he really didn't like this idea. If he were to be caught, it would be hell to pay - this was a lot different than sneaking around in the Ministry after it had closed, as he had done a few years before.
The consequences for sneaking into the Archives... well, Azkaban was involved.
He used a charm she had given him - one that made his atoms spaced apart temporarily - and pushed himself against the wall.
It was the oddest sensation, having the stone pass right through him... he had to do it quickly before the charm wore off. Harry pushed harder.
He breathed a sigh of relief as he made it to the other side, just as he felt his skin tighten up once again. "I just walked through a wall," he murmured to himself, smiling slightly.
Okay, back to business. He was momentarily stunned by the sight of huge, swaying stacks of books piled into oblivion; he didn't see any light sources, yet there seemed to be a surreal universal lighting in the place reminding him of fog. He read the sign next to the shelf in front of him - "Ministry Records."
Nora's directions were on point. If he had gone through the front entrance (as if he would even get away with that,) he would probably have walked for hours before finding this exact spot. She had told him he needed to walk a bit from here even to get to the section that he needed.
Harry started forward, sidestepping the smaller stacks and reading some of the signs along the way, such as "Azkaban Records," "Auror Training Scores," "Beast Discovery," and "Crimes Against Muggles" (that particular section was eerily long.) He came upon the section titled "House Arrest and Parole Records" after what seemed like forever; someone needed to come in here and better organize this place. He started down the row again, noting that the years dated all the way back to 1627.
He stopped in front of the leather-bound, encyclopedia-size book for the year 1995. The parchment was newer than the rest of the journals, seeing as it was only a few years old; Harry retrieved the large book from the shelf, wondering what Nora could possibly want with this.
