Chapter 9

The dust had barely settled in the room around them before Granger crawled out from under the table.

"No, gods, please no," she muttered repeatedly, the sound of instruments moving back and forth across the desk punctuating her desperate pleas.

Heart in his throat, Draco emerged.

The desktop was destroyed. Where the barrier had been, a charred crater billowed smoke. Scraps of shattered glass glittered like diamonds around the surface, and only Granger's notes had made it out with minimal scorching. The wall behind where McLaggen had stood was blackened, a hole blown clean through the tapestry.

Granger's movements were frantic and clipped, her body vibrating with wild energy as she desperately pawed through the remnants of their work.

McLaggen surfaced on the opposite side of the desk, eyes wide as he surveyed the damage. "What ha—"

Something ugly and not altogether unwelcome reared inside Draco. Silencing him off with a sharp shake of his head, Draco said, "Go. Floo Merrythought and Kingsley. They should already know by now that there's news of Archer and Elara's location, but we need the Aurors here as soon as possible."

McLaggen's eyes grew rounder. "What?" His whisper may as well have been a shout for as hard as Granger flinched. "You should have led with—"

"Go," Draco reiterated, pointing towards the door. "She's spiralling. I need to calm her before she falls apart, and I can't do that with you lurking in the room staring at her like she's lost the plot."

Although he looked like he wanted to object, McLaggen finally nodded, and he left the room in a near sprint.

Leaving Draco alone with Granger.

The witch was manic, tearing over surfaces she'd already searched as she muttered unintelligibly to herself. Her hair lifted in an invisible wind, tears pouring down her cheeks.

Slowly, he approached her. "Hermione."

Her shoulders stiffened for a fraction of a moment, her fingers stilling, before she began combing through the items on the table again.

He closed the space between them, stopping short of pressing his body to hers. It was familiar to him, the frantic energy rolling off her body. How many nights had she shaken awake in bed, her body thrumming from the aftermath of a war a decade past and scars that he was sure she'd never heal?

How many times had he held her and talked her through it as his own guilt consumed him from within?

Swallowing, he spoke again. "Granger, I'm here. I've got you."

As though his words were a balm, she slowed her pawing, a hiccuping sob echoing from deep in her throat. Her hands still turned over the rough-hewn bits of wood that the magic had broken off the table, desperate to find an answer in the ruined edges of it.

It was always a gamble, embracing her when she was so upset, but Draco closed the scant space between them, resting his palms on the curve of her waist. The gesture lacked the intimacy that he longed to wrap her in, the love he needed to show he still held for her—would always hold for her—but he couldn't push it.

Not when he'd taken the choice from her so long ago.

A garbled gasp issued from her throat, and she sank into him. "I've ruined it."

The depth of her pain shot through him, wrapping his vocal cords in a fist of emotion. He sucked in several breaths to steady himself. "You haven't ruined it, Granger."

"I have. We knew how volatile the magic was—we weren't adequately prepared," she whispered, her shoulders shaking with the force of her tears. "I was so sure—" Her voice broke on a sob. "But it's gone. The one chance we had to determine who this was, to find Archer and Elara—it's ruined."

Her body curled in on itself, pitching forward in his arms, and Draco reacted on instinct, coiling his arms around her middle and moulding his body to hers.

Her frame was thinner—he could tell she hadn't taken enough time to eat over the last few days, her body neglected in her need to find answers. Still, her curves were familiar, and he took as much solace from having her in his arms as she took leaning back into him.

He muttered nonsensical words into her hair, pressing his nose into the curly mass. Her scent—gardenias and ink—washed over him. As his heart hammered away in his chest, he tried not to count the seconds before she pulled away.

Against his better judgement, he reached up, sweeping her hair to the side. Slowly, reverently, he lowered his lips to the juncture of her neck and shoulder to kiss the dark freckles that dotted her skin.

She froze, her body stockstill in his arms. Several moments passed, his lips pressed delicately into her flesh, before she relaxed into him and tipped her head to the side, accepting the comfort and granting him access to her.

Something in his chest cracked, but he moved, trailing lingering kisses up and down her flesh. It was intimate, and yet there was no desire in the motion. It felt like a reminder, a promise, that he would be there for her for as long as she would have him.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but her sobs quieted to sniffles, and then her shaking slowed to minor shudders. At some point, her hand snaked up his body and her fingertips sank into his hair. The other tangled with his fingers, and he held them tightly against her stomach.

They stood in silence for several minutes, and Draco closed his eyes, resting his cheek atop her head and relishing the moment.

If this was the last time he held her, he wanted to remember it.

Reluctantly, Draco loosened his grasp on her fingertips, and she took a step back.

His eyes fluttered closed, and he drew in a long breath and slowly counted the exhale.

One.

Two.

Just as he reached three, her arms wrapped around his middle. Draco's heartbeat was in his ears, her familiar smell washing over him once more. He wished he could freeze the moment. Not for the mixture of fear and misery and other emotions that rocketed through him, or the time that was dwindling to find Elara and Archer, but to focus on the feeling of her in his grasp.

Her words were muffled when she spoke, but the gratitude in them was unmistakable. "Thank you."

He opened his eyes through willpower alone, and when he peered down at her, the remaining breath was knocked from his lungs.

A soft smile lifted her lips as she stared up at him. Slowly, she lifted one hand and traced over the contours of his face, and he couldn't stop himself from turning into her and nuzzling her warmth, eliciting a small chuckle from the witch.

He was utterly captivated by her, caught in the way she looked at him.

The way she stared up at him and finally saw him.

Not James Ainsley. She saw him.

And then she lifted onto her toes, cradling his jaw in her hand, and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to his lips.

Despite every fibre of his being shouting at him to sweep her into his embrace and kiss her breathless, he allowed her gentle exploration before she broke the moment.

A pretty blush spread over her cheeks, and she took several steps back until her hips brushed against the ruined table. Her eyes darted off of Draco and fell to the table top where the remnants of her notes laid scattered. She shook her head before letting out a heavy sigh. "We've got nothing."

It was easier to focus on the events of the day than the riot of feelings in his chest, so he blew out a heavy gust of air, trying to tame his sorrow. The weight of their children's photograph in his pocket nearly rooted him to the spot, but Granger needed hope—at least for a moment—for him to be her buoy in this storm they were weathering. He shook his head, the movement dispelling some of the stupor she'd lulled him into. "But we do."

Confusion flickered through her expression. "How do you figure?" She waved a hand weakly at the table. "The magic is gone; the only way we can determine the caster is by examining the original magic."

For the first time all day, a smile lifted his lips. "That's true, but you were able to isolate the two antecedents, correct?"

She shrugged noncommittally. "Yes, unsuccessfully."

Releasing a frustrated sigh, he stepped into her space again. A thrill of satisfaction raced down his spine when her gaze dipped to his lips and then back up to his eyes as though she was afraid of being caught. Again, he said, "You managed to isolate the two antecedents, correct?"

Her response was garbled and irritated. "Yes, I suppose we did."

The smile on his lips curled upwards. "And when I came in, you were rotating the antecedents to determine the rune they carried, correct?"

She rolled her eyes, shoving away from him. "Yes, Malfoy, we were, but it does not negate the fact that neither Cormac nor I managed to capture a photo, see the strand, or determine which rune was on the Muggle-born strand—"

"Ask me what I saw, Granger." He turned towards her, crossing his arms over his chest.

Her lips parted, eyes darting to his. "You can't have—it all happened so fast."

Once more, he approached her. Although he knew better, he lifted his hand, brushing his knuckles over the swell of her cheek. He lowered his gaze to hers, his voice low. "Ask me what I saw."

Her eyes fluttered shut, long lashes dancing against her blush-stained cheeks. "What did you see, Draco?"

The use of his given name rocked him for a single moment, but he gathered himself quickly and leaned down, lips brushing over the shell of her ear. "The rune. I saw the rune."

Before she could answer him, the Floo sounded and he pulled away, striding from the room to greet the recently arrived Aurors and leaving her swaying in his wake.

Never mind that the Ministry owned his damn home; he was raised with manners and would treat them with such even if they looked at him like he was no better than the dust beneath their feet.

As he walked, he mourned the loss of her warmth in his arms, the feeling of her supple skin beneath his lips, and he knew then that he'd go to the ends of the earth for Granger.

No matter what it took.

Hermione couldn't wrap her mind around what she'd just done.

She'd kissed Draco Malfoy.

And she wanted to do it again.

The door closed behind him, his voice echoing through the halls, and Hermione knew she should follow him. They needed to speak with the Aurors about what happened and arrange an appointment to use the Unspeakables' memory chamber, among a myriad of other, more important tasks, not the least of which was finding their children.

But she had kissed Draco Malfoy—fully aware that he was Draco Malfoy—and she couldn't shake the tingle on her lips, like she was a schoolgirl getting her first kiss.

Giggling to herself, she turned, allowing the moment to seep into her.

In just a matter of days, her world had turned upside down, robbing her of everything she'd come to know.

And yet, in Draco's arms, something told her it'd all be okay.

Sighing, she scooped up her charred notes. They had a lot to talk about, and she wasn't certain how they'd overcome the violation of trust she still felt as a pang in the pit of her stomach, but she hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor for nothing; she was too stubborn to give up on what she wanted.

With a deep, centring breath, Hermione straightened her shoulders and conjured a mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. Smoke and soot dusted her cheeks, and she could see the deep circles under her eyes from her lack of sleep. But she also recognised the determination glittering within them.

"Granger!"

Draco's voice carried through the house, and she waved the mirror away, turned on her heel, and marched in its direction.

The collection of Aurors stood in an awkward semi-circle around Malfoy, Cormac, and Kingsley, each of them shuffling from foot to foot as Hermione entered the room.

Merrythought broke away from the group, his brow pinched. "Are you all right? We have a Healer on standby to check you out."

She waved him away. "I'm fine, Merrythought, but I appreciate the concern."

His hand clasped her upper arm, stopping her. "Granger, you've got to—" Her pointed glare at his fingers had him pulling away and affixing his professional mask back in place. "You can't find Elara and Archer if you run yourself into the ground. Let us have someone check you out."

Indecision warred within her, but the throbs of a low-grade headache had already started behind her eyes—a likely combination of sleep deprivation and the explosion—and she pressed her fingertips to her temple. Begrudgingly, she said, "Okay, I'll see a Healer." Merrythought was already moving before she added, "After we debrief Kingsley."

The Auror pressed his lips into a thin line, but he offered a short nod and directed her towards a cushy armchair near the fireplace.

The plush welcomed her greedily, and she sank into its comforting warmth. With the fire roaring before her and night beginning to fall outside the floor to ceiling windows, she could feel her eyelids drooping.

"Kinsgley, we have the rune," Draco announced, slotting himself into the chair beside the fireplace. He'd curled his hands around the arms of the chair as though he was forcing himself to be idle. Hermione would bet anything that he wished for a glass of whiskey to quell the nerves she could see wound tightly in his shoulders.

Kingsley immediately sat upright, blinking between the two of them. "I thought you said—"

"Everything was destroyed in the explosion, yes, but memories can't be destroyed. Not by an explosion, at least," Hermione reminded him.

Merrythought rolled his eyes. "I mean, if we're getting technical, then they can be destroyed if one were to, say, smack their—"

Draco stood, cutting the Head Auror off with a muttered, "Fucking pedant." He turned to Kingsley, ignoring Merrythought's indignant scoff. "Granger wasn't able to see the rune, but I was." Several emotions rippled over his face. "I would draw it, but I'm afraid I'm not handy with a quill beyond script work."

One of the other Aurors strode forward, sweeping into a ridiculously deep bow before Kingsley, and Hermione had to fight to keep her chuckle from escaping. Kingsley, to his credit, coughed lightly to cover his. "Yes, Donahue?"

Donahue reddened and stuttered out, "Sir, the department has a Pensieve that we might use for the occasion. It allows for memories to be paused to aid in investigations—helps us gather evidence."

A smile tilted Kingsley's lips upright even as his eyes fluttered in a roll. "Thank you, Donahue, for reminding me. If you'll recall, I was present when Harry Potter was forced to recall his memories during the trials."

If possible, the man's face reddened further. "Yes, of course, sir. My apologies." His stuttering trailed off as he made his way to the back of the group with an awkward gait.

Kingsley clapped, addressing the room at large. "Now, if that's all, then we will—"

"That's not all." Malfoy took a step forward, his back ramrod straight and gaze boring into Kingsley as he reached into his packet. If he noticed the Aurors tensing on either side of him, he didn't flinch. "This morning, my mother delivered this to me. It's why I'm here."

In his palm, a folded piece of parchment flickered with movement. Perhaps it was the guilt that interlaced his tone or the way he refused to meet her eyes, but Hermione knew immediately that it had something to do with the children. He swallowed, tone severe. "I know where the children are."

Time seemed to move in slow motion as Aurors swarmed Malfoy. Merrythought plucked the photograph from his hand, Kingsley barked orders for backup to his lynx Patronus, and through it all, Malfoy stood staring at Hermione.

She couldn't tell whether she'd like to throttle him or throw herself into his arms and kiss him senseless. He knew where Elara and Archer were.

After a moment of shocked immobility, she crossed the room to him and took his hand. "Together, yeah?"

Malfoy offered her the shadow of the cocky grin she'd loved and loathed in James with equal measure. "Together."

Orders issued, Minister Shacklebolt approached them both. "Miss Granger, we need to determine—"

"Whether the magic on the photograph is misleading. Bring it to me," she finished, rolling her shoulders.

Cormac brought the photo to her, his lips pressed into a thin line. "Preliminary examination shows no sign it's been tampered with."

Hermione nodded, running her fingertips over the image. A knot formed in her throat as Archer pushed Elara behind him, balling his fists at his side as though he would fight whoever was taking the photograph.

She'd raze the world to get to them.

Swallowing thickly, Hermione levelled her stare at Kingsley. "I'll need to take this back to my office to determine there's no harmful magic on it, just to be sure. I'd use my zero gravity chamber, but it's no longer functioning—for obvious reasons."

Kingsley nodded. "Better to be sure, then. You return to your office with Merrythought and Donahue. I'll take Mister Malfoy to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to retrieve the memory."

"Not without me," she protested, casting her gaze to Malfoy. "Can I have a moment?"

The Minister nodded even as he pursed his lips. "The timeline is still critical, but now that we've located the children, we'll move into a rescue operation instead of an investigation. I suggest you make it quick." The man walked away, summoning an Auror as he went.

Hermione swallowed against the emotion crowding in her throat. Slowly, she approached Malfoy, crooking her finger for him to follow her into the empty foyer.

Light barely filtered through the windows as she heaved in a deep breath and turned to face him. She worked her jaw to keep her tears at bay and finally whispered, "You'll be okay?"

His eyes were shuttered and his face willed clear of emotion, but he nodded tightly. "I'll be fine. Go make sure that's legitimate and meet me at the Ministry."

She folded her lips together, studying the way he crossed his arms across his chest, almost like he could hold himself together if he just squeezed tightly enough. Sympathy and something else that she couldn't—wouldn't—name shot through her, but she stepped into his space, laying her palms on his folded arms. "Hey."

Malfoy peered down at her, lines shooting out from the corners of his eye. Carefully, she lifted her hand, cupping his stubbled cheek. "Granger, what are you—"

She lifted onto her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, just shy of the corner of his lips.

Instinct screamed at her to shift, to slide her lips over his and deepen the kiss, but she held fast, just pillowing her lips against his stubble as the tension seemed to ease out of him. When his arms unwound from across his chest and settled onto her hips, she pulled back and smiled at him. "We're in this together, yeah?"

For the first time that day, a wry grin pulled at his lips. "Together. As long as you'll have me."

A thousand responses flitted through her mind, but she just tipped back onto her toes again and pressed a kiss to his lips—fleeting and chaste—before she pulled away. "You should know by now how amendable I am to working out problems."

His grin was brilliant as she walked away, a matching smile on her features and new confidence in her step. They'd figure this out.

She was sure of it.

The Ministry was deserted by the time they arrived, and Hermione tried not to flinch at the way their footsteps echoed over the tiled flooring.

The last time she had willingly entered the Ministry of Magic has been for the trials years before, except for the few instances she worked with the Biomagical Research Lab. Even then, she'd entered through the private Floo access Kingsley had approved for her.

The vaulted ceilings were much the same as they always had been, but Hermione could still remember the statue in the middle of the floor depicting Muggle-borns and Muggles under the crushing weight of Voldemort's regime—where they'd determined people like her belonged.

The memory made her skin crawl, and she instinctively reached for Draco's hand.

They arrived in the Department of Mysteries in a single-file line, each of their accompanying Aurors filing in behind them.

Pansy stood shoulder to shoulder with Merrythought, and Kingsley offered them a reassuring smile. "Now, I think it goes without saying that this is not a conventional use of Ministry material, so discretion is of the utmost importance..."

They all murmured their agreement. With a nod, Kingsley directed the youngest Auror to retrieve the Pensieve.

When the door snapped closed behind him, the Minister turned to Draco. "You should know that we'll only be extracting the memory in regard to the sigil on the magical strand, but there is potential for other memories to bleed through, particularly if you have strong feelings associated with the memory."

Draco shuddered, trying not to allow them to see the discomfort he could feel in every line of his body. The man's words weren't reassuring. Draco was aware that they would likely see parts of himself he'd not consented to share, but more than anything he was worried about Granger's reaction.

Kingsley didn't allow him any more time to consider.

The wand tip was cold against his temple, and he unwittingly squeezed Granger's hand tightly in his. It wasn't painful, but it also wasn't pleasant. The sensation was much like when one of Granger's hairs got trapped beneath his shirt. The memory nearly tickled the way it slipped through his mind and onto the tip of the wand, and when it was done, he rolled his shoulders to dispel the gooseflesh that had risen to his arms.

He refused to acknowledge the moment and turned, gaze trained on the basin before them.

"Now, we'll place the memory in the basin. Miss Granger, given your relationship to the memory bearer's, we'll ask that you refrain from taking notes about the situation," Kingsley said, tipping his wand forward so Draco's memory hung from the end.

Granger spluttered. "I am more than capable of being objective, Kingsley. This is—"

Pansy was the one to step forward with a grimace. "He's right, Granger. Anything suspicious could throw out the evidence in the trail. Fruit of the poisonous tree and all that."

Granger opened and closed her mouth several times, but she finally settled on a muttered, "Oh, bugger it," and fell back into place beside him.

Kingsley eyed them each in turn, ending on Draco. "When this is placed in the basin, it will play for an undetermined amount of time—we'll have to make sure that the sketches are rendered correctly." He tipped his head at the wizard alongside him. "Are you capable of an unbiased depiction, Auror Donahue?"

The man puffed up his chest, a serious frown on his face. "Absolutely, sir. It would be an honour."

Revulsion crawled down Draco's spine. It would be an honour to record the lineage of the person who had kidnapped his children?

The logical part of Draco tried to remind himself that the man was just doing his job, but he couldn't stop his lip from curling at the man's eagerness.

Kingsley stepped forward, dipping his wand into the swirling blue abyss. All of Draco's reservations fell away as it flickered once, twice, and then the halls of Malfoy Manor appeared in its depths, each door racing past as his memory-version sprinted through the house.

"Shall we?" the Minister asked, then unceremoniously dipped his head into the depths of the water.

Taking a deep breath, Draco followed suit, squeezing Granger's hand once more to bolster himself.

The memory swam up to meet him, both shimmery and solid in its translucence. It was strange, to watch himself sprint through the house he had grown up in with a single-minded determination.

From his perspective, he could see the desperate pinch to his brow, the way his mind seemed to race through the possibilities even as he approached the doors to the library.

"Hermione, I have—"

Shame settled into Draco's core as he witnessed his face fall at Granger and McLaggen's close stance.

Beside him, Granger sucked in a harsh breath, and her grip on his hand tightened. Apparently, she'd missed his jealousy.

For a brief moment, Draco wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole, but the memory progressed, drawing him forward alongside himself.

It felt strange, to watch himself fall into the allure of the strand of magic, to see the way his face slackened.

The knife of shame in his core twisted tighter when Granger gasped as the magic whispered its venomous words. The magic curled in on itself, and Draco observed himself lean forward, fascination clearly etched in the planes of his face as he touched a hand to its surface.

It was frightening, watching the way he reacted to the magic's draw. Even now, in a memory and hours later, he could feel the power radiating through it.

Hermione stepped into him, grasping his hand. "I didn't know," she whispered, her spectral form looking to him. "I didn't realise how it felt, the magic."

He shook his head as the Draco in the memory crouched in front of the barrier and brought his face closer to the magic as it writhed. "It's—I don't know how to explain it other than the way it feels here. It was like it was calling to me, like it knew that I have what it takes to survive."

Granger nodded, her lip drawn between her teeth. "It's just so dark." She turned to him, panic in her eyes. "Not you—the magic. The way it seeks out that which will make it stronger."

Draco nodded, studying his manic expression while he leaned closer to the isolation chamber. 'It's unusual, almost like it wanted to latch onto me to—"

"I have a theory that it's adjacent to a Horcrux," Granger interrupted. "If you think about it, each person has a magical core that is entirely their own; it's where, beyond our parentage, certain signatures come from. We're not able to manipulate it; we usually can't separate it out except for under very dire circumstances. It's advanced magic, but it stands to reason that if—"

"If the Dark Lord can split a soul, then he could have also separated his magical signature. Would it then be stronger than a Horcrux?" Draco mused as Pensieve Granger frantically called his name and he finally wrenched away.

Donahue hissed at them to be quiet, so Draco leaned closer, straining to hear Granger's whispers.

"I would imagine not," she uttered. "A Horcrux requires intent, requires blood to bind it. It needs a ritual. Splicing magic like this would result in a weak echo of the magic itself, which would explain why it sought you out. It needs to latch onto something stronger to survive."

In the memory, Granger shouted for McLaggen to steady his wand, and her spectral version beside Draco stiffened. "This is when—"

"Circumrota," the memory of herself said, and the strand turned, displaying the rune just before Draco's face.

"I've got it," Auror Donahue whispered. Somewhere above them, Draco heard a quill scribbling furiously as the young wizard approached the barrier. "This is extraordinary magic."

Nearly as quickly as the strand rotated, McLaggen tipped his wand and the crack appeared, the magic roiling until it exploded.

The memory went dark. Draco emerged from the basin, wiping his face as though he were truly wet.

Granger was the next to remove her head, Kingsley immediately after. She looked at him, an encouraging smile on her lips. "You did it," she whispered, her smile tinged by the tears in her eyes. "We can find them—can find who did this."

His grip tightened and he pulled her to his chest, breath leaving his lungs heavily as he peered down at her. "We can do it. It'll be alright."

As the rest of the wizards in the room lifted up their heads, Draco pulled away, keeping an arm wrapped loosely around Granger's waist.

Pansy peered at them, her face ashen as she shook herself. "I'm glad..." Her voice trailed off, and she cleared her throat, trying again. "I'm glad you're both okay. That explosion looked—"

"If Malfoy hadn't been proactive with the Shielding Charm, you'd all be dead," Merrythought deadpanned.

Draco released Hermione, his jaw tight as he faced the other man.

Merrythought glared between Granger and Draco. "That was bloody foolish of the both of you to do." He turned his glare on Kingsley. "And utterly asinine of you to allow them to do that kind of magic without proper warding and preparation."

Draco swallowed at Granger indignant huff, and he carefully stepped to the side, cutting off Merrythought's approach. "With all due respect, sir—"

Merrythought stepped into his space, his height imposing as he stared down at Draco. Several seconds passed as Draco squared and braced himself for a blow that he'd have to return, but suddenly, Merrythought's hand shot out, nearly jabbing against Draco's stomach.

"When all this is over—when we find your children—why don't you come down to the Auror office and we'll see about finding you a place on the force."

Draco stared down at his hand with something like disbelief. He was sure his mouth was hanging open like a dead fish, and it was only Granger's elbow in his side that sent him into action.

He reached forward, slipping his hand into the Auror's dry grasp. "I'm not sure it would be exactly advisable for you and I to work together."

Merrythought laughed, shaking his head. "That's where you're wrong, Malfoy. Not many in our office can dish it as well as they take it." He cut his gaze to Auror Donahue sketching out the rune, who flushed to the tips of his ears. "We need people with your kind of grit around the bullpen. You might even give Potter a run for his money."

Draco finally smirked, shaking his head. "You had to throw Potter in the mix. Everyone knows I can't avoid showing up that prat."

Hermione huffed behind him. "Honestly. You and Harry are friends now. Are we really going to go back to schoolyard antagonising now that you're back to yourself?"

Shaking his head at her ranting, Draco turned back to Merrythought with a serious pull to his lips. "Honestly, though, I'm not sure it would be a good fit. The other Aurors, well..." He remembered the way the other men had stared at him suspiciously. "They don't trust me. Besides, I have a family business to run."

Merrythought shook Draco's hand once, squeezing unnecessarily tight. "Understood. The offer stands, though. We're all a bunch of jaded bastards, but we're really not too bad once you get to know us."

Draco huffed an incredulous snort as he watched the man retreat towards the rest of the Aurors. The world truly was turning on its head if he was starting to like Merrythought.

Granger sidled up next to him as Merrythought went over Donahue's notes with Kingsley. "He's not that bad, is he? Merrythought."

Draco pulled her into his side, turning to press a kiss to the top of her unruly hair. "I suppose not... then again, I'm likely to become fond of anyone who is helping us track down Elara and Archer."

Hermione stiffened in his grasp, her gaze becoming hazy. When she spoke, her voice was distant. "Do you think they're scared?"

Draco swore under his breath before gripping her hand. "Yes," he told her honestly, hating how her lip trembled. "But we'll find them. Donahue is going to view the memory once more and then confirm what he saw."

Hermione blinked away her tears, trying to steel her countenance. "I recognised the rune," she muttered, confusion flickering in her eyes. "But it doesn't make sense."

Dread unfurled in Draco's stomach at the way she stared at the Pensieve as though it was the answer to a particularly troubling secret. "What did you see?"

She worried her lip. "During the war... how often did you see Voldemort?"

The glib use of that name sent a shudder through Draco, but he cast his memory back. "He was at the manor the whole of sixth year. He moved in the summer after fifth. My father invited him." His blood curdled at the memory. "He said it was an honour of the highest degree."

Hermione blanched, peering up into his eyes. "He was there? The whole time? No wonder you looked so terrible during sixth year."

Startling, Draco stared down at her. "You watched me in sixth year?"

Colour suffused her cheeks. "It was hard not to. You looked so miserable, like you were just waiting for the world to crash down around you," she murmured. "You were all skin and bones, constantly looking over your shoulder like you were waiting for something terrible to happen.

It was an accurate assessment, and Draco frowned. "Yes, well, when a murderous madman lives in your home, your mental health tends to take a nosedive."

His cheek earned a laugh from Hermione, but it choked off when Donahue reentered the room, consulted his drawing again, and nodded to Kingsley. His voice was pinched when he spoke. "I confirmed my suspicion. It's the same rune."

Draco smoothed his hand down Hermione's inner arm as they waited, breath held, as the Auror turned the drawing towards them.

"But it's impossible," she breathed, her shoulders slumping. "There are no living relatives from this family line. It died out at the final battle."

It felt as though cold water had been tossed over Draco, spying the name scrawled over the bottom of the parchment.

Gaunt.

There was only one wizard in living memory to have been born to a Gaunt, and he was dead.

Tom Riddle.

Somehow, Tom Riddle had a progeny, and that child was holding his and Granger's children captive.

A/N: Y'ALL, I am nervous AF about this chapter. I'd love a review so I know what you think! A bit of bad news: the next chapter will be just a touch late-I do apologize for that! I've got job interviews lined up next week and I'm not sure if I'll have time to go through notes from my alpha/beta before then, but I'll fly through them as soon as I'm able! And, hopefully by the time I update, I'll be able to celebrate the end of a certain presidency with you all. So, if you haven't yet voted, make sure to get out there and have your voice heard!