:: Chapter Thirty-One: The Never-ending Quest ::
He was bound to the chair. The tables had turned; two years ago it would've been Hermione being held captive. Now he knew what it felt like to be prisoner. His breathing was erratic, his pace quickened and his palms were sweating. Sure this place was nothing like the confinement that she was locked up in, the damp dark basement made this place seem like a five star hotel. The room had a small cot in one of the corners, which was more than the basement provided. He ran his hands through his hair, an aggravated sigh escaping his pale lips. He kept telling himself that he wasn't a criminal, and that he would be able to leave soon but he knew that his freedom wouldn't come easily. The Aurors had a case, he had kidnapped Hermione, he had killed his father and it wasn't in self-defence. He had killed the man fuelled on the anger and spite that he had been filled with. They had more than a case; they had good reason to keep him locked up in the cells of Azkaban. The dementors no longer roamed around as frequently but he still felt as though his soul was being taken away from him slowly, painfully. Perhaps it was from his own guilt, or perhaps it was because he could soon be given the Dementor's kiss. The court hearing was in two days and he felt as if those two days would end him sooner than any kiss from a soul-sucker would. Two days away from Hermione, two days away from civilization, two days away from his job. He felt himself begin to hyperventilate as the facts sunk in. He didn't know if he would leave this place alive or if he would even leave this place at all. Cool, grey eyes swept over the cell, and out into the small hall. They took in all of the little cracks on the wall and the marks from where someone had been keeping track of their time in there. The small white marks shone on the grey of the wall. How he wished he had his wand with him to escape, this place was driving him mad. He began to count the marks on the wall, tallying up the total time a pervious "guest" had lingered. One. His thoughts drifted back to his wand. Two. The dark ebony wood that shone from the frivolous polishing. Three. It was a gift. Four. The first time it was from his father, and the second from Hermione. Five. Hermione. Six. She had given him his wand after two years. Seven. She'd kept his wand as a reminder of him. Eight. She loved him. Nine. Harry. Ten. Harry was going to kill him. Eleven. He had to stop him from hurting Hermione that way. Twelve. He needed to do something. Thirteen. He realized what he must do. Fourteen. His life must be ended.
"Harry James Potter! I hate you." She beat at his chest furiously. "You were my friend. We were the best of friends and you go and destroy all my happiness with a single movement." Hermione yelled. Tears streamed down her cheeks, marking a path on her porcelain skin. Her eyes were red and puffy from the river of tears that flowed continuously. Harry took the abuse, mentally and physically. Standing before him was the girl he once loved, the girl who he believed that he was going to marry. They were going to be happy. They were going to have the smartest children to grace Hogwarts since Hermione herself. And they were going to have the perfect life. But he believed that she threw that all away, threw it all away on Draco. His memories of his archenemy were all bitter and left a foul taste in his mouth. From hearing the little blonde boy call him scar head to stealing his love away from him at the time when she was the most vulnerable. For weeks he had told himself that Hermione was going to walk through his door and apologize. And they could finally be happy. But no, she had stayed. She stayed with Draco and never once regretted her decision. She threw away seventeen years of friendship for one guy. And then it dawned on him. She loved him; she really cared for the prat. He was seething on the inside. His blood boiled and his temperature rose. He needed to do something; he couldn't throw away the happiness that he waited for. He needed to destroy Draco; he needed to make him pay. He couldn't be allowed to steal something so precious from him and get away with it. Harry pulled away from Hermione's beating fists and walked out of the dining hall. Not even saying goodbye to Ron and Lavender. His fists clenched and unclenched. He was going to make sure that Draco Malfoy never forgot the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Kill.
"Milord." Prichard said in a low voice. "Come on, we have to get out of here before someone realizes what's going on." The young man hissed.
"Where is he?" Harry asked vehemently.
"Who, Mr. Potter?" The man at the front desk asked.
"Draco Malfoy. He was brought in here earlier for kidnapping and murder."
"Oh, him. Slick one isn't he?" Receiving no response from Harry he continued. "Fourth floor. Cell number twenty seven."
"Thanks." Harry muttered as he walked past the desk to the elevator. Rising up to the fourth floor he began to walk past the numerous cells filled with criminals. Surprisingly, the blonde man just didn't seem to fit in with this lot. Reaching cell number twenty seven Harry pulled out his wand.
"Avada… Oh bloody hell!" He yelled out. The cell was empty.
"Milord." Prichard cooed to Draco as they reached Malfoy Manor. The old mansion sent chills up his spine; so many memories came flooding back. He tried to block them out but it was no use, they filled his thoughts, one after another. "It's so good to have you back."
"Prichard, stop!" He snapped. "I have important business I must attend to." Draco said fleeting up the stairs to the library. He entered the musty room and shut the door. He felt it was important for him to get back into the ranks with the Death Eaters. He needed some alliances, some alliances that could wipe Harry out of the picture. They had welcomed him back without any problems, after two years of being leaderless it seemed as thought they were happy to have the Dark Lord return to the empire his father had assisted in. He sighed taking in all the dirt that seemed to accumulate over the past two years. It seemed as though no one had stepped inside of this room, and for that he was grateful for. He moved over the mahogany bookshelf and began searching frantically; he needed to find some sort of book filled with battle plans. Some thing that he knew that his father had hidden. A war was upon them, the Dark Lord and Harry Potter could not fight without it becoming a war that was common sense. Two years ago Draco was proud to fight alongside Potter and bring the demise of the Death Eaters upon the world. They succeeded in only bringing down the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters passed the torch on to the Dark Lord's successor. But today, now, it seemed as though he truly was destined to fight against the great Harry Potter. The protagonist of the story had won too many battles and now it was time for the antagonist to win. A devious smirk covered his lips as he pulled book after book off the shelves. A manuscript fell to the ground. Draco paused to look at it; his father's name was carved into the brown leather. The name Lucius Malfoy shimmered in the pale light of the room. He took the book into his hands, turning it over making sure that his eyes took in every detail. He sat down at the matching mahogany desk and opened the manuscript.
"Bingo." He whispered to himself as the little dots on the page began to act out the battle plans.
"Where is he?" Harry yelled at the first person he saw on his way out.
"Who sir?" The clerk asked.
"Malfoy! Where is he?" He yelled.
"In his cell, sir." The man looked bewildered.
"Bloody hell." He shook his head and bolted out of the door.
Hermione paced across the beautiful stone floor. The occupants of the room all gazed at her, as if she were the centre of their focus. She chewed on her bottom lip and picked at her nails. The stone was wearing thin under her feet.
"Hermione, why don't you sit down?" Lavender asked. All she could do was glare at the ditzy girl.
"Remus, how could you do this?" She asked the older man, the man she had grown to love as an uncle. The man who betrayed her. She finally sat down in one of the eloquently embroidered, upholstered chairs. Her hands ran up to her face, as if her hands were going to stop the angry tears from sliding down her porcelain cheeks. The older man just looked at her, concern drawn across his tired and worn features.
"He got what was coming to him."
"He's not a criminal!" She yelled. "After what happened with Sirius why are you so quick to judge? Sirius was innocent, as is Draco and look how Sirius ended up. Dead, Remus. Sirius is gone and I don't want to lose Draco either."
"What happened to Sirius was an accident. Draco isn't going to die."
"Not from that bloody veil but he's going to die because of people like you!" Her voice was beginning to become strained. "People like you are going to kill him and I can't stop it. For Merlin's sake by best friend sent him to Azkaban! My best friend! Do you know how that feels? It feels like there's a thousand knives stabbing me in the back." Her voice dropped to a dangerously low level. "He betrayed me, he killed a part of me when you and Tonks dragged him away and I knew it was his fault." The hot tears stung her cheeks. "I need to get out, I need to get out of here." Her pacing ceased and her footsteps moved toward the door.
"'Mione you can't leave." Ron protested, stepping in front of her.
"I'm sorry I ruined your day, I truly am. But I need to get out of here. Fast." She tried to move toward the door but Ron stepped in front of her again.
"You can't leave. You're in no condition to be alone right now."
"I'm not going to be alone. I'm going to find Harry, and I'm going to kill him like he's killing me. Goodnight Ron." She darted past him before he could stop her.
"Hello sir." Prichard greeted Draco as he descended the staircase.
"Hello." Draco grumbled. He had spent most of the previous few hours looking over battle plans, anything that could send Potter the shock of his life. He hadn't found the perfect plan just yet but he could feel it was there, he could feel the excitement building. And then it struck him; the perfect plan was playing out in his head. All of the lies, deceit, and simple planning were playing themselves out as the dots on parchment. A malicious grin came to his lips. But as quickly as it appeared it was wiped away. He sat down in the den in one of the more comfortable chairs and closed his eyes. Her face was haunting him, her angelic smile and her infectious laugh. She would be his downfall. If Potter used her against him, he would crumble.
Her reasonable side was kicking in; she couldn't kill him. She could never kill him; he was like a brother to her, a very overprotective brother. Perhaps this was his revenge for her cheating on him, no it was cheating it was merely following her heart. She walked into her room in Hogwarts and sat down on her bed. Looking around the room she had to laugh. Lying on the desk chair was Draco's green Slytherin sweatshirt and it clashed horribly with the brilliant crimson and gold hues of the room. It was almost if the contrasting colours were never meant to be mixed. These colours represented houses, which represented a person's personality. Perhaps the clashing colours were someone's way of telling her that their personalities clashed too much for anything to ever happen. But wasn't there a saying that opposites attracted? Maybe that only applied to magnets but there was always some sort of thrill she felt about Draco. He was the bad boy and she was the good girl, he was untouchable and she was the girl next door. But underlying between all of their differences they were so much the same, the intelligence, the destiny to become great, and the want to get away from the person they were becoming, the path they were paving for themselves. She had never shared that bit of information with anyone; she hated her life. Her friends and family were the best anyone could ask for but they were suffocating her, she had no room to breathe and anytime she did anything she knew that her moves would be scrutinized. It was as if she was a fish in a fish bowl, always being watched, never having any freedom. Walking over to the desk chair she picked up the sweatshirt. Opposites may attract but similarities stay together… Her mother used to tell her that all the time. Fifteen years ago you could've killed Draco Malfoy and Hermione would've had a party but today she knew that if he were to even move to a different city it would kill her. The mere thought of him spending years locked up in that hell hole was enough to drive her mad. And every time she thought of Draco's demise she knew it was only one person's fault. It was her own. She was the one that fell in love with him, she was the one that dragged him into a room full of Aurors and it was she that kept him from being the person he was destined to become. But one person could have kept her from making so many terrible mistakes, from getting Draco into such a terrible position and that person was Harry. He could have saved them both. The hero turned into the villain. She ran her fingers over the soft fabric; her fingers traced the silver snake over and over. She remembered taunting Draco about wearing this sweatshirt.
"Why do you wear that thing?" Hermione asked; a tinge of playful annoyance filled her voice.
"It's comfortable, besides I happen to think that this green colour looks rather good on me." He said lying down on her bed; she was sitting at her desk correcting some third year homework. She laughed and rolled her eyes.
"Someday your egos going to inflate so much that your head won't fit into your beloved sweatshirt." She turned around to face him.
"You love my ego and you know it." He smirked. She shook her head.
"You're amazing you know, you always seem to turn my puns into a compliment towards yourself."
"It's in the job description."
"Driving me insane?"
"No, being amazing."
"See, there you did it again." She said, mock exasperation flowing through her words. She moved over to her bed and sat down next to him. "But I must admit, you do look pretty cute in that sweatshirt of yours, no matter how much I can't stand it."
She picked up the sweatshirt and pulled it over herself. True to his word, it was rather comfortable.
"Green looks good on you as well." A soft voice came from the door. Her head whipped into that direction.
"Draco! What are you doing here? I thought they captured you." She rambled; her feet carried her closer to him. Her arms embraced him in a large hug.
"Let's just say that being bad had its advantages."
"You can't be here. This is the worst place you could be. Get out." She demanded.
"No." He protested. "I want them to find me, and when they do I'm not going to run."
"I would rather see you run than die."
"I would rather fight than be a coward! I have my pride, Hermione!"
"Damn you pride, Draco. I don't want to lose you!" She cried. He took her face in his hands and looked her in the eye.
"You're not going to lose me." He promised.
Harry had a hunch that Malfoy would go to Hermione, perhaps to say his final goodbye. That thought made him smile. But just imagining the hurt in Hermione's eye brought him out of that reverie. She was his best friend; his first love, his only love and he could never hurt her intentionally. But this man was a criminal; he needed to be killed. He knew that Malfoy would have some sort of plan worked out; he knew that he needed to be prepared. Malfoy would be more than happy to see Harry brought to his knees and killed and this was a thought that he often braced himself for. But what if Hermione was right, what if he was truly innocent. How could he be? He's the Dark Lord, the one that Harry must kill or die trying. In his heart he knew where Hermione was, and he knew that Malfoy would be by her side and yet he was so afraid, so petrified to find them. And then it dawned on him; this was his plan. He wanted Harry to come to wherever Hermione was and be so afraid to kill him in front of her that he couldn't do it. And that's where Malfoy would step in. He would come off as the hero for not killing Harry and Harry would look like the chicken to all of his co-workers. He braced himself, Hermione present or not he was going to kill Draco Malfoy and win Hermione back as he once did.
That lovely pride quote comes from 'A Knights Tale'. J