Sold-Chapter 20-All Dracos are Created Equal

By Marmalade Fever

A.N.: I'm trying to make which Draco and Hermione I'm talking about as obvious as I can. I don't want to have to have a key if I can avoid it. (Making one or the other speak in italics or something.) So please, bear with me. If you're really struggling, let me know and I'll try and make it easier. Remember that this is not an easy situation.

"Hermione," Ron said, coming over to talk.

"Ron!" Hermione responded, hugging him. She had missed her funny, red-head friend so much.

"And," he said, breaking away uncomfortably, "this is Eliza, my wife."

Hermione smiled at the other woman. So Ron had married. She wasn't so surprised. What seemed forever ago, Ron had had a crush on her, and vice versa, though nothing had ever come of it. "It's so nice to meet you," she said, gripping Eliza's hand in her own.

"I'd say the same, but… we've, well, maybe not 'we,' but, you know. I've met you…"

Hermione nodded in understanding. "Where did Harry go?" she asked. However much she'd missed Ron, she missed Harry ten times more. In her timeline, Ron was dead. It was much easier to come to closure over him compared to Harry, who had merely been missing. (Granted, everyone on the light side had missed Harry for a very good reason.)

"I think he went to the Great Hall with Lily and Pen."

"Is that his wife?"

"Yep. Penelope. She's muggle," Ron said, shrugging good-naturedly.

"I think I'll go and see him then. Thanks Ron."

"Anytime," he said, smiling broadly and patting her on the back.

Across the room, Bad Malfoy, as Hermione had come to call him, was alone. Good Malfoy had left the room. As she crossed to the door, he began to follow her. They left Dumbledore's office and began walking down the hallway. There was a slight clamor of students going down to eat. "Stop following me," she hissed, not turning to face him.

"I can do what I please, Granger. You are not my mother."

"Thank goodness for that."

"That was quite a hug."

"Ron's dead. I thought I'd never see him again."

"I didn't mean that hug, Granger." She stopped in her tracks and turned, a smirk to rival all smirks in place. Before Draco could do anything she burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" he asked, feeling cold and clammy all over.

"You're jealous! Of yourself!" She tried to stifle a snort. She pointed a finger at him and continued laughing. Draco couldn't stand it. Students were filing through the corridors and a few had turned to see the commotion. No way was Hermione Granger going to laugh at him without consequence. "You are so… so…" she gasped between breaths.

"So what" he asked, his nostrils flaring. His skin was an unearthly pale color. "Pathetic?"

She shook her head, clasping her arms around her rib cage to keep her steady. "No, in denial!" Draco's jaw dropped and he raised his hand to strike. Quick as lightning Granger pulled out a wand… his wand… and pointed it under his chin. "I told you to stop following me, Malfoy. And how dare you raise your hand against a woman! For shame."

Draco hesitated, dropping his hand.

"What an excellent display!" a familiar voice said, clapping. Both of them moved their heads to face the intruder, or, rather, intruders. There stood both of their counterparts, smiling innocently.

Granger lowered the wand from his chin and backed away, all signs of laughter gone from her thin face.

"What do you want?" Draco said, frowning at the married couple.

"Evander is staying here. We've come to collect the two of you," the other Draco replied.

"I can find my way to the Manor on my own, thank you."

"I have not doubt that you can, but you may not want to go there unannounced. Besides, as we're all heading in the same direction…"

Draco nodded in understanding. There wasn't much use in arguing with himself. All Dracos were created equal, after all. "Fine," he answered, and followed sulkily behind the trio. His counterpart had laid an arm around his wife's shoulders and had a hand resting on Granger's arm. It hurt to think that his counterpart seemed to have everything, while he had so little.

…

Harry Potter lay in a crumpled heap in what might have looked like a mouse hole, had it not been large enough for a human. He had caught a small hare two days ago but had long since finished it off. His once thick hair was thinning from malnutrition. At least he was safe. He had been staying here for three months now and there was no sign that anyone had yet discovered his hideout. Hideouts were tricky things to find. He had quite a preference for holes, living underground where no one would bother him, away from the filthy air above. Over the last fifteen years he had lived in many places. He had stayed in abandoned castles, bungalows, even in enlarged air bubbles under water. He wasn't always alone, though. On rare occasions he had come across hopeless, confused muggles and he had helped protect them in exchange for companionship. Only a month before he had moved to his present hole, Harry had actually run into an old friend, Neville Longbottom. Neville had been in the best physical condition Harry had ever seen him in. He had lost so much weight and become so spry that it was difficult to even recognize his old school chum.

It was hard to say what had happened to his other friends. He knew for a fact that the Dursleys were long gone, killed by Voldemort to prevent any sort of blood bond from causing his demise. Ron Weasley, the news had reached him from Neville, was dead. Hermione had been captured. What was curious was that she had been left alive. Harry had asked Neville about this and his response had made Harry wish to vomit. Most of the muggleborns had been spared to sell at some sort of auction. Had the Dark Lord no decency at all?

According to the dates Neville had given to him, the auction would have taken place only a few days prior. He wondered what the fate of his brainy friend might be. Who had bought her and for what purpose? He shuddered to think. She would have certainly been bought. She was too high up on the food chain of VIP resistance to not be bought.

Harry turned on his side to stretch. This hole wouldn't be safe much longer and he needed to move on. It was difficult to say what the point of living was anymore. But the prophecy had not yet been fulfilled. Both himself and Voldemort were still alive. (Though it was hardly common knowledge that Harry Potter was, indeed, alive.)

According to Neville, those on the dark side had long ago quite using Harry's name. It was something to be feared, apparently. Instead they called him "The Boy." It hardly made sense to Harry, though. He hadn't been a boy for thirty years. But perhaps the last time he had been in the open, he was still young enough to be remembered as such.

On unsteady feet, Harry rose and left his small hole. Perhaps to find food, perhaps to find another hiding place. But most of all, he craved information. He covered himself with his trusty invisibility cloak and began trekking through the woods, going south, closer and closer to Voldemort's Lair.