"Long, Long, Long"

Chapter 17

Draco felt a drop of something hit his cheek. Another one hit the back of his neck a moment later. The ground started to rumble beneath him and he opened his eyes slowly. The rumbling grew louder and made his head vibrate. It got almost unbearably loud for a moment and then started to fade. Lifting his head as far as the crick in his neck would allow, Draco saw that a car had just driven by on the dirt road just above the ditch Draco had crashed in.

He felt more drops and he rolled over to look at the sky. He saw the dark grey sky a second before another rain drop hit him in the eye. Groaning, Draco got to his feet and stretched his sore muscles. Lightning struck in the distance and the light rain turned rapidly into a downpour.

Draco trudged on, his shoes covered in a thick layer of brown mud. In five minutes his clothes and bag were soaked through and the weight his tired legs had to bear became even greater. "Fuck!" he screamed suddenly at the sky. The rain came down ever harder.

He looked around quickly before whipping out his wand and performing a drying charm on himself. It felt momentarily better, but another few minutes and he was soaked through again. The cycle continued for at least half an hour and still the rain came down fiercely. If I only knew where I was going I could just apparate... he thought gloomily. As it was, he still had no idea where he was, where he was going, or, worst of all, what he was going to do when he got there.

A building appeared in the distance, and as Draco trudged toward it, he realized it was a post office. He grunted. Some good that did him. He headed for it anyway, planning on staying there until the rain let up. He opened the door and felt a wave of warmth wash over him.

The inside appeared deserted; no one sat at the counter, no customers were present. Draco shrugged and sat on a small desk in the corner, looking at the different kinds of paper and pens placed neatly on the supply table.

A deafening crash of thunder made the entire building shake and the lights buzzed briefly and then went out altogether. Now lit only by the grey light from the windows, the post office seemed oddly eerie. Draco shivered and called out, "Hello?" No reply. He hopped off the desk and headed for the front desk, with an old dusty bell on it. 'RING FOR SERVICE' said a small sign by the bell. Draco rang it several times. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

When no one came after at least a minute and Draco couldn't hear so much as a sound, he gave up and moved slowly back over to the supply table. If only he could write to someone; a cry for help, express his need for food and safety until...something happened. Even just a bit of muggle money would get him by.

It was just his luck, however that Draco knew no such person. In fact, he knew no one trustworthy at all. His upbringing spent almost solely in the company of Death Eaters certainly wasn't paying off now—not that it ever had.

And then, Draco thought of someone. So obvious, and yet...not at all so. Draco immediately grabbed a slip of paper and a pen and sat down to write.

x x x

Hermione woke up to rough shaking of her shoulder. "Miss Granger?" asked a man's voice. Hermione opened her eyes and blinked rapidly, groaning, at the bright wandlight in her face. "Oh, I'm sorry," grunted the man, removing his wand from Hermione's face.

"What's going on?" asked Hermione groggily, sitting up. "Who the hell are you? Who are they?" Hermione asked, reaching for her wand at the sight of several other men and women standing around her room, wands lit.

"Miss Granger, I am Geoffrey Cole of the Ministry of Magic Department of Magical Law Enforcement. You are under arrest by order of the Ministry for the use of the Killing Curse on two men and for not attending the hearing scheduled for you on the twelfth of May last. Will you come with me please?"

Hermione's sleepy brain took a minute to register all that was happening. She finally nodded slowly and stood, allowing Mr. Cole to take her wand. He put a binding spell on her and all of them apparated to the Ministry.

Hermione was still severely disoriented when they arrived in the Ministry lobby and wished more than anything that she would be let free soon. Something in the back of her mind, however, told her that wasn't likely to happen.

They approached the front desk and Mr. Cole told the security person, "Hermione Granger, here under arrest." The man scribbled something on a piece of parchment and nodded. Cole started to walk again, but then stopped abruptly and said, "Oh, and can you send a memo to the Department of Missing Persons confirming Miss Granger's, er, life? Thanks."

They proceeded through doors to the left of the front desk, took the lifts to a lower floor, and walked down a corridor in the direction of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Here everyone aside from Mr. Cole and a short woman left the group with a word or two of goodbye. Hermione was beginning to wonder where they could possibly be going when Cole stopped suddenly at a door marked with his name. They entered the room—assumedly Mr. Cole's office—and he asked a woman at the smaller of the two desks in the room, "Betty, any word on what I'm to do with Ms. Granger?"

The woman looked up from the mail she was sorting and said, "On your desk, Geoffrey."

"Thanks." He stepped over to his desk, where a pile of mail sat neatly. He flipped through the first few pieces and finally found what he was looking for, ripping the envelope open quickly. His eyes scanned the page and he glanced doubtfully at Hermione, frowning slightly. "Seems a bit drastic," he muttered to himself, turning back to the parchment in his hand. He hesitated a moment and then threw the letter back on his desk, shrugging.

Hermione looked worriedly from him to the letter. Exactly what seemed a bit drastic? She asked him as much.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Granger, but your rescheduled hearing is not until Thursday, and in the mean time the Department Head has asked that you be placed in Azkaban."

Hermione paled. That hardly seemed necessary. Four days in Azkaban when she hadn't even been tried yet? Was this normal treatment? "Couldn't the hearing be moved up? I don't understand how I can be sent to Azkaban before my hearing."

Mr. Cole looked apologetic, but he just said, "The Ministry needs some way to keep you from running again, so—"

"Surely there is someplace besides Azkaban!" said Hermione desperately. "We were in a war; how can I possibly be blamed for attacking those men—who were Death Eaters—when they were killing people right and left? How can I—"

"Save it for your hearing!" said Mr. Cole harshly, "Which, I'm afraid, you'll have to wait for in Azkaban." Hermione opened her mouth to retaliate, but suddenly found herself apparating with Cole, who appeared to have put another binding spell on her.

They reappeared a moment later in a cold, windy place Hermione had never seen before. A salty breeze whipped at her face and stung her eyes. Above, the sky was grey and threatening and a cold mist surrounded them. A single-story cement building stood out in the fog covering the entire area. Hermione stepped backward involuntarily and felt her stomach plunge as her foot missed the ground and fell through empty space. She shrieked in surprise and Mr. Cole grabbed her arm tightly before she fell off the dock they were standing on into the blue-black water.

"Thanks," said Hermione when she regained her footing, and they set off towards the eerie-looking building. They walked in silence with only the sound of the wind streaming around the building to greet their ears. Hermione shuddered as they entered through a metal door and the sound changed altogether.

To a deep, rattling breathing sound.

x x x

Draco finished his letter and stuffed it in an envelope. He uncapped the pen he was using once again, intending to write an address, but suddenly realized he didn't know one. Why would he? He put the pen back where he found it and put the letter in his pocket, thinking.

An owl; that would be the best solution...but where could he get one? Draco's eyes darkened as he realized the answer to that question. The manor—that was his only hope since he didn't have any money and knew of no wizard post offices in the area, nor outside of Hogsmeade at all. Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves and picturing in his mind the safest place to appear, Draco closed his eyes and apparated.

There it was; Draco's childhood home and the Malfoy residence for countless generations. Draco scowled and made sure the way was clear before darting towards the back entrance. This he did without incident, but he was unpleasantly surprised when the door suddenly opened from the other side and he had to dive out of the way to avoid being hit or seen.

Lucius slipped through the door quickly; starting down the stone steps at a fast pace before the door had even closed behind him. Draco held his breath, hoping against hope that his father would not turn around and spot him. The footsteps soon died away, but Draco did not move until he heard a distant popping noise; almost too faint to hear but enough for Draco to know he was safe, if only for the moment.

He stood up and brushed the bits of grass from his clothes, so as not to leave any traces of his having been there while he was inside. He pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear voices or movement, but there was nothing. Slowly and carefully, Draco opened the heavy wooden door and entered.

The door closed and pitch blackness immediately surrounded Draco. He hesitated, feeling around for the walls, before proceeding. The darkness worried him—anyone could be hiding anywhere—but then, he reminded himself, Lucius wasn't an issue, at least for the time being.

Feeling along the stone wall, Draco made his way slowly to the foyer, which was, at least, lit by some natural light. It was surprisingly cold inside the manor—and silent—and Draco briefly wondered what had come over it. An instant later he realized he was being stupid. Both his parents were most likely running from the Ministry officials, who would have searched the manor first and upturned some things in their search of the place. Looking around, Draco now saw that it wasn't as tidy as it used to be; tables were thrown over, curtains ripped from their windows. It would explain the darkness, too—Lucius, if he had been hiding there, would want it to appear deserted.

Draco stood, pensive for a moment, but then shook himself and muttered, "The owl. Get the owl." He tiptoed across the room and started up the stairs, taking them two at a time. If he was right in thinking that neither of parents would even remember the owl when they left the manor, then it should still be in his usual home of the attic.

Draco reached the third floor and ran to the far end of the hallway that greeted him. He threw open the short door in the corner and headed up the steep, eerily dark steps behind it. His eyes gently adjusted to the dark once again and he looked around, growing doubtful. Perhaps Lucius had taken it after all...he may have figured the messenger bird to come in handy sometime.

Draco sighed, defeated. And then he saw it. A slight ruffling of grey feathers in the corner and a flapping noise as the owl took off and gracefully landed on Draco's shoulder. Draco patted the pet quickly and whispered his apology for not having any food with him. It stuck out its leg nobly and Draco attached his letter. "Thanks," he whispered as the beautiful creature took off through a hole in the roof.

x x x

Hermione shivered in the corner of her cell as a dementor swept past, sucking emotions from the surrounding air as it went. Four days, Hermione kept telling herself, just four days and I'll be out. This phrase ran itself like a broken record through Hermione's head and although she couldn't be entirely sure if she would be found guilty and returned again to this awful place, she decided that worrying about that was for later; for now she had to focus on keeping her sanity.

She remembered that Sirius, having spent thirteen years in Azkaban and come out with most of his wits about him, had focused on the simple fact that he was innocent to get him through. This sounded like a good enough plan until Hermione realized that she wasn't, in fact, innocent. She was a murderer; she had killed those men. Worse, who had she really benefited by doing so? Killing a couple Death Eaters didn't save anyone at St. Mungo's that day—all those patients, they had still died...Neville had still died.

Hermione curled into a tighter ball and looked up through the barred window in the ceiling. Would she make it four days in this isolated, chilling prison? Away from human contact and any source of happiness imaginable? Hermione shook her head as if to physically rid herself of these thoughts and stared up through the window once more to the grey sky above.

She was wondering if there was ever a blue sky over the island or if the ministry mad sure it was always overcast for further depression of the prisoners—or perhaps even a way of hiding the island from view of muggle planes—when a shadow swept across the window. Hermione blinked. What was that? She squinted through the window, standing to get a better look, and figured after a second that she had probably imagined it. Great. She was already losing her mind.

But then she saw it again, closer this time. She waited to see it again, still staring fixedly, and after a minute or so a large bird of some sort landed on one of the metal bars. It was nice to see some other form of life besides the dementors, but what was this bird—an owl she noticed a moment later when it fluttered down to her cell floor—doing out here? The bird stuck out its leg and the letter strapped to it rid Hermione of her confusion.

Who could possibly be writing to me? she thought, untying the letter. A list of people ran through her mind: Harry, Ron, Mrs. Weasley... Without further thought, she slid her finger under the flap of the envelope—which looked more like the processed paper muggles used than the yellowish parchment most wizards did—and pulled out the letter inside.

Her insides squirmed as she recognized the handwriting and she decided she best take a deep breath before reading the message all the way through:

Hermione,

I hope that you are alright after all that happened the night of the duel—I read about Dumbledore's death in the Prophet. I realize that sending this is putting us both at risk, which is why I will not confide where I am here. While we're both on the run from the Ministry (or did they forget about the affair at St. Mungo's in all the excitement after the duel?) I know that meeting is a danger, but I desperately need your help.

My father escaped that night—I'm not sure if you heard—and has been trailing me ever since. I'm out of money, have no place to stay safely, and sooner or later I know he'll catch up with me if I don't find a safe hideout soon.

I don't know if you're in any position to help me, or if this letter will even find you, but beware in your reply that this is my family owl and so any mail is that much more likely to be intercepted.

I've missed you.

It wasn't signed, but Hermione knew that Draco had sent it. "I've missed you, too," she whispered in response to the last line of the letter as if he was there with her in the cell. How desperately she wished he was. It had been seemingly an eternity since they'd last really met. The times he'd been disguised in a Death Eater's mask she didn't count. Those weren't the times she remembered him for.

A tear slipped for her eye as Hermione slid down the wall and sat on the cold, hard floor. She wanted to brush the tear away and not waste any more time wallowing in self-pity than she already had since the beginning of the war, but her miserable surroundings and depressing situation made her do so anyway and it was not for another hour or so, when Hermione finally managed to get a grip on her emotions, that she thought about writing a response.

The owl was still there; that was not an issue. Ink and a quill—that was a different problem. She looked around at what she had to work with: absolutely nothing. Dirt outlined the blocks in the floor, but that was hardly of use; it couldn't even be used as ink without water, and even then, it would undoubtedly rub off before it even reached Draco. She supposed she could just wait until Thursday when, hopefully, she would be released.

A dementor glided by slowly outside her cell door and she shivered as a deeply unpleasant chill washed over her. She resumed her newfound favorite activity of looking out the window and found that somehow, though seemingly impossible, the sky was even darker and greyer than it had been. She glanced at her watch in confusion. Was it really evening already? No; it was only quarter to four. Was it going to rain, then? Hermione groaned at the thought—something to make this whole experience even worse.

Soon, droplets of rain started falling through the window, splattering on the stone floor with quiet plopping noises. Hermione crawled over to a corner furthest from the rain and as far as she could get from the barred door, by which dementors passed regularly. It was in this little corner, the safest place in her cell, that Hermione drifted off, forgetting, for the time, her many worries and problems.

x x x

A sharp pain in her right arm woke Hermione from her two-hour nap. She ignored it at first, figuring she was just lying on arm the wrong way and it was tingling. When the sharp pain came again, and then again, the last time accompanied by a irritating chirping sound, Hermione realized it would be best to open her eyes.

The owl that had brought Draco's letter was hooting angrily by her right side. She looked questioningly down at it and it bit her again—hard—on the arm. "Ow!" she gasped as she was greeted with what was a surprisingly large amount of pain, considering birds don't even have teeth. She glared at the bird and looked down at her aching arm. To her horror, blood was dripping down her forearm to her wrist and then onto the floor.

Hermione was tempted to hit the owl and shoo it away, but her anger faded when she saw it searching the ground hopefully for something—probably food. The plate in the corner, which was filled with food two or three times a day—she hadn't figured out how many yet—by a guard, was empty and she had nothing to offer the poor animal, which was probably starving. "I'm sorry," she whispered to the bird, "I don't have anything for you, but I guess you could go back home..." she looked over at Draco's letter on the floor beside her hand and wondered how she would reply to it if the owl left. Who knew if she would be let go on Thursday? What if no one showed up to defend her and the judge was unsympathetic? She would never be able to help him if she didn't have the owl.

But there was still the problem of ink and a quill. A grotesque thought came to her, and she pushed it aside, unwilling to carry through with such an idea. But and the rain continued to pour, the sky getting darker and darker by the minute, and the owl hooting more and more fiercely as time went on, she realized she may have no alternative.

Frowning at herself, she slowly gestured for the bird to come closer to her. "Come here, I need you for a second," she whispered soothingly as the owl looked suspiciously at her then slowly started to venture towards her. "That's right, a little closer now; I'm not going to hurt you." This was a blatant lie, but what did the owl know? It finally reached her and allowed her to pat it gently on the head.

It closed its eyes and seemed content and no longer scared of her, so after a moment, as she was patting it kindly, she quickly slid her hand down to its back, where the feathers were longer and plucked one right off the bird.

The owl was not happy about this; it pecked Hermione fiercely on the arm again and hooted indignantly, hopping away from her quickly. It flapped its wings several times and Hermione feared it would take off, but after a minute it calmed down and went back to searching the cracks in the floor for something to eat.

Now was the really horrible part. Hermione thought for a moment that she should just take her chances about getting out on Thursday and replying then, but then she was completely out of luck if she got thrown back in here. Not to mention the fact that Draco needed help now. He had said himself he didn't know how long he had before his father or the Ministry caught up with him and who knew how long he had until he caught some horrible disease from lack of shelter or died of starvation. If she wanted to really help him, she would have to write the letter now.

Closing her eyes and scowling, Hermione took her new quill in her right hand and dipped the point into the stream of blood running down her arm, trying not to get sick at the idea of what she was doing. She then reached for Draco's letter and started writing her message beneath where he had written his.

It took her over an hour to complete the rather short message, but her makeshift ink and quill were not that easy to work with. When she completed it, she was happy to find that it was legible and that her solution to his problem might just work out. She only hoped that he didn't realize what she'd written it in.

Hermione blew on the last part of the message to dry it and folded the paper, taking up the feather once again to write Draco's name on the outside. She was halfway through this process when she realized this was probably not the best idea if she didn't want the letter t be intercepted. She was, after all, in prison—surely there were wizards watching the skies around here, not to mention Lucius, who may be wondering at that moment where the family owl was. She finished writing out the name anyway and called the owl over to her once more. It didn't move.

"Oh come on, I'm really not going to hurt you this time." She waved her paper in the air as proof, "See? I've finished it; I just need you to deliver it for me." Upon seeing the letter, the animal seemed to understand what was happening, but it still approaching Hermione tentatively. When it finally reached her and stuck out its leg, she used the string Draco had used to tie the paper back onto the owl's leg. After it was secured, she patted the owl gratefully on the head again and said softly, "Take this back to Draco; if anyone else tried to take it do not let them. Understand?" The beautiful creature blinked up at her and Hermione wasn't at all sure if it understood. "Thank you," she said, taking it over to the window and letting fly off into the rainy night sky.

x x x

Draco had barely slept at all the entire night; every part of his body ached from lying on the ground up against a tree several miles from the manor and he was intensely cold from strong wind and his still-wet clothes. Looking at his pale fingers, which were turning a light shade of blue at the ends, Draco realized that if he did not find some sort of shelter soon, he was going to die of cold. The meager fire he had created with his wand did little to dry his clothes, and he could not make the fire bigger for fear that someone would notice it from the road not too far away and come to investigate. He hadn't eaten in what felt like years and he was so hungry he felt like his stomach was eating away at his insides. He was not in good shape, which was why the sight of the family owl brought him immense relief.

He first saw it at a distance, silhouetted against the dawn sun, which Draco welcomed for its warmth. As the owl got closer his hope increased more and more and he got the strength to stand and offer his arm as a perch for the bird to rest on. There was the paper he had sent, attached to the owl's foot, and his heart fell momentarily as he thought the letter had never reached Hermione and that the owl hadn't been able to find her. He saw, though, as he untied the letter, which was damp and ripped at one corner, that his name was written blotchily in red across the front and hope filled him once more.

He rapidly unfolded the paper and skipped over the section he had written, jumping immediately to the part in red, the part Hermione had written:

I'm sorry you are in such a position, but I'm afraid I'm not in much of a better one and so will not be able to help you as much as I would. The Ministry did not, unfortunately, forget about me after the duel; I am now in Azkaban until my hearing on Thursday and my resources are limited.

I can, however, offer you something that may help you. My London apartment is now not an area the Ministry frequently searches, as they have already arrested me, and should be a safe place for you to stay for as long as you need. The address is below, and although my keys are undoubtedly still inside the place somewhere, I'm sure the door will open with a simple unlocking charm.

I don't know whether or not I will see you shortly; everything rests on my Thursday hearing. Whatever the case, I hope you're alright and that the apartment will capably hide you from both Lucius and the Ministry.

Hermione

P.S. There may not be any edible food left there, but I have a stash of emergency muggle money under the kitchen sink—use all you want of it.

Draco glanced at the address at the bottom and folded up the letter hoping that someday, somehow, he would be able to repay Hermione for this. His gratitude was so great that he had no idea how he would be able to express it in the letter he planned on writing as soon as he was safe and warm in the apartment that she had so graciously offered him.

Without further hesitation, Draco gathered all his things together as best he could with his barely functional hands and prepared to apparate to London. A loud hoot right beside his ear made him remember that his family owl was still on his shoulder. The bird snapped its beak a couple times, a gesture Draco recognized as its being hungry. "Meet me in London," he told the pet quietly, shaking his arm and sending it off, back toward the rising sun. Checking one last time to see that he had everything, Draco disappeared with a small popping noise.

x x x

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Happy holidays!