"Long, Long, Long"

Chapter 20

Draco had not left London after leaving Hermione's, as, he realized even at the time, was probably not the smartest move. He didn't want to stay in the same area very long, but he intended on seeing Hermione and thanking her once again, in person, before he left the city. This was how he ended up in a cheap, rather shabby hotel on the other side of town. It wasn't a great place by anyone's standards, especially Draco Malfoy's, but it was shelter, and he had limited funds.

It was there that he resided for an entire week, only at the end of which did his trusty owl find him. That was, actually, what he'd been waiting for. Well, that, and for a time safe enough for him to venture back to Hermione's building without worrying about his father hiding in the shadows somewhere around there.

At the end of this week, when he thought it might have been long enough for him to safely go back for a moment, Draco grabbed his traveling bag, told his owl to meet him in the forest near Malfoy manor the next morning, and disapparated. It was already nighttime and the streets were dark and nearly empty in Hermione's neighborhood. He stepped towards the end of the alley he'd apparated to and felt his heart skip a beat when he heard a harsh whispering sound behind him. Acting instinctively, Draco dropped to the ground and it was very fortunate that he did: the curse that had been intended for him hit the brick wall ahead and left a deep, steaming crack in it.

Draco did not even need to think. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted to the end of the alley, not bothering to check who was making the heavy footfalls behind him. What was the point? He knew it must be Lucius, and seeing the probably crazed and furious expression on his father's face would only serve to scare Draco more. So, he focused all his thoughts and energy on running as fast as he could towards the open street.

And he almost made it.

He would have, were it not for the last spell cast his way—a burning hex that hit his right arm and caused him so much pain that he fell to the ground, his wand snapping under his hand. Draco was in agony; his right arm was now useless, as was his wand. He grabbed the pieces of it anyway and limped quickly around the corner, just dodging another hex. The pain made his head spin, and Draco could barely manage to apparate properly, but he did it, and within moments, he was out of harm's way.

Not two seconds had passed before he lost consciousness and fell to the ground.

x x x

The next time Draco opened his eyes was the next morning, and it was because his owl was clawing at his left shoulder, seemingly trying to wake him. Draco lifted his head and tried to get up, but this action caused him so much pain that he groaned and laid back down. Slowly, very slowly, he rolled off his right arm, which had been caught between him and the root of a very large tree when he had fallen. The arm ached and was burned horribly from his elbow to his palm. On top of that, he was almost positive he'd broken something in the fall, as he couldn't move his wrist at all.

It took him about half an hour to get to a standing position, and every move he made caused him enough pain to make him want to scream. He refrained, seeing as he was within half a mile of Malfoy manor, but it was very difficult. When he did finally made it up, he realized he had no plan of action whatsoever and that standing was probably a waste of time seeing as he was already tired from the effort. He looked to his owl for inspiration but it just stared back at him blankly, blinking its large amber eyes.

The road, which lay only a few trees away, was no greater source of motivation, but he started towards it anyway. He could head towards the manor, he supposed, but why on earth would he do that? His wand arm was useless, the wand itself was broken, and there was a very great chance that Lucius was still hanging around there. If he headed down the road in the other direction, he might eventually stumble upon sort small town with a probably pretty cheap inn for him to stay in, but such a place would not have a wandmaker's shop, which is what he needed most desperately. Unfortunately, the only wandmaker he knew the location of was back in London, and he had planned on not going back to the city for some time.

Sighing, Draco took a minute to look up and down the road in either direction, thinking briefly that where he should really go was St. Mungo's, but then remembering that the Ministry would certainly catch him there. That was, after all, where they had caught Hermione. So that left him to heal his arm on his own. Which meant either using some healing charm or a very long time during which he did not use his arm for anything and just let it recover, neither of which were realistic possibilities.

After a little while Draco organized his priorities and recognized the fact that he would not be able to do anything without a usable wand. Not to mention his feeling particularly vulnerable without one. So that meant returning to London and heading to a place crammed with witches and wizards who knew who he was and that he was wanted by the Ministry. Perfect.

His owl fluttered down from the tree it had been resting on and landed on Draco's shoulder. "I'm afraid we have to head back to London," he whispered to it gloomily, "Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron." If owls were as smart as they were made out to be, Draco knew his was glaring at him. "I'm sorry I made you come out here for nothing, but at least I can get you some real owl food there." The owl hesitated momentarily and then flew off in the direction from which it must have just recently come.

Taking one more look at the pieces of his broken wand in his hand, Draco dropped them into his bag and then picked the whole thing up with his good arm. A moment later he apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

The place was, as usual, dimly lit and filled with various sorts of people in various states of drunkenness. Draco didn't feel at all conspicuous as he flipped up his hood and headed towards the bar where the barman was jotting something down on a napkin. Draco leaned on the counter and said casually, "I'd like to have a room for...a week or two, I guess."

"Name?" asked the barman without looking up.

"Malf—, er, Mallory. David Mallory."

Draco was handed a key that had the number four engraved in it. "Up the stairs, second on the right," said the barman, writing Draco's "name" in the guest book.

"Thanks," said Draco, following the directions he'd just been given and unlocking the door to the room he'd been given. It was small but would be perfectly suitable for as long as he was able to remain there. He wasn't quite certain how long that would be, but the more he thought about it, the better a choice staying in Diagon Alley seemed to be. Lucius wouldn't expect it, there were more shops than he needed, the room was cheap, and once he had another wand, he could find some sort of charm to change his appearance and then he wouldn't even have to worry about being recognized. He knew, of course, that those appearance charms, at least the temporary ones, wouldn't stand up to close inspection, but it would certainly be enough to prevent various passersby realizing who he was.

So the only problem was how he was to get this wand without being noticed. Sneaking around Diagon Alley was quite different from sneaking around muggle London—most muggles, he suspected, had no idea who he was or that he was wanted by the authorities, and on the off chance a wizard came by, he'd almost always had his trusty hood up.

After thinking over various far-fetched plans for buying (or even stealing) a wand unseen, Draco realized that Ollivander was half mad, or perhaps more, and that even if, for a change, he'd read the Prophet in the past year, the chances of anyone trusting his word were pretty slim. For the short trip to the shop, his hood and scarf would have to do.

So, he counted the wizard money that had remained untouched since he'd run away, and, hoping that there was enough there, headed back down the stairs and out the back door of the Leaky Cauldron. The street wasn't too crowded, it being a weekday, and Draco made it up to Ollivander's without so much as a second glance from anyone. Pleased, he slipped inside the dark old shop and rang the small bell on the counter.

A moment or so later, a slightly hunched-over old man appeared from behind a hidden door in the corner and smiled at Draco. "Welcome, Mr. Malfoy," he said calmly. Draco looked nervously over his shoulder just to make sure no one was watching or listening in. "How may I be of assistance?"

"My wand, er, broke, and I'm afraid I need another one," explained Draco, showing Mr. Ollivander the remains of his old wand.

Ollivander frowned. "You should be a bit more cautious, Mr. Malfoy; wands aren't just replaceable like a broken cauldron—none act the same, and surprises in magic are not pleasing." Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes and decided not to launch into the story of exactly how he'd broken his wand. "Well, what's done is done. Unfortunately it is not up to me to decide what customers do with the wands they purchase." He looked gravely out the window for a moment and then turned to the cabinet behind him, collecting a large number of wands in a heap for Draco to try.

Draco struggled not to wince as he raised his right arm and tried out the many wands Ollivander set before him. It didn't take too long to find one that worked the best for him. It was similar to his last one, as Ollivander explained while Draco paid—sadly, the wand cost nearly all the wizard money he had, but he was grateful that he could afford it at all.

As he headed for the door, Ollivander spoke in his soft but surprisingly clear voice once more, saying, "Remember: be cautious, Mr. Malfoy. Wands are of no use broken." Draco was pretty sure he already knew that little bit of information but he smiled at the old man and waved as he stepped back out onto the street. Task one accomplished.

x x x

Unfortunately, the next task Draco has planned for himself—recovery—took quite a bit longer than the first one. He spent weeks in his room, only leaving once in a while for food or to buy something at Flourish and Blott's to occupy his mind. He found a good spell that changed his hair and eye color for twelve hours at a time, so he didn't worry so much about being turned in anymore.

What he did grow to worry about over time was, once again, money. He had traded in the last he had of Hermione's at Gringott's for currency that was actually useful in Diagon Alley, but soon he would need to pay the rent on his room again, and he had next to nothing. There was only one thing for it: he would have to get job. And so he did, at Flourish and Blott's, which was growing to be his favorite shop on the street anyway mostly because it reminded him strongly of Hermione.

The job didn't pay much, but it got him by with the rent and food and other necessities. At the beginning of November everything seemed great—his arm was nearly healed, he hadn't run into Lucius since that night near Hermione's, his disguise was suiting him fine...

But the second week of November Draco's usual bad luck returned. At work, a copy of Bruce Buster's Devilish Tricks for Those Intrigued by Fireworks exploded on him and the new burns were only soothed temporarily by the potion a kind fellow employee gave him. The following evening he was on his way back to his room, counting the money he'd just received from his boss as he went, when he bumped into someone standing just inside the door of the Leaky Cauldron.

"Ow!" Draco moaned, his arm stinging painfully from hitting the man, who turned around at this point.

"Watch where you're going," he snarled at Draco, who was too horrified to respond—it was his father that he had just run into. Lucius barely glanced at him before turning back to the man standing next to him, a Death Eater Draco knew was named Ludwig Krug.

Draco didn't even breathe for fear that his father would suddenly turn around and recognize him as he watched the two of them walk away and sit down at a table in the corner. When he got over his initial panic, he felt immensely relieved that Lucius had only gotten a quick glimpse at him and that his fairly weak disguise was good enough to prevent his own father from recognizing him. He didn't much feel like testing it any further, however, so he made his way halfway up the stairs, preparing to get to bed early, before he stopped mid-step.

Looking back on his father a Krug whispering in the corner, Draco realized that this was probably the only chance he would ever get to possibly find out where his father was hiding and what he was planning to do next. Considering his situation, knowing such information might be invaluable. Tugging up his hood for good measure, Draco made his way back down the steps slowly and casually stepped over to a table near to the one where the two Death Eaters were and sat down. To Draco's delight, neither even glanced his way.

He found after a moment that if he tilted his head just the right way, it looked as though he was examining a poster across the room while he could hear almost everything either Krug or his father said.

"...slipped away again," finished Lucius.

"Mmmm. Any more ideas?" asked Krug, taking a sip from the steaming drink in front of him.

"Yes, one, in fact. It's nearly perfect. The Dark Lord himself would have been proud," said Lucius, his glee evident in his voice.

"Oh? And what is that?"

There was a pause, and the next time Lucius spoke, his voice had dropped even lower. "Probably not best to tell you here. Maybe when we get back to the house."

Krug chuckled gruffly. "If it's still there. I told you the Ministry was on to me. Someone probably saw you come back one day. Elena thinks we'd be safer if you left."

"I will, but I need a couple more weeks."

"And then?"

"I'm leaving the country. Once I end this whole mess with Draco."

"That's going to be more than a couple of weeks, the way things are going."

"Ah, but things are going so change," whispered Lucius with assurance. "Now I have a plan."

"Another plan, is it?" Draco could tell Krug didn't have much confidence in Lucius's plans.

"Yes, it is. I won't give the details, but it involves that mudblood that's responsible for all this."

"Who? The one at the duel? That broke your wand?" asked Krug.

"Yes," said Lucius, and Draco smiled at his obvious irritation at being reminded of this incident, "that one. She'll be paying for that, believe me." Draco stopped smiling. What exactly was his father planning? "With death."

"Oh?" said Krug again. "And what will that do?"

"Well, for one, the world will have one less muggle-born calling herself part of the magical community, and for another, I'm going to frame Draco for it." There was a pause as Lucius took a sip of his own drink. "Don't you see?" he continued, "It's perfect: Draco receives a note from me informing him that I have the girl, I kill her, I tip off the ministry anonymously, he comes, they arrest him, and I make a quick visit to him in Azkaban before leaving the country. Flawless."

Draco found his breath coming in shallow gasps as he resisted a strong desire to start running and never stop. His mind was back in panic mode: He's going to kill Hermione! And frame me! And leave and escape the ministry forever!

He stumbled to his feet, hearing Krug laugh and say, "Quite excellent, I admit—if it works."

"Oh, it will. It's all I've been working on recently, and there's not one thing that can possibly go wrong," said Lucius confidently as Draco started for the stairs.

"We shall see," said Krug.

Yes, we shall, agreed Draco, taking the stairs two at a time and shutting himself in his room for the rest of the night.

x x x

Hermione hadn't much felt like getting a job recently, but her funds were growing chronically low and by mid-November she had no option—she had to find a way to get money. Harry, who was now working at the Ministry, had offered both recommendation--should she want a job there too—and a loan until she found something. Hermione had refused both, but now she was seriously considering his first offer. She hated relying on his help, and she already owed him for getting her out of Azkaban, so she did not particularly like writing him a letter requesting that he keep her updated on open positions at the Ministry and asking that he recommend her should one come up.

When she had finished, she frowned critically at the letter, wishing there was some way she could appear at least slightly less desperate. But no—she was desperate, and if she couldn't ask her best friend for help, who could she?

Harry responded very quickly and listed several places that had recently been vacated: secretary to the head of auror offices, assistant to Judge Heidi Brewer, and filing assistant for the Daily Prophet. Though she hadn't ever had much appreciation for the Daily Prophet, it was the only position Harry had mentioned that did not involve working in two of the Ministry departments she was most determined to avoid.

A few days later, she went for a brief interview and was accepted immediately. Her interviewer's reaction to her name was precisely the opposite of what she'd expected:

"Hermione Granger," he'd said, raising his eyebrows and smiling, "how very wonderful to meet you."

It was all Hermione could do not to say Really? Why? Instead, she just smiled and said, "Likewise."

"I'm Jeffrey White, of the Archives Department. You've had quite a lot of press this past year, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Hermione shortly.

"Should be interesting working on the other side, eh?"

"Pardon?" said Hermione.

"Working for the Prophet, I mean, instead of being one of its victims."

"Oh, right. Yes, I suppose."

"Are you interested in writing for us at all? Telling everyone what happened to you after the incident in St. Mungo's...?" he asked hopefully.

"Tempting, but no," said Hermione, somewhat rudely.

Hermione grew to dislike Jeffrey more and more as the interview proceeded, something that, despite her making it apparent, he failed to notice. She only hoped when she left that afternoon, after securing the job, that not all the employees at the Prophet were as irritating as he was.

She was left disappointed in this respect as she started working for them, but she thankfully did not need to talk to many people while filing various articles in the extensive archives. The thing that working there did accomplish was taking her mind off her worry for Draco, wherever he was at the time. She had decided earlier that if she didn't hear from him by the end of the month, she would just go out and find him. Somehow. She didn't care if that meant leaving her new job or that she had no idea where to start or that Lucius might then come after her, too. None of it mattered. Those things couldn't possibly be as bad as the constant tension she felt in her stomach out of anxiety, which was crazy, because she didn't even know what to worry about. Just that she had reason to worry.

The end of November came closer and closer and right as it was almost upon her, a seeming miracle happened: Hermione received a letter from Draco.

She was so surprised when she saw the handwriting on the outside that she didn't even open the letter and read it for several minutes. More surprising was that the owl that had accompanied it was not Draco's, and it took off as soon as its job was done, not waiting for a reply. This confused her until she actually bothered to read his message:

Hermione,

I'm sorry this letter must be brief, but any moment now my father should return home and it will not be good should he find me here. I needed to come back to the manor to use his new owl—mine broke its wing not long ago.

In any case, I'm afraid I need to ask for your help once again. I can't lay out the details of my situation here—I need to speak with you in person. Please meet me in the tower at Hogwarts on the first of December at noon. I promise to be there.

I hope all is well with you.

Hermione set down the letter and looked over at her calendar. The first of December was in three days. She wrapped another blanket around herself against the cold and sat on her sofa, wondering if Draco would explain when she saw him why he hadn't written in so long or why he had risked a trip to the manor just to use his father's owl. Couldn't he have just apparated to London and spoken to her in person? What if there was something keeping him from traveling? A serious injury, or some sort of imprisoning magic? She bit her lip in unease, but then took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Draco was probably fine. He would explain everything on the first, and she would help him in any way possible. And she would finally see him again...the very thought made her smile.

Only three days.

x x x

Draco didn't stop thinking about possible courses of action all that night or all the next day. When someone would ask him something at work, he would rudely tell them to be quiet and leave him alone. By the end of the week, he stopped going to work altogether, figuring he had enough to get by for the time being. If he made it through all this alive, maybe they would be nice enough to give him his position back, should he ask.

The problem still remained, however, that Draco didn't have a plan of action. No matter how hard he thought, he just couldn't come up with something that might actually work. The "couple of weeks" Lucius had estimated were running out and Draco still hadn't done anything. He couldn't believe himself—here, he was fortunate enough to have found out his father's plans and now he wasn't even doing anything to prevent them. His anxiety grew as the end of the month approached.

Then, one morning, after sitting up all night once again staring at his ceiling, Draco decided what to do. Sometime, when Lucius was not there, Draco would sneak into the Krugs' house and have a little look around the room his father was staying in. Surely there would be something there that would give Draco hints as to when this was all supposed to happen, where it was supposed to happen, and other pieces that might help Draco to put everything together in his mind. Until he had answered some of these questions, there was really nothing else he could do.

And so, finally, on the evening of the last day of November, Draco left his room at the Lucky Cauldron and apparated to the neighborhood of Ludwig and Elena Krug, whose home was conveniently surrounded by thick bushes and shrubs behind which he could hide until sure that it was safe to sneak inside.

When he arrived, the lights inside were on, and over the next hour he caught a glimpse of his father sitting at a desk in one of the upstairs rooms and saw Mrs. Krug moving about the dining room once or twice. The sun went down, the lights inside went out, and still no sign that Lucius was going to leave. When planning the time he arrived, Draco had assumed that Lucius would only dare to leave the house at night, since he endangered himself by appearing in public in daylight. But now Draco realized that it was probably very rare, even at night time, that Lucius left the house, where he could develop his plans in safety.

Another hour went by and Draco's muscles began to ache from sitting still so long. His eyelids drooped and he found it enormously frustrating that after all these nights of not being able to sleep, the one time he really shouldn't fall asleep, he was about to. He settled into a more comfortable position on the ground and with one last glance at the dark, silent house, fell into a deep sleep that lasted much longer than he would have hoped for.

The morning of December first.

x x x

Author's Note: Very sorry about both the long wait and the boring chapter. I promise things will liven up (a lot) in the next chapter, which may very well be the last. Please don't give up on me! And review!