Hello there! I just wanna start by saying thank you to everyone who fav./followed/reviewed 'Gone', I appreciate you all :). I would also like to apologize for taking so long to update, I really try my best but sometimes its hard to prioritize writing with so many other things going on! Thank you for your patience.

I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and I promise to update soon! Lots of exciting things to come!


His morning had started out like any other—apart from Astoria being gone. He'd gotten up, showered and taken his morning toast and coffee to-go. Draco's routine was the most stable part of his life. His morning route never changed, which allowed the man to walk to the ministry where he just recently transferred into the department of international magical cooperation.

It had been a rather rash decision on his part, having only been promoted to second in command of the department of mysteries a short while before his transfer. Draco knew he'd been on the fast-track for Head of the department, however he found himself wanting something different for himself—something she'd be proud of. He was transferred without delay, which had been of no surprise to him. Astoria had been furious, citing how she'd known the real reason behind his sudden change of position. Draco had brushed the girl off, but she was right of course.

He supposed he had become rather predictable and found himself able to predict most things around him. Loss truly does something to a person—it changes them completely, especially when so young.

As Draco made his way through the ministry and to his department, he found the rest of his team's cubicles empty. He thought it odd and then realized they were probably all in the holograph room preparing for the international ministries' meeting. He'd completely forgotten, which was so unlike him—at least he always had half a mind to be early, so no one would say anything.

"Malfoy," called Gareth Greengrass, his over-achieving colleague.

"Greengrass," he countered, as he walked into the room, "are we starting soon?"

"We were just waiting on your arrival," the man replied, "are you ready to begin?"

Draco simply nodded as he took his seat, noting the two interns from Hogwarts who would be joining them.

Instantly, the holographic images of MACUSA, Ministero della Magia Italiano and both the Japanese and Australian ministries appeared before him. The conference was mainly between MACUSA and the Australian ministry, however all parties were involved somewhat.

Oliver Turner from the Australian ministry began to greet everyone. Draco recognized the man through the way he spoke—they'd corresponded several times over the last few weeks. The Australian had been rather pleasant to him and was seemingly intelligent, which always impressed Draco. There were too many ninnies in this world.

Deep in thought about the idiotic people he'd had the misfortune of encountering, Draco had not realized when Turner presented his colleague—that is, until he called her the brightest witch of her age. That certainly got his attention.

He would never be prepared for what he saw when he turned his head to the Australian ministry's holograph. Never.

There she was. His Hermione—or her Australian doppelganger.

Draco stopped breathing.

His mind then began racing—it was hard enough fighting the urge to shout "Granger!" and run to the holograph, he could barely comprehend what was happening. How could it be her? She was dead! His mind was surely playing tricks on him, he tried to reason with himself. Draco never lost his composure…but for her, well, he would give up anything to just know she was breathing.

It's not her. It's not her. It's not her. He repeated to himself as if it would slow his thunderous heartbeat. Draco felt ready to look at her again then, or at least that's what he told himself too. It had been a mistake, for his second glance only cemented his original idea—it was her, it had to be. Her hair was lighter, straighter and her skin darker, but there was no mistaking Hermione Granger's face and body that once fit perfectly alongside his own.

"You flatter me too much Mr. Turner," she spoke, and Draco nearly lost his mind at the familiar sound of her voice, "Hello everyone, I hope you're all doing well!"

Her accent was unmistakably English—Draco was going to be ill.

It was her; he knew it in his bones. She looked nervous and was avoiding his gaze. Why? Why would she not want him to know she was alive, or where she had been all this time? He felt his body shake and tried again to keep his composure. If Voldemort was still alive and were to torture him, there could surely be nothing worse than this.

Draco had almost come to terms with losing her, almost. Yet he was still scared to hope, because it would kill him to be wrong—literally, he did not think he would be able to survive that kind of pain again.

The sweet sound of her voice became audible once more, and Draco could almost feel his heart crumble from the relief of being able to hear Hermione again—even if it wasn't her, she damn well sounded like her.

"Before I begin, were there any questions or statements that someone would like to say?"

Her voice was shaky. If it wasn't Hermione, why would this girl be so nervous? Sure, it could be due to stage fright but honestly, she could barely look at him.

He heard someone ask a question to Turner, and before he could think things through, Draco decided to seize the opportunity to speak to her. He had to.

"I have a question," he let out, surprisingly composed, "Ms… Wilkins, is it?" he said, hoping he'd gotten it right. Wilkins, he scoffed to himself. If this was Hermione and he discovered the truth, Draco would never let her hear the end of it for choosing such a hideous surname. So… muggle.

She coughed, and Draco forced himself to hide his smirk. "Yes?" she replied, with unexpected confidence. He doubted himself then—maybe it really wasn't her and just an incredible coincidence. The man was surely losing his mind.

Scrambling his mind for an appropriate question, he finally asked, "If we are to ratify any sort of agreement, wouldn't we need to sign documents?" Maybe he'd have an excuse to visit the land down under…

Her reply went practically unheard, as her near-sultry tone left him at a loss. A loss of composure—that is.

This blonde haired, fair eyed and tanned woman before him appeared to be his Hermione in every way besides the obvious. It was like seeing a shell of the person he once knew, and he thought that it may be worse in some ways if it were her. For one, all these years of pain and anguish would have been for nothing. Second, something awful must have happened for her to pack up her life and leave all the people she knew and loved—she would not have done it of her own volition, Draco was sure of that. Third, and saddest of all, was how lonely the poor girl must be, if it even was her. To live alone, across the world and be unable to contact anyone you loved… he nearly yelled for her once more.

"Right," he replied, still trying to keep his composure. Only she could have this type of effect on him. She was his only exception—or so he thought, as he then made an error that would change his life. In an attempt to thank her, he'd almost called her Granger, even uttered the first half of the name accidentally aloud.

It hadn't been the error in itself that would change his life. No, it had been something else entirely.

Hermione's reaction was what had given her away. Her eyes had gone wide, and for a few short seconds, she'd looked like she was going to fall apart. It had been brief, no one else noticed, but Draco knew her too well. He knew. She'd even excused herself and tried being smooth about her exit—it wasn't convincing enough. That was his girl, and he decided then and there that he was going to get her back.


The rest of the conference ran smoothly, and Draco had barely spoken as most of the deal was between MACUSA and the Australian ministry. He'd spent most of his time staring at Hermione at any rate, deciding that she'd most likely glamoured herself in case someone recognized her—she was a famous war hero, after all. But why even glamour? What was she doing? Or hiding from?

His initial shock had died down after the conference ended, and Draco had spent the remainder of his day trying to sort through his memory at her final moments—and yet it still made no sense. He concluded that she'd most likely gone to Australia because of her parents—Draco knew that much. But as for the 'why' or 'how'…

As he arrived home and poured himself a drink, a thought crossed his mind. He needed an extra brain. Theodore Nott would do just fine.

He started.

"Nott Manor," he declared while tossing floo powder to the ground.

Draco Malfoy was on a mission… he'd call it operation Australian deportation.

…Or maybe he'd ask Theo for a better mission name.


8 years ago – Hogwarts, 6th year

"I've assigned you all a partner for my potions class this year," grinned Professor Slughorn, "and there will be no discussions on changing once I go through the list of partners. Understood class?"

"Yes professor," the class replied in unison. Except Draco, who was staring at a pair of golden legs belonging to the Gryffindor princess Hermione Granger. Ever since the Yule ball in their fourth year, he'd been fascinated by the swotty know it all. It seemed the more attention he paid her, the more interested he was becoming. While her appearance had been the catalyst to his new fixation, Draco couldn't help but admire her wit, magical skills and even her ability to stick up for herself.

As time went on, he also found himself completely uninterested in the other girls at Hogwarts.

The boy knew there could never be anything between them two because of his family and her hatred of him, but he couldn't help himself. She was almost like a guilty pleasure.

That is, until Slughorn decided they would be partners for the rest of their sixth year.

"Malfoy," the girl had breathily said as she took her seat beside him.

"Granger," he nodded his head once in recognition.

This would be interesting, he thought to himself almost smiling. Almost.


"What the fuck do you mean Hermione is alive?" Theo shouted, nearly spilling his drink as he gestured with his hands.

"I mean," Draco had to refrain from shouting back, "I think she is bloody well alive–positively undead, Theo."

The boy was almost in tears. He'd loved the girl nearly as much as Draco had. Hermione had just been the type of person who made anyone love her really.

"Bu-but how?" the boy's voice cracked, "how can it be?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out mate," he sighed, "she clearly faked her own death, but I genuinely don't understand why."

"Maybe she was seriously hurt that day," Theo offered, "maybe she found a healer there?"

"Seems unlikely," Draco replied, "even if it were the case, why would she still be there and why would she have never contacted anyone?"

"Unless someone here knows…" the Nott boy said in a suspicious tone.

Draco stilled. If Potter or Weasley knew about her still being alive and never shared that information with him…

It was impossible. Ever since he and Granger had gotten together, and since her 'death', Draco had actually grown close to them and built a pretty decent friendship. Decent enough to know that neither of them could keep a secret this big for such a long period of time—they just weren't built that way.

Nevertheless, someone here would have probably needed to know, especially since the girl worked a high-level ministry job over there. As much as Hermione had pull over here, Australia was halfway across the globe. The war was of no consequence to the wizards living over there—it had barely even affected the nearby countries here. France, Germany, Italy and the like had all been fully functional during and after the Dark Lord's rise and fall.

"Unless she had someone important helping her…" Draco said aloud, more to himself than anything.

"But who? And more importantly, why?" Theo asked again.

"I don't know, but I will find out, even if it's the last thing I do," Draco spoke with finality.


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