Hello, hello for the second day in a row ;)
The muse apparently likes me, and has finally decided to give me the words for FTT. Until now I've known what these last few chapters would consist of, but I didn't have the words.
OMIGOSH, thank you all so much for your support, reviews and overall being such lovely darlings. I am honestly so grateful, I can't stress that enough. Thank you.
Oh yea, here's the link to vote for me in Dramione Winter Awards again, I messed up when I first put it on yesterday's chapter, but this link will definitely work. This is just in case you wanted to, but the link didn't work: htt*ps:/*/*docs*.*google*.com*/for*ms/*d/e*/1FAI*pQLSdl*uGZR8*KgrLbd*EVtD*2-sBuQH*sVqCgr2aO*iJRito4*cH7nx*4SQ/viewf*orm*?c=0*&w=1 (just remove all the * because ffn doesn't like external links).
I'm sorry, I am. I'll just throw it out there now.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
Credits to habababa for asking if Draco went with Hermione, and I shall confirm now, yes, yes he did. As to all your other lovely questions about who took them, they'll be answered in this chapter *hearts*
For all of you xxx
Flashback
Friday, October 31st, 1975
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Albums Dumbledore's office
The fresh scent of lemons drifted through the air, and the sound of a quill scratching across a piece of parchment could be heard from the other side of the room-that's how silent it was.
The owner of the quill reached up with his free hand to stroke the length of his long beard whilst consumed in deep thought.
Suddenly the scratching stopped, and the easy manner in which he had been jotting down his paths of mental exploration halted, his pleasant expression twisted into a heavy frown and extreme puzzlement.
There was the familiar feeling that had occurred several times over the past few years, as if someone was picking and prodding gently at his brain, extracting the necessary information and bringing it rushing to the surface.
The wizard's eyes widened at this particular bit of data, it was more disturbing than any of the prior ones.
When he had originally sealed them all away, he hadn't taken into account that the recollections of his conversation with Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy would come back sporadically, and often with no warning nor context. This particular nugget of information spooked him, it shook him to his core; with Voldemort-Tom gaining power, it was imperative that nothing was done to jeopardize a future where they were victorious.
Carefully the old man placed his quill down beside his parchment, the unfinished thought blinking up at him. He slowly leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. No, this would not do. He had to do something.
They hadn't had a choice. Hadn't even had time to react before he grabbed both of their shoulders and apparated them out of St. Mungo's.
A sharp pulling feeling erupted from behind Draco's navel, and it was if he was being violently spun through nothingness.
Then gravity slammed back into them, and he had to stumble forward a step to get ahold of himself.
Draco was pressing the heels of his palms to his closed eyes, and multicoloured spots were beginning to dance across the back of his eyelids. A strange ringing was in his left ear, and he wanted nothing more than for it to go away.
Neither of them had recovered from the sudden and forced apparation in their current states-exhaustion weighing them down, and copious amounts of alcohol running through their bloodstream. Which is why neither of them heard Dumbledore chanting. Not until the deed was already done, and he was standing before them with a warm, kind smile.
Draco lowered his hands, and slowly opened his eyes-the spots still dancing across his blurry vision as things languidly came back into focus. The serene look on the older wizard's face did nothing to help the situation, because it only made an uneasy feeling start to roll around Draco's stomach.
"I have been thinking about it...and in light of last night's...unfortunate events, I am only more convinced that this needs to be discussed," Dumbledore said calmly, clasping his hands behind his back as he began to hum a merry tune.
"What exactly do you think we need to discuss?" Draco drawled, narrowing his eyes at Dumbledore.
Their Headmaster was a good man, perhaps misguided occasionally with his need to save as many people as possible at the cost of a few, but a good man. Unfortunately, Draco knew better than anyone, that good people can still do terrible things.
"I wish to amend your Vows," Dumbledore replied, pleasant expression still fixed upon his face.
Yes. Good people can do bad things, Draco thought wryly.
"Fuck no," Hermione snarled, and Draco could only nod in agreement; it had been a long night, and he was beginning to feel emotionally, mentally and physically drained.
"Miss Granger, it seems you have mistaken this as a negotiation," Dumbledore's brow puckered and he seemed to almost be sulking.
"Don't call me that," Hermione growled, brazenly stepping towards the Professor with a feral look in her eyes.
Granger. It was foreign for Draco to roll the name around in his mind once more, and he briefly wondered how it would taste falling off his tongue, but he shook the thought from his mind. It was just that it had been so long since he had heard it; which only meant it was more than a little disconcerting.
Dumbledore shot Hermione a pitying look, as if she was a naive child throwing a tantrum and he was sorry that she wasn't old enough to understand that life isn't fair.
"In any case, I shall use both of your names, so that it will prove wholly effective...you seem quite taken with your current one," Dumbledore said it casually, as if he was noting how chilly the air began to get this time of year.
"We aren't agreeing to change anything," Draco said firmly, his voice sounding too weak, pathetic even, and he despised it.
"We'll see about that Mister Malfoy, we'll see about that," Dumbledore said with a half-hearted smile.
Malfoy. He hadn't been addressed that way in years, and it simply didn't feel right anymore. Then it struck Draco, harshly, smashing into him. He was no longer a Malfoy. What he found disturbing however was not the realisation that he wasn't, but that he didn't mind.
A tingly sensation ran along his fingertips as he watched Dumbledore turn away from them and stride across the room to his desk.
Draco's eyes didn't leave the man as he settled behind his desk, stroking his beard and picking up his quill; a gentle twitch of his lips as he appeared to be drifting off into wistful contemplation.
Something told him that they wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon, so perhaps it would be best if they got comfortable.
His tired eyes scanned the room, and landed on one of the comfy armchairs a few feet to his right-beside the wall of bookshelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling.
Sighing heavily through his nostrils, Draco sluggishly moved towards it, his feet dragging across the carpet. He heavily plopped into the hair immediately upon reaching it, sinking into its welcoming embrace.
Draco's gaze met Hermione as he began to slip out of consciousness. How livid and furious she looked. How she was gnawing away at her bottom lip. How her face was pulled into an adorable frown, and how he could practically see the steam flooding out of her ears.
He tried to hold on as long as he could, tried to send Hermione a comforting look, to convey that they would figure this out, but, she was blurring out of focus, and then next thing he knew, he was claimed by the darkness. Dreaming of a time long gone, where the most important thing to him was his family's name and reputation.
Dorea Potter was not in a good mood, she wasn't fine, she wasn't perhaps feeling a bit under the weather. She was vehement. Livid. Irate.
The past several hours had been a whirlwind of stress, worry, and to top it all off, irritation at the general incompetence of the Aurors.
She hadn't even had the chance to ask Albus what he was doing there before he whisked her children off. Two of them at least. James and Sirius were still at St. Mungo's keeping Charlus company.
Remus and Peter had volunteered to go back to school, take notes and keep up with all of their common classes for the day.
As soon as she made sure Charlus had everything he needed, she apparated outside of the Hogwarts grounds, and waited by the gate until someone came to let her in.
That someone happened to be her favourite person at Hogwarts aside from her children. Minerva McGonagall herself.
Minerva somehow looked younger than the last time she saw her, her black hair gleaming in the dull sunlight, her skin fair and smooth. The woman didn't appear to have a wrinkle on her, despite the fact that she was constantly shooting a withering eye at her misbehaving students.
"Dorea," Minerva said from the other side of the closed, enchanted gate. The metal itself seemed to expand and contract, as if it was breathing shallowly. A slight glimmer shone across the gate-even more noticeable in between all the gaps.
"Minerva," Dorea grinned sweetly, waving her finger at the gate, grey eyes shining with amusement.
"I'm not supposed to let you on the premises, you know that," Minerva pointed out with a wry grin, her green eyes sparkling as she placed her hands on her hips.
"I know my darling...but I also know that Albus Dumbledore snatched up my children and whisked them away without so much as a hello," Dorea's eyes hardened but her smile continued to ooze honey.
All mirth fled from Minerva's features, "he did what?"
"Grabbed them both by the shoulder and poof, gone," Dorea said with a controlled calm that she had perfected over the years.
"This isn't good," Minerva said, shaking her head, waving her hand, taking slow steps backwards; a moment later the gate began to swing inwards.
Dorea glanced down to make sure her heels didn't sink into the dirt path that was left-a few feet ahead it blended into a cobblestone one.
"You know something," Dorea pursed her lips as she strolled forward until she was standing beside Minerva. The other witch looked remorseful and vindictive-which was an interesting combination and Dorea found her interest piqued even further.
The fact that it had to do with her children only made her want to know more.
"I can't tell you...I made a Vow," Minerva said quietly.
"A vow? Please, it's me, Minerva-" Dorea began with an amused smile and then her grey eyes met the other witch's, "-shite. An Unbreakable Vow, Minerva?"
Minerva shot her a dour glare, "I was left with little choice at the time. If given the opportunity, trust me, I would go back and tell Albus to shove it up his arse."Minerva's thick Scottish brogue made a timely appearance, which only further proved how annoyed she was.
Something in Minerva's expression made Dorea cock her head to the side, and a thought slithered into her mind, the pieces suddenly fitting into place, "it has to do with Hermione and Draco doesn't it…wait...no. He didn't." Dorea's eyes widened in utter disbelief and horror.
"I am afraid so."
"You are fucking kidding me," Dorea hissed acidly, "what could two eleven year olds have known that he made them make an Unbreakable Vow?"
Minerva was silent.
Dorea blinked.
Dorea tapped her foot against the cobblestones. Tap, tap, tap.
"You know what. I don't care," Dorea grumbled, "all I care about is getting them back."
With that, she set off towards the castle where she had spent her youth, yet it was a bittersweet reunion.
There was no dreamy nostalgia, only a determined Mother who was going to get her cubs back.
Time melted together, colours started to blend and swirl into a gooey mess before his eyes; his vision was getting spotty, and it blurred in and out depending on his level of consciousness.
Two days. Two bloody days. That's how long they have been here. Two days.
Draco's throat burned, he desperately needs water, his tongue felt as dry as sandpaper. Dehydration was kicking in.
A low rumbling sounds in his ears, and not for the first time his stomach is biting, and growling loudly at him.
They can't last like this for much longer. That perhaps was a question he should be asking-how much longer can they take this?
Sweaty palms, sickly complexions. They need to quench their thirst, to have the cool liquid slide down their parched throats. They need to eat, to consume sustenance-their bodies are craving it.
Sleep was a concept at this point, not tangible and certainly not restful. When they do drift off, they wake up half delirious, reaching for each other.
They don't talk much, it takes up too much energy.
They do nothing for the most part but let time pass, and it is absolutely maddening.
They are sitting on the ground, Draco's back against the bookshelf, Hermione laying across him-listlessly staring at the floor. When he decides to do something about this.
(When they weren't paying attention Dumbledore had nicked their wands. How or when they had no idea.)
Draco's stomach growls once more, and he lolls his head to his right to look at Dumbledore. In a haggard tone, a nasty sneer on his face, Draco spat, "fine. We'll do the bloody Vow."