The Boy Who Lived slumped with as much grace as he could muster into the chair at his Auror desk. His normally bright eyes, now dull and sunken into his skull from exhaustion, scanned his office without purpose. Usually Harry, the only Auror allowed-forced into, really- his own office, found being in this small room an obnoxious reminder of the privilege he had never wanted. Often he avoided it, allowing parchments and dust to accumulate with little interference, but today he savored the reprieve his private office offered.
With a deep labored breath, Harry reached out to grab a cup of tea precariously placed amongst the leaning towers of papers strewn across his desk and, bringing it to his lips, grimaced. Harry immediately spit the liquid out and stared down accusingly at the dust particles and stray hair that floated brazenly in what he now realized was days old tea. How long had it been since he'd sat in his office and sipping on this tea? How long had it been since he'd sat down at all? At least three days. Three miserable, unimaginably horrible days.
Hermione Granger was missing.
After Seamus, Ron, and Harry had recovered from the unfortunate -but impressive- wind summoning spell Hermione had hurled at them, the wizards had scoured the Ministry searching for their dark haired witch. The trio had checked every nook and cranny, every storage room and basement in the whole bloody building, but Hermione was nowhere to be found. So Harry, after giving Ron a talking to that would've made McGonagall proud, went to Hermione's apartment- she wasn't there either. Harry hadn't panicked, he'd known that if Hermione had fallen victim to a flashback- as he suspected was the cause of her irrational behavior- when she calmed down she wouldn't want to be alone in her apartment. She'd look for her friends. With that thought in mind Harry had returned home to Grimmauld Place, but found it empty. He had waited for nearly an hour before he went to the Burrow and then Hogwarts.
The night of Hermione's disappearance, taking refuge in Hagrid's hut, Harry had summoned a Patronus, determining that if he couldn't locate Hermione then his magic could.
"Find Hermione, tell her to come home." Harry had ordered the stag, but the conjured beast merely stood there, head titled to the side patiently. "Hermione," Harry had repeated. "Hermione Jean Granger. Tell her to come home, tell her I'm here for her."
The stag did not move.
"Per'aps try casting one with yer memories of 'Mione." Hagrid suggested from his chair, Fang snoring at his feat.
With a frustrated sigh Harry had dismissed the Patronus and tried again, this time harnassing all the happy memories he could summon of his best friend. He thought of her ink stained finger nails and her wild hair that always smelled of parchment, he thought of her fierce hugs and the swotty lilt to her voice when she was being insufferable. Harry imagined her boisterous laugh and the way she looked at him as if he were the greatest wizard in history.
And still his Patronus did not move.
Desperately Harry cast Patronus after Patronus until his arm shook from the effort, until he collapsed to the floor of Hagrid's little hut, his magical core exhausted.
Why would they not go find her? Why could they not go find her?
"Something's wrong." He had whispered, his voice laced with growing dread.
Every Auror who could be spared had been recruited to hunt Hermione Granger and soon hours had turned into days. Three days and no word. Ginny was besides herself with worry, refusing to attend Quidditch practice or even leave the house in case Hermione showed up. Seamus was ignoring orders and working around the clock despite Savage's insistence that an exhausted, panicked wizard was no help to anyone. When he hadn't been allowed to return to the field to search for her, Seamus had taken to wandering around the Ministry checking with meticulous attention every closet and office he could muscle his way into.
And Ron. Harry didn't even have the energy to consider Ron at the moment.
Godrick's sake, where the fuck is she?
"Being as useless as ever, aye Potter?" Draco Malfoy's unmistakable aristocratic drawl jarred Harry from his thoughts and threatened to send his already frazzled nerves over the edge.
"What the hell are you doing in my office, Malfoy?" Harry spat, rising from his chair instinctively. The blonde wizard was standing far too casually, leaning against the frame of Harry's now open office door, the ever bored sneer painted across his ivory face.
"Salazar's sake, man, did something die in here?" Draco asked curling his lip and casting his silvery gaze about the place. "It fucking reeks."
"Excuse me if office cleanliness isn't at the top of my priority list at the moment." Harry responded, his agitation growing. "I've had more urgent business."
Draco flicked his eyes to the messy haired wizard. "Ah yes, the disappearance of our dear Miss Granger. My face remembers the occasion well." Draco rubbed his nose carefully, it was sore but basically healed- he'd forgotten the swotty witch had such a wicked left hook. In fact, that year on the run and her time as an Auror seemed to have only increased her tendency towards lowly Muggle physical aggression. "Seems your little Muggle-born has slipped away, hmm?"
"Don't you fucking talk about her." Harry leaned across the desk, knocking a stack of papers over.
"Calm down, Potter. I'm not here to besmirch the good name of your sainted Granger." Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring the threat in his former rivals voice. "As a matter of fact, she is exactly who I've come to discuss."
Harry's eyes narrowed a fraction. Of course their first suspicions had been Death Eaters and Voldemort groupies on the lose, there were Aurors exploring those leads at that very moment, but could Draco know something? Supposedly the Malfoys were clean these days, cleared in part by Harry's testimony following the Battle of Hogwarts, but that didn't stop folks from wondering. Malfoy could be cleaner than Molly Weasley's kitchen floor, but folks would always wonder...
"I swear to the god's, Malfoy." Harry began, his voice hoarse with viciousness. "If you know anything, you better fucking tell me right now." Harry had moved around his desk towards Draco, his fist tight around his want.
Draco sighed. "Yes, do try to keep up. I just said that's why I'm here in your wretched office in the first place, to tell you if I know anything."
"So fucking spit it out." Harry growled.
"Manners, Potter." Draco purred. "Do you want me to talk about Granger or not? You're making this very confusing.
"DAMNIT, MALFOY!" Harry slammed his fist onto his desk, causing even more papers to tumble to the floor. "What the fuck do you know? Tell me."
The pure-blood was almost smiling now, Lucius would've been disappointed by such an obvious display of emotion from his son, but the younger Malfoy always had behaved disturbingly like a Black.
"Well, " Draco began. "It's more of a show really, than a tell."
"Then. Fucking. Show. Me." Harry managed to get out between his clenched teeth.
Draco gracefully turned, his robes billowing around him. "Well come along."
With white knuckles and a red face, Harry allowed Draco to lead him from the office.
Draco moved with quiet steps, but focused purpose through the corridors and around the corners of the Ministry. Harry couldn't help but be impressed with how well the other wizard seemed to know his way around.
"Where the hell are we going?" Harry asked at one point. "I've never seen this hallway before."
"That's not surprising, we rarely have visitors. Finance is most probably the least popular branch of the Ministry as we are not only hated by civilians, but also every other department." Draco's voice had an edge to it that Harry thought sounded suspiciously resentful.
"I would've thought you enjoyed being disliked, Malfoy." The Auror scoffed. "You seemed to go out of your way at Hogwarts to make people hate you."
"Don't flatter yourself, Potter, I never went out of my way to make anyone feel anything." Draco sneered and then suddenly stopped. "Here." He said, motioning to a door on their left.
"Here?" Harry asked, confusion evident in his voice. "Here what?"
"This door." Draco rolled his eyes pointed at the door again.
"It's a door." Harry stated plainly.
"By the gods, yes, Potter, bloody brilliant. I can see why you're so adored." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "The Bloody Boy Who Lived, everyone."
"You brought me all the way down here to show me a door?" Harry accused with growing agitation.
Draco sighed and slid his hands into his pockets. "Why don't you try to open it, Potter, since apparently you need everything spelled out for you."
"I swear if this some kind of fucking joke..." Harry reached out to the door's handle and tried to turn it, but the handle would not budge. "It's locked."
"Really, how fascinating." Draco's voice practically dripped with sarcasm. "You know, you're a wizard, Potter, why don't you try a spell or a charm perhaps?"
"Fuck off. I'm not waisting my time helping you get a fucking door open, Malfoy." Harry turned to leave, his patience at it's breaking point, but Draco moved to block Harry's way with a speed that came from years of Seeking.
"Maybe Granger got tired of having to explain everything to you and the Weasel." Draco spat. "Open the fucking door, Potter."
Harry raised his wand, a curse at the edge of his lips. "Move or I will move you, Malfoy."
"Try to open the fucking door, Potter." Draco gave Harry's shoulder the barest nudge.
"Open it yourself, prick!" Harry pushed Draco back, but with more force.
"You gods-damned fucking Gryffindors!" Draco brought his hands up as if he was struggling to keep from choking the enraged wizard in front of him. "Open the fucking door, Potter!"
"Why?!"
"WHY CAN'T YOU PEOPLE JUST FUCKING LISTEN? OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR."
"ALOHAMORA!" Harry screamed, aiming his wand at the door.
The door remained closed.
"Wh-what?" Harry asked, slowly stepping around Malfoy. "What door is this? Where does it go?"
Draco allowed himself a small triumphant smile. "Interested now, Potter?"
Harry reached out a hand to the door, it felt normal, no odd magics to it, and they were far from the Department of Mysteries-I think. Why would a door be so expertly locked that an Alohamora couldn't open it? But none of this was relevant. Harry withdrew his hand.
"As interesting as this actually is, Malfoy, I don't see what it has to do with Hermione."
"I walk down this hall every bloody day and I have never seen this door before." Draco informed him. "I didn't see this door until three days ago."
"So what?" Harry shrugged. "You're not observant."
"Actually, I'm quite observant, I'm the best bloody Seeker ever to grace the halls of Hogwarts-"
"Oh fuck right the fuck-"
"And I can tell you that this door was not here." Draco pointed at The Door. "This door fucking appeared three days ago, I noticed it after I went down to St. Mungo's to get my fucking nose fixed."
"That... that could be a coincidence." Harry spoke slowly, mentally attempting to fit this square peg into a round hole.
Draco shrugged. "I think we both know that coincidences are a Muggle affair, Potter."