Chapter six is finally up!
I feel terrible for the wait on this chapter, but I've been writing like crazy. I will be posting chapter seven NOW, as well, it is my attempt at an apology.
Here's hoping you'll enjoy this one!
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or other references to the original work of J.K Rowling. I only own my own mistakes
-o-o-o-
Thump, thump.
"The Wizengamot hereby sentence, Malfoy, Draco Lucius to ten years in Azkaban."
Handcuffs slapped onto his wrists, arms pulled him into a standing position. He was hoping the loud way he was breathing didn't give him away.
Don't show weakness, Draco.
Distorted faces with big eyes watched him, judged, grinned – all but one.
There was a woman, cramped between others. Dressed all in black, her back slightly hunched and her hair swept back in a strict bun, only a few strands had fallen down, framing her face.
He braved a glance at her and mouthed "Sorry." She was composed, dignified, but Draco could tell. The small twitch of his mother's shoulder and the way she breathed only through her nose. She was the picture of something broken. He wanted to hold out his arms, take her into his embrace and tell her it was all going to be all right, but he couldn't and it would be a lie.
Show no weakness.
He watched her eyes, let all the other faces blur together; saw how her knuckles turned white, holding onto Mrs Parkinson's hand. Her grip so tight it was as if it bore into his chest, tore at his ribcage and demanded his full attention. Forcing him to feel the pain she was so adamant not to show.
They'd lost the war. He'd lost a future, his family, a life. He craned his neck to look around, saw Mr Fernsby head of MLE, the department of magical law enforcement watching him with a hard face, a look impossible to decode.
The minister spoke up again, on behalf of the Wizengamot but he didn't hear it. Instead he tried to memorize every inch of his mother's face, because what if she wasn't there when ten years had past.
Thump, thump.
The room became slanted, disintegrating rapidly; he was laying down now, facing a stone wall. His chest tightened, the screams echoed, sometimes he recognized them as is own, sometimes he listened for the exact tone of the scream, tried to determine if it could be his father's. Tried to decide if he cared if it was his father's or not.
Thump, thump. He counted his heartbeats, wondered if it would eventually give up. How many more days he could handle before he lost his mind, before the stone surrounding him started to feel like home. He talked aloud sometimes, recited spells, runes and pretended he could feel the weight of a wand in his hand, magic coursing through his fingertips.
It was dark when he woke. His eyes traced the patterns on the ornate chandelier medallion on the ceiling above his bed. There was no need to pull back the curtains to determine what hours of the day it was. He always woke around the same time, numerous hours before he had to get ready for work. Finger by finger he loosened his grip around the sheets that he'd clenched, flexed his stiff fingers and threw the covers from his burning body.
He took slow breaths and placed one of his hands on his stomach, felt it moving up and down. It was something he did. Reaching for physical evidence he was still breathing, still alive. He lay there, sprawled out on the bed in the house he never wanted to live in. It was so different from the Manor, smaller, brighter and uncomfortable somehow. The nightmare was one he never could shake, because it wasn't so much a dream as it was a memory.
The stairs creaked and for a second he thought maybe they'd found him.
Thump, thump. His heart was pounding hard in his chest, as if it wanted to escape too. Draco reached for his wand on the bedside table. He gripped it hard, holding it tight against his body and stayed like that, unmoving, unable to sleep, and with nothing but the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his throat. Alert, waiting for footfalls on the stairs, the noise of the bedroom door being flung open. One of these day's they would find him, and he had to be ready when they did.
This was how his Friday began. This was how every day began.
Eventually, he let the spray in the shower wash away the night. He did his tie with care and draped the harness over his shoulders, placing the wand in the sheath. Glancing down at his hands, he turned his white gold signet ring to the right position on his middle finger. A family heirloom passed down the male line of Malfoy heirs. He looked at it for a beat, brushed his thumb over the Malfoy family crest and remembered how he used to admire it on his father's hand as a child. He'd even let him try it on one time when he was six. It had felt heavy and big on his index finger, and he'd pondered how he'd ever be able to wear it with the same grace his father did.
-o-o-o-
The late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning was forgotten when she walked in. She was quiet, she always was in the mornings. Draco quite enjoyed the quieter version of Granger in the beginning of the day. They worked methodically and when he left for lunch, she was chewing on the tip of her quill, deconstructing the second potion in an attempt to make proper modifications to the third.
He knew he shouldn't have done it, but he hadn't been thinking, and he was only trying to help. She'd looked as though she was struggling. That was why he had walked up behind her to get the aconite from the shelf. Sometimes he wondered if she forgot she was a witch. A simple 'accio' and she'd already have the bottle in her hands. What he hadn't expected was how nice her backside felt against his body, and that he kind of wanted to do it again. It seemed as though his imagination in the shower had awakened something he'd rather have buried. It didn't help that the air shifted as she spun around. That scent he'd noticed when he and Potter went to recruit her, stunned him for a second or two. There was something peculiar about the scent that he was incapable of placing, and it made him a little frustrated. He didn't like riddles he couldn't solve, more so, he thought of how unfair it was for her to point out his perfume annoyed her, when she clearly was wearing something herself. He'd never did figure out why it was she'd asked him to stop wearing perfume, seeing as, he wasn't wearing any. Either she was screwing with him and it went above his head, or, there was another reason he hadn't understood yet. Neither of the options sat well with him.
Hermione's strange behaviour during the afternoon only added to his confusion. She appeared to be having some sort of internal struggle and part of him wanted to believe she really did find him so attractive it was messing with her mind. The more sound part of him thought it was more plausible it had nothing do with him, and more so with her mental state that had been heavily discussed in several gossip magazines. Yes, he read them, and no, he'd never admit to having multiple subscriptions under the fake name Tobias Howard.
He tried to summarise what he did know. He knew of the way her gaze would sometimes linger at his hands, or the glimmer he'd detect in her eyes when he'd outsmarted her – the look he didn't like in that specific context because it was equivalent to "good boy" and it unsettled him in many ways – they all spoke of one thing. Hermione found him at least mildly good looking. To test out if it was all in his mind or not, he'd work in a few extra smirks here and there to catch her reaction. Usually she'd shake her head a little and tell him to "get serious or this potion will be ruined." This afternoon however, she'd acted different, the small innuendos regarding his work ethic were still there, but she'd been frazzled, almost jumpy. She'd turn a page in the book nestled in her hands after only a couple of seconds, and stay on one page – without taking notes – long enough to have read it thrice.
Draco had been grinning down at his hands for a few moments now, wondering what in the world would possess someone to feel the need to sit on their own. She was usually composed and immersed in their work. Whatever side of her he saw that afternoon; he was caught of guard by it and found it so amusing he'd had to fight back laughter more than once. She had done a good job avoiding his eyes, and unlike most afternoons, he didn't feel the need to make small grunts and sighs to indicate she was going to make his ears bleed with all that talking.
Draco dropped down onto the couch. Between using legilimens on Yaxley, having conducted yet another pointless interrogation and doing most of the work while Granger was literally sitting on her hands, his eyelids felt heavy and the settee very comfortable. Flung over one of the chairs, he could see Hermione's robe. She must've forgotten it when she left. All she said before click-clacking her low heels on floor out the door was a low mumble to herself, and a very loud "Bye!" He'd caught parts of what she'd mumbled. Something along the lines of "stuck up", "why", and "told him not to–". She really should learn to mumble her insults quieter, or preferably, not at all. He was at a loss as to why she'd found him stuck up, because he'd bit his tongue at the occasional insult and done most of the work while she was dealing with something else entirely. If he hadn't found her erratic behaviour hilarious, maybe he'd feel more wounded.
Draco wasn't oblivious to the fact he looked good. Being an Alpha helped. He'd gone from scrawny and pointy to tall and sharp. Being a pureblood came with expectations, it was a look the part, get the part kind of thing, and even though he'd felt himself breaking away from his family's views, he'd never be able to rid himself of the flair for the finer things or the underlying fear of being substandard. Maybe he was superficial, but to Draco, dressing good and carrying himself well was a way of projecting an image of who he was to others. He'd never been allowed to slouch at the dinner table, and that one time he'd worn a simple T-shirt his father had asked if he was trying to look like a homeless muggle. He then learned it wasn't fitting to walk around in such attire when you are the heir of a pure bloodline. When the world sees you a certain way, you start to see yourself that way too. Superior. Now that he knew most of it was cultural nonsense, he'd thought of buying a pair of muggle jeans, but then he stopped and remembered he was Draco Malfoy. Not even Azkaban could change him enough to ever be caught dead wearing something like that.
His very real reality did entail he might actually drop dead one of these days. Imagine the horror if he'd be found in muggle jeans.
He shivered.
His attention fell back on the robe Granger had left behind, he pushed up on his feet and took the three steps required. There was no denying he was curious. He picked up the robe and held it up against his nose.
Lemon, coconut, violets and something peppery, his world narrowed around the scent. He didn't know for how long he stood there, taking deep breaths of the scent, until he was interrupted by the slight wind hitting his face as the door to the lab was thrown open.
"Good, good. You're still here, I –" Potter looked up from the case file in his hands, his eyebrows tightened as he took in the scene in front of him. "What are you doing?"
What was he doing?
Draco blinked. "Granger left her robe," he said stupidly, feeling as though he'd just been caught with his hand inside his trousers.
"Ah – and you were?"
Draco's lips parted but no sound came out, his brain had left, abandoned him in his moment of need.
Potter raised a brow and held up his hand. "You know what, don't think I want to know."
Draco cleared his throat and schooled his features, gently putting the robe back as though it was fragile. "Did you need me for something?"
"Right, yes." He crooked his head down at the folder and tucked it under his arm, "Got you that beer I owe you, but first I have some information to share, Ron is waiting for us in the break room."
-o-o-o-
"Shouldn't this be more of an official meeting?" Draco asked he sat down. He looked at the beer bottle with disappointment. Potter owed him a beer, and Draco thought he really could've sprung for something a little classier than a common British pale ale. Given it could be bought in a six-pack at any store was sad itself.
Harry circled the table to take a seat and discarded his glasses on it.
"Yeah, probably should be, but everyone else has gone for the day, Nott is out in the field, but unavailable. 'Mione seemed stressed when she left so didn't think it wise to call her back for this. Ethan, Neville and Ian are still at the scene," he spoke calmly, rubbing the bridge of his nose before putting his glasses back into position.
Harry and Draco were usually the ones who stayed the latest at the bunker while everyone else rushed home for the weekend to wives, fiancés or in Ronald's case, his muggle TV or dinners at the Burrow. Draco and Harry never spoke of it, but it was apparent neither had anywhere to rush to. This was why Draco had asked his boss if he could work Sundays. The more he worked, the closer he'd be to freedom. Now, the Friday after work beers were as common as tea in the afternoons. It made the time pass, and even though Draco would never admit it, he appreciated the small buzz and company before dragging his feet back to an empty house.
It seemed the beer had to wait, by the look on his fellow colleagues there was a pressing matter at hand. He drew his fingers over his chin, wanting to twirl the beard that wasn't there. Whatever it was, he braced himself for upsetting news.
"Ron and Neville got a lead up in Romford," Potter said, shifting through some paperwork in front of him, his voice held a tone of seriousness that couldn't be ignored. "A dead body was found at the scene, Ethan and Ian are still there and were tasked to inform the relatives and gather more information about the victim. Identified as Yolanda Vass, Scottish and," he paused briefly, "muggle-born. Left behind two children and a husband. I wanted them moved to a safehouse, but it wasn't approved by Fernsby."
"Another muggle-born. Cause of death?" Draco asked.
"She was moved to be examined by the coroner, got word a few minutes ago. It's the coroner's early assessment she was murdered with an Avada. No signs of struggle, her vocal cords cut before time of death."
"The body was dumped on a field, out in the plain, just like the first. Whoever killed her wanted her to be found," Ronald added, his voice tight.
The air suddenly seemed thick around them. They'd already come across one dead body within their jurisdiction, just before Hermione joined the team, his vocal cords cut, muggle-born according to family members. Potter had been sure it was connected to the death eaters but Fernsby had left the case with another team of aurors, telling Harry to keep focus on rounding up the remaining death eaters. Mr Tilly's death was an on-going investigation and it was believed he was murdered for other reasons than just for being a muggle-born. It was never their case therefore Draco hadn't given it much thought.
They all exchanged looks. Mrs Vass and Mr Tilly's murders held too many similarities to be a coincidence, and they'd all felt it. For a time now, the attacks on muggle-borns had escalated, the death eaters were stating to come out of the shadows, just like the they'd done in time after the Dark Lord's return.
"Laid out the intel we have before Fernsby, told him the murders had to be connected to the death eaters. We are officially investigating not only the 'uprising' but also two murders most likely related to said 'uprising'."
The case was theirs, and two murders meant getting information out of Yaxley became more pressing by the day. If Hermione didn't comprehend the urgency Potter shouldn't expect her to figure it out before they found a third dead body. "Granger should be briefed on this," Draco said, interlacing his fingers behind his neck.
"I will inform her first thing Monday, We've been able to keep the specifics out of the papers for now, and we should be able to do so now as well."
Draco nodded once in agreement, knowing it meant he needed to speak with Pansy again. She was a freelance journalist, but her connections made her valuable to the team.
"Have you've been able to establish a modus operandi?" Draco said, his head already spinning, trying to determine how they operated, it was different from how it was done when the Dark Lord was at the helm. Everything had seemed unplanned, like they lacked proper directions. The attacks had so far been scattered, they hadn't been able to ring in a specific pattern of movement, even with the inside information they'd gathered. The escalation from random attacks to full-blown murder concerned them all, because it meant maybe the attacks weren't so random after all.
"The other team had a theory about the vocal cords. It could be a message, someone wanted him silenced." Potter shuffled through the folders and pushed one to Draco. He opened it up and read the name Otto Tilly centred at the first page.
"Tilly worked as a common waiter, was fired from two jobs because he repeatedly spoke out about poor management and how he was treated differently than the half-bloods on staff. Both establishments were owned by purebloods. Difference is, the other team searched only for one perpetrator, trying to find a motive. If it is in fact related to the death eaters, the motive is already somewhat clear. They were baffled at how easy he'd been found. Dumped in a park frequented by many daily." He paused and finished his glass of water with two long swallows. "He was a muggle-born, speaking openly about mistreatment of muggle-borns at establishments owned by purebloods. They not only wanted him silenced. They wanted to make an example out of him. Create the kind of fear they did when working for Voldemort."
They sat in silence for a few moments, taking in the information. "Malfoy, I need you and Hermione to get that counter potion working." He continued and then turned his head toward Weasley.
"Need a background check on Mrs Vass, why did they want her silenced? Ian and Ethan may have gotten something from her relatives already, check with them first."
"On it," Ron said, getting to his feet.
"I've ordered them to work until the report is done, I'll let them know to hand it to you as soon as they're finished with it".
Weasley nodded. "I'll be back in the morning then. What about Theo, he might have–."
"We can't risk it, I'll talk with him as soon as possible," Potter said, using his authoritative tone. "He hasn't been briefed about today's events form us, but something tells me he already knows."
-o-o-o-
Thank you for checking out Crushed fairy dust.
Your comments on the last chapter had me smiling, loved reading every one of them, thank you so much!
If you did like this chapter or have any thoughts, please do share them! Not a lot of Dramione interaction in this one, but it is coming, I think the end of the next chapter will prove that. *snickering*
Updates will be made Sundays every other week for now. Changes to schedule might occur. (as you may now by now, sorry…)
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Lots of love.
