Chapter Two
The sun reflected brightly off the snow covered lake. Draco had to squint to see because it was so bright. He leaned his head back against the tree he was under and watched the growing form that was Hermione Granger coming toward him.
He had to physically stop himself from smirking when she was close enough for him to see her red cheeks and eyes full of annoyance. Before she was too close, he looked away, back to the lake and waited for her to start the rant he knew was coming.
"Draco Malfoy," she said shortly.
"Good afternoon, Granger," he said without looking at her. He could feel the anger radiating off her like electricity in the air.
"I want it back, Malfoy." She crossed her arms and stared angrily down at him.
Draco sighed, trying to hide his grin. "Want what back, Granger?" He knew exactly what she wanted. He could feel it pressed against his leg from inside his bag.
"Do not play stupid. You know exactly what I'm talking about."
He finally turned his face to look at her, squinting against the sun. He tried to give her his best I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about face, but he saw the redness of her face from the cold and it made her look like she was blushing—maybe she was—and for some reason it threw him off.
"Haven't the foggiest, Granger. So if you don't mind, I'm trying to think in quiet." He turned back to stare at the frozen water.
It was true, he had been trying to think, but now he couldn't remember what about.
"Malfoy!" Hermione said, flinging her arms out in disbelief. "I can't believe this! I was nice enough to let you barrow it! I at least expected you to return it!"
He turned to look at her again, startled by the sudden volume of her voice. He noticed how big her hair had gotten, like a cat's when it's startled, and her eyes were wide and wild. He was fighting hard to keep a straight face. The more he could irritate Granger the better. He loved to see her like this.
"Please!" she begged. "I want it back before break!"
He sighed. She wasn't furious anymore which meant the fun was over. He reached into his bag and pulled out the book he'd ask to barrow from her two weeks ago. He had wanted to read it for a long time, but the library never had it. Then once, in Potions, he'd noticed her reading it. Not that he had been watching her. He hadn't. The title on the cover was plenty big for him to notice just by glancing at it across the room.
Her face lit up when he handed it over.
"Thank you," she said curtly and started to walk away.
Draco looked back to the lake until he heard the crunch of her returning footsteps.
"Actually," she said. "I want to ask you something."
He raised his brow and looked over at her. She had the book clutched tightly to her chest.
"Since no one else has read this book," she said. "I want to know what you think of how Mongrove handled the seventh prophecy."
For a moment, Draco didn't know what to say. "Rashly," he settled on.
She furrowed her brow and pursed her lips like she was waiting for him to say more.
He wracked his brain for more to say. "I think he should have thought about it more, but that he did what he thought was best in the time he had."
Then she said something that Draco had never heard Hermione Granger say to him, nor did he ever expect to hear from her. She said, "I agree."
Draco heard once before that when you miss something so much you dream about it.
The dream he just had was what he thinks of as the moment something first happened between him and her. It's not one of the memories he thinks about very often, in fact, he's tried not to think much about her at all lately, but, for some reason, his mind decided to dream about her tonight.
His chest starts to feel tight and heavy and he's reminded why he has avoided thinking of her.
He rolls over and takes his wand from the nightstand next to his bed, using the Lumos spell to check the time on his wristwatch. 1:57. A puff of air escapes his lips and he puts a hand to his forehead. In nearly five hours time he'll be expected up. That is if the Dark Lord doesn't decide to visit before then.
Draco remembers two nights ago when He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named arrived at three o'clock in the morning, demanding hospitality. Damn his father for practically making the manor the Dark Lord's headquarters.
Draco hates feeling afraid. When he does he gets shaky and his throat goes tight and his muscles feel like concrete. When he's afraid he feels powerless over his own body. And he hates that. But he's been feeling afraid a lot lately. He used to be able to feel safe in his own home, but now feeling afraid there has become normal to him.
Draco gets up. He can't fall asleep now that he's thinking about her. Where she is, what she's doing, if anything's happened to her. Twice, while he's changing into day clothes, he thinks about owling her, but shoots it down. It's too dangerous. Someone could intercept the owl, the wrong people could find out about them, or she could not write back at all.
He opens his door and walks into the dark hallway. There is an Elf down the hall dusting off the pictures on the walls. He ignores the Elf as usual and walks down to the main level.
The sitting room is a bit brighter; the embers in the fireplace make the room glow. He notices that the hardwood floor reflects the light easily which means it's just been waxed. He snorts, wondering which prisoner they made wash the floor as he goes to the desk drawer and pulls out the flask of something strong and expensive his father likes to drink. He isn't sure what it is. He just knows it burns on the way down and helps him feel numb to everything happening around him.
He sits with the flask in his hand in front of the dying embers and stares at the orange glow. Granger once told him that many muggles don't have fireplaces in their homes. That they use other things for heat and light.
He used to laugh at muggles and what a hard life they must live without magic, but right then he thinks it might be easier to be a muggle. He thinks it might be easier to change things called 'light bulbs' all the time and make your food by hand than live the way he is now. But he thinks it might be a lot easier if Granger were here.
He shakes his head and takes a large swig of the drink. "Drown it out," he whispers to himself. But she won't get out of his mind and recently it's started making him think crazy things. Like, what if he just left? Forgot about his parents and the Dark Lord and just took off? He could live like a muggle until the whole thing blows over.
He takes a larger swallow.
A loud wailing noise makes him drop the bottle.
"Shit," he says, but he can't hear his own voice over the ringing.
He leaves the room, not bothering to pick up the mess, and hurries to the front entrance. His aunt Bellatrix and two Death Eaters that follow her around like puppies barrel through the front door.
"Turn off this damn alarm!" Bellatrix shrieks.
Before Draco can reach for his wand, the alarm is silenced.
Lucius steps forward, fully clothed and pristine.
"To what do we owe the pleasure, Bellatrix?" he asks. There is malice in his voice, but also relief.
Draco can understand why. No one likes unexpected guests in their home at three o'clock in the morning, but it isn't the Dark Lord. Though, Draco thinks Bellatrix isn't much better.
"Oh, hello, Lucius," Bellatrix says as though she's just noticing him. "Nothing too serious. We just need to barrow Draco." She walks to where Draco is standing and smiles sickeningly at him. In her heals she's about his height, making her that much more intimidating.
"What for?" Lucius asks her.
"The Dark Lord requested him! That's all that should matter!" she spits. Then her face softens and her hand comes up to pinch Draco's cheek. He swallows hard, trying show indifference. "After all," she continues. "You should be flattered that the Dark Lord wants to use your son after his fuck-up last year." She's looking right at Draco, but talking about him like he's not there.
He clenches his jaw, remember just how the Dark Lord had punished him and his father. He'd vowed that the next time Draco messed up he wouldn't be so lucky to come out with only a dozen crucios and a broken rib.
Bellatrix doesn't wait for his father to respond. "Are you ready to go, Draco?" she asks, addressing him for the first time.
He glances at his father who's watching Bellatrix with a blank face.
"Yes," he says.
Bellatrix slaps his cheek just enough for it to sting. "Good boy," she says. "Then we'll be off," she turned around to tell Lucius.
Hand still on his cheek, Bellatrix jerks and Draco feels the pull of apparition as she whirls him away from his home.
The colours swirl around them until they suddenly stop in what appears to be a dark and abandoned home. Thick black curtains are drawn across the windows so that the only light is the feint glow from candles floating around a long wooden table.
Draco shivers. The air is surprisingly crisp. But it might also have to do with the dozen or so Snatchers seated at the table.
"Hello, Draco."
So that's where the chill is coming from, Draco thinks.
At the end of the table, Lord Voldemort is seated. He's got the night on his shoulders, threaded into a long cloak, and his pale face acts as a moon over it all.
"My Lord." Draco bows respectfully like he was taught to do. His fingers tremble and fumble with the fabric of his trousers.
When he dares to look back at Voldemort the snake-like man is smiling, smirking almost, in a way Draco couldn't even imagine himself doing several years ago.
"Take a seat." Voldemort extends a knobby hand, gesturing to a seat on the right side of the table.
He nods quickly and hurries to sit down in the dusty, straight-backed chair.
"Fenrir Greyback has informed me that there has been magic detected in the wood," Voldemort says, addressing the group. "It is also believed that this magic might belong to Harry Potter or someone who knows of his whereabouts. So. Everyone who brings me someone useful won't be killed. The more the better." He turns his head slightly to look right at Draco. "Some of you need brownie points."
Draco swallows hard and looks down at the grain of the table. His leg is bouncing violently.
"Go!" Voldemort commands.
The chairs scrape against the floor as all the Snatchers get up at once.
Draco stands up, too, not wanting to be left alone with You-Know-Who. Following the rest out the door, he can see that the house they are in is set deep in a wood. The sun is barely up, making every tree a silhouette.
As they get outside, the Snatchers fan out in pairs of two or three, their wands are out and held in front of them as if they are being pulled by them. Draco also takes out his wand, but he isn't sure what to do with it so he holds it close to his chest and grips the handle tightly.
He goes to the left by himself, picking his way through the unruly vegetation. He has no idea what he's looking for. Surly no one would be right out in the open. They'd have some sort of protection charm up, but Draco knows from the protection charms around his home, that if you do it right, they're nearly undetectable. Maybe a slight buzz or a shimmer in the air, impossible to see in this light.
"Lumos," he whispers and the tip of his wand lights up, throwing light across the trees, making their shadows long.
He holds the wand high above his head and walks for what he feels like forever. The woods makes eerie noises and the shadows play tricks on his eyes. Once, he caught sight of a tree that looked much too alike a person, and he nearly dropped his wand. He was extremely thankful when the sun finally rose high enough that he didn't need his wand to see any more.
Soon, he feels like he must be almost to the edge of the wood he walked so far and feels so tired, but there are always more trees and thorns and bushes.
He wonders if his father had told his mother about what happened earlier this morning. He wonders if she's worried for him or just as indifferent as his father seemed. He thinks about what he'll do if he finds anyone to capture. Will he have the guts or the strength to take them? What if it's Granger? He knows right now that he wouldn't be able to touch her.
And now his mind is back on her just like he tried to avoid.
It's been forever, but he remembers everything about her. Her hair as swirly as the night sky and her lips like little pink petals and the way she smells like vanilla and strawberries and, when he kisses her hands, he can smell ink and paper and something else he'd never been able to place that is just purely Granger, and soon he's aching for her again. He breathes deeply and it's like he can smell her right now.
He stops walking.
He can smell her right now. She's right here.
He turns. There is nothing but trees and foliage around him. Then he feels it. A tingle in the air like how the wind feels after lightning strikes. He steps toward it, smelling her more strongly.
He squints in front of him, trying to see if she's really there.
"Hermione?"
Silence.
He holds his breath and suddenly, he can start to hear her breathe.
A/N: Sorry about the short delay on this one. Normally I will have them up about nine hours earlier.
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