Erstwhile on TUB:
"Livy... Livy."
"Clive?" she finally said, her voice the lowest of whispers. Slowly, Lavinia's eyes fluttered open. "Oh, Clive, I had the most wonderful dream. A man... he came to us in the middle of the night. He told me my baby was still alive. Alive, Clive; did you hear? Alive." He frowned deeply and nodded.
"I heard you, love, but it was a dream; just a dream. No man came to us."
"I know," Lavinia said, sighing softly, and sat up to rest her head on his chest and Clive held her closely to him. He felt her smile against the skin of his forearm. "I don't think he was a man, Clive. I think he was an angel."
-
Chapter Twelve: Angelcakes
Draco, in a devastated state, walked slowly across the street to the side opposite the Granger residence. He had been undoubtedly sure that Hermione would be there, and still she wasn't. Her parents' reaction was plenty proof.
As a result of finding neither hide nor hair of Hermione, Draco was left without plan and ambitionless to perform any complicated maneuvers. He sighed and climbed again onto his wooden shaft. I suppose there's nothing to do now but search the muggle way. God, Hermione; what were you thinking?
In two hours, after Draco had made on the upward of twenty laps around London, he landed again on the street outside the little house. All was quiet and dark again and he assumed the Grangers had returned to their berth, hoping to forget his intrusion. He still felt something inside which assured him he was in the right place, on the right track in finding Hermione, and decided against leaving for search again until daylight. If she came, he would see her, if she didn't, an aerial search would be more profitable if able to see more than three feet in front of one's face.
Rubbing at an eye, sluggish and tired, Draco directed his broom to a thick branch in an oak tree opposite the Granger abode and landed gracefully upon it, ignoring his protesting stomach and settling in for a night-long vigilance. His late night, early morning, and eventful day impacted him heavily, assisted by his empty stomach, to lull him and, hours before sunrise, Draco Malfoy drifted to sleep.
-x-x-x-
"There has to be somewhere, Faygie. A shelter, a retreat... hell, a garbage can full of fire. Somewhere," Hermione told the little bird who was now perched comfortably on her shoulder, curled against her neck as he searched the darkness for sign of warm asylum.
Hermione walked slowly down a dusty street, eyes on her shoes as if they needed her vigilance to be moved forward. Her progress was slow, but persistent and she looked up at even intervals to view the streets and look for any sign of life. The rural part of London in which she presently paced was fast asleep with no thought to her well being. The quiet was eerie, and the atmosphere uninviting.
"I don't like this place, love," she whispered, shuddering as she held her cloak tightly around her, Harry's broom acting as means of security in her tight embrace. "I don't like it at all."
Fagan hooted his agreement and took flight from her shoulder, flying into the air and making slow circles around her. Hermione watched him intently, hoping he did not wish to leave her company.
"What, baby?" she asked rhetorically, though knowing owls to be the smartest of non-human species. Perhaps, even, smarter than their dominators. Fagan gave a low hoot; a dull sound which rattled Hermione's bones and made her wish herself back in the safe warmth of the farmhouse. Of Hogwarts. Of anywhere, with anyone. "Fagan! Stop it, right now!" Hermione could feel the atmosphere change; the air seemed warmer, and the streets safer. In succession, a few tiny lights flickered on in homes near her post, and Hermione gasped, backing up against a streetlight. "Fagan, please!" she hissed. "You're waking them!" Reprimanded though not knowing of the harm he had caused, Fagan returned to his roost on her shoulder and hid himself with her hair, cooing softly against her neck as would a small cat.
"Ay! What's all the fuss about?" called someone into the night, sounding not pleased to have been awoken, and Hermione gasped, turning her face to the new voice. A plump old man with a nightcap appeared at an open window near her, looking wary and suspicious. "Miss? Isn't it a bit late for a stroll? And what with a good flying broom as well?" He paused. "What was that racket? You're going to wake the whole neighborhood."
"I'm sorry sir," she called up to him, holding a hand over Fagan and hoping the man would not notice. "It wasn't me, I swear it." He gave her a calculating glance, and Hermione curbed his suspicion by continuing her explanation. "Sir, if you please, I'm just running away and am, quite frankly, a bit lost. Would you know of a place in which I could stay, just for the night?"
"Run away?" the man asked, sounding somewhat surprised. "From home, lass?" Hermione hesitated only a moment before shaking her head.
"From the Mauriz establishment, sir," she explained, dropping her gaze to the ground, and she heard him gasp.
"Are you jesting, Miss? The Mauriz establishment? How..."
"Please, sir. I would just like somewhere warm to sleep."
"I'm sorry, lass. There isn't much of that sort here in Westchester. But, blimey, Mauriz? If you don't mind a couch, I can lay you up here, Miss," he offered, quite graciously, but Hermione was having a spell of nostalgia.
"Did you say Westchester, sir?" she asked, looking for validation, and the man gave a convicted nod.
"Ay; that's where you be, Miss. Quaint place, isn't it?" he asked, smiling widely, and Hermione nodded in a slow rhythm, staring wide eyed at the pavement.
"It is," she agreed. "I grew up here." She paused for an everlasting moment, reliving the days before her life had become so unrecognizable, then Hermione looked up sharply.
"Sir, could you point me to Murray?" she pleaded and the man lifted a snowy eyebrow.
"Murray?" he asked, surprised. "That be the muggle part, Miss." Hermione nodded.
"Yes. I've family there."
"You're a lucky one, lass. It's just three blocks that way," he said, pointing. "Make a turn at the fountain."
"The mermaid. I remember. Thank you sir, you've been a saint!" she called to him, blowing a kiss from the palm of her hand, and started on a slow trot which felt like a full-speed run. The man chuckled after her, waving madly.
"It might do you well to ride that fine broom of yours!" he called as she hurried off, and Hermione took his advice, mounting her broom and riding with renewed vigor for the noted three blocks and landing softly at the edge of the infamous mermaid fountain on the corner. She took a moment to bask in nostalgia, smiling up at the marble fish-maiden spouting stale water from her lips. After a moment or so, Fagan grew impatient and detangled himself from Hermione's auburn locks, shooting up into the sky to stretch his wings before coming back to rest on the mermaid's brow. Hermione laughed at him giddily, drunk on adrenaline.
"Thank you, Faygie. I don't know how I could have missed it. I lived here for years," she said, and Fagan hooted his replay, shifting his stature on his perch. "Come, love. I'm sleepy." Obediently, the little orange bird flew down to rest on Hermione's exposed wrist, allowing her to carry him into the unfamiliar territory of her childhood neighborhood.
Hermione walked slowly down the street, heart swelling at each building or marking she recognized. It was not ten minutes before she stopped all at once, looking up at a white washed country home with green shutters and modest shrubbery. A tooth-shaped mailbox stood out of place at the corner made by the sidewalk and path to the front door, and Hermione ran a hand over the embossed letters which spelled the word "Granger" in healthy-gum reds and mint-fluorine greens.
Breath ragged and footsteps heavy, she made the journey to the door so slowly it seemed surreal and placed her hand on the brass doorknob. With one last deep breath, she attempted to turn it, but the handle held fast.
"Damn," she whispered, letting it go in frustration. Fagan gave a quiet hoot of apology, and Hermione sighed, looking to her feet. Below the now tarnished black pumps which encased her feet, a tattered brown mat greeted each to step upon it with a friendly and calligraphic "Welcome". "Key," Hermione mumbled, blinking against the memory. "Under the mat, I remember." She stooped downward, lifting the little piece of sodden burlap, and smiled softly at the dull key that was nestled safely below it. "Thank God."
Hermione entered her home quickly and quietly, closing the door behind her with virtually no displacement of vibration. She exhaled then, as if a great weight had been lifted from her chest.
"We're home, Faygie. I'm glad you came with me," she whispered to him, starting toward a wooden staircase. He nuzzled against her neck, but did not chance any sort of hoot in reply. "Got to be careful," Hermione said softly as she approached the stairs. "My father hates to be woken in the middle of the night." Despite her tired state, she managed to step foot on the second floor with only the smallest of creaks in the flooring. Just as carefully, Hermione tiptoed down the carpeted hallway to her old room, which was only distanced from the landing by the bathroom. She immediately attempted to open the door, but found that it too had been locked. "Odd," she whispered only to Fagan, who made no reply. With a slight shrug of her shoulder, Hermione unclasped her broken cloak, using the safety pin -which had functioned as a holder- to pick the lock. She heard it click within moments and pushed quickly inside, envisioning the warm and comfortable bed from her youth, before closing the door behind her. She flicked on the light beside the doorframe and gave a slight gasp at the site.
The room was just as she had left it, complete with her head's imprint in the pillow and an open copy of Professional Potions on her duvet. The difference, however, was that everything was now layered with a few centimeters of dust and cobwebs were draped over everything. For precaution, Hermione cast a silencing charm on her room, then one to remove the dust and leave the furniture spotless. With a soft smile, she situated Fagan on a dress hook near the window and crawled below her freshly scented cotton sheets, smiling against the pillow and mumbling a final spell to turn off the light before placing her wand on the bedside table and drifting into a soporific and peaceful sleep.
-x-x-x-
Draco woke moments after dawn, to a throbbing head. A few branches down, a little red woodpecker was persistently looking for some sort of microbic meal, and the effect was a vibration strong enough to wake a hibernating bear. Mounting his broom to fly within the branches and not feel the aftershocks of his little friend's scourge, Draco turned his attention to the Granger domicile. It looked just as it had when he'd drifted, with the trivial exception of better lighting from the sun. With a sigh, he decided against investigating this early and flew directly upward to be obscured by the clouds as he made a few more fruitless rounds around London.
At seven thirty, Draco parked himself again in the Granger tree, resting his chin on an open palm as he waited for any sign of movement or life. At a quarter of eight, Clive descended the step at the front and walked down the path to retrieve the morning paper, which had been left at some point while Draco was scouring the city for his Gryffindor brunette. With a hefty sigh, he waited until Clive had again disappeared into his home before jumping to the bottom of the tree and hiding his broom behind it, then crossing the empty street. Draco took a breath as he knocked on the front door, preparing himself for a curse though he knew it to be impossible.
Clive answered the door with a smile, but it grew into an angry frown as he recognized his company.
"You," he spat, and Draco nodded sadly. "I thought I told you to stay off my property." The younger boy gave a slight smirk.
"Actually, you told me to come back for tea."
"You think you're funny, do you? Well, I'm telling you now, boy. Clear off and stay off."
"I'm sorry sir, but I just can't do that. I know she's coming back here. I just know it. I plan to be back every day, twice if need be, until I find her here," Draco stated determinedly and Clive glared.
"Tell you what," he said, though not sounding in the mood to be negotiable. "We'll call you." He made to close the door then, but a feminine voice impeded him.
"Clive? Who is it?" asked Livy, coming up behind him while untying the apron she wore over her nightdress and robe.
"No one, Livy. He was just leaving," Clive answered, giving Draco one last, solid glare before making again to close the door.
"You!" Livy screeched as she turned into the foyer, but refreshingly without the anger her husband had. "Clive, it's him! The angel-boy to bring word of my baby!"
"Livy," He warned. "We've talked about this. That didn't happen."
"It did, Clive! The boy is here, what more proof do you need?"
"Livy, you will go back into the kitchen and forget about this incident entirely. Go."
"No, Clive," she said, stepping up to her husband and narrowing her almond shaped eyes at him. "I won't. I've waited for this since that night, before Mina's funeral." At this thought, she turned to Draco, who was still standing with a look of confusion on his dirty face. "You came to me in a dream, angel boy. More than half a decade ago. I've believed in you, but Clive thought me crazy. Come, you'll have some pancakes. Pay no mind to my husband, he can rot in front of the tele for all I care," Livy said, taking Draco by the arm and directing him into her home and through a doorway to the kitchen. "Angels do eat, don't they?" Draco grinned, casting a glace over his shoulder to Clive Granger, who fumed and did as he was told, falling into a worn spot on the sofa.
"I'm afraid I'm not an angel, Missus Granger," Draco admitted, allowing her to pamper his sycophantic stomach. "Just a friend." Livy frowned, pausing slightly as she dished him a more than modest portion of buttermilk pancakes and placed a syrup ladle next to his plate.
"Oh," she said softly. "Then you shouldn't have a problem eating, should you?" She smiled again, but it was strained and did not reach her eyes. Draco felt suddenly guilty.
"I do have news of Hermione, though," he assured, hospitably drizzling thick maple sap over his warm hotcakes. Livy sat suddenly in front of him, stance rigid and demanding.
"Tell me everything."
Draco, who was half way through a generous bite of pancake, swallowed hard.
"Well," he said, placing his fork neatly beside his plate and using as much self control as he had to ignore the delicious food and nagging desire to ignore all etiquette and manners and eat while explaining. "Generally, what happened was that Hermione and all the other students at our school were attacked by an evil wizard named Mauriz. He banished all but a select few -Hermione included- and took over the castle. It pretty much became, well, a..." He faltered, hesitant to say such a thing to a mother. Livy was staring idly at her placemat, putting all attention to Draco's explanation.
"A brothel," she filled in, spitting the word, and Draco sighed, slouching in his chair.
"Yes. We assumed that, because Harry was very protective of Hermione, Mauriz had killed her immediately to spite him. It was a big assumption, but Harry was convinced, and we couldn't argue. She's been alive all this time, living at Hogwarts under Mauriz' command. I went in as a spy only a few days ago and found her there," he said, hoping to lift her spirits at least slightly, but Livy was now dabbing her eyes with a napkin. "I'm sorry I've upset you, Missus Granger. Perhaps I should go?"
"No, no, dear child. Please, continue. I'm all right," she insisted and he nodded reluctantly.
"We didn't do anything right away, I kept her as my wife to make sure she was safe, and we were working hard on a tactic to take down the establishment. Then, unfortunately, Harry decided it would be a good idea to simply break in and take her out of there. Truth of the matter is that Harry is a high profile. He'd have been recognized and impeded, and Hermione probably would have been killed; not to mention both Harry and myself. I snuck her out, and she was safe at the farmhouse, but..."
"But?" Livy prompted, entranced with the explanation, and Draco sighed again.
"I'm afraid I have some bad news. Hermione and Harry had a... a fight, you could say, and she ran off. As of right now, she's somewhere very much alone and without the proper instincts to survive. Personally, I'm very worried about her. I had reason to believe that she'd come here... home, to you. I still think she may."
"She's gone?" Livy asked, breaking into a sob. "Again?" Draco nodded.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. I never thought she'd do this... if I had had any suspicion, I would have stopped her, I swear to you. I take full responsibility for what has happened," he said by some way of condolence, and Livy cried silently into her napkin, great sobs wracking her shoulders. "I'll leave you now, ma'am. I'm truly sorry."
"No," Livy said suddenly, straightening in one motion. "Stay, finish your breakfast. I believe you, Angel. I do." She said, covering his hand with her own. Draco suppressed another shudder. "I'll just go get you some tea."
-x-
Hermione woke to the unpleasant sound of her parents' shouting. Curious as to their fight and hoping her appearance might curb their anger, she crept out of bed and allowed Fagan exit through the window, then padded down the hallway to peer around the landing and view the floor below. She gasped as she saw Draco at the door, standing quietly while her mother argued determinedly with her father, and quickly jumped back, hoping they had not seen her. As the attention of both men was focused primarily on her mother, Hermione was able to sigh in relief and maintain her anonymity.
In effect of their raised voices, the conversation carried up the staircase and to the perked ears of the girl hidden above. She listened hard, trying to make out every word, and almost audibly groaned when Livy showed Draco to the kitchen.
As she had often done as a girl, Hermione hurried to the center of the hall, where a metal heating duct connected to the kitchen and conversation could easily be heard. Sprawled on the carpet with her ear pressed to the grate, it was easy to get lost in Draco's explanations. She almost found herself crying at her own expense, as if reading a novel and mentally screaming for a character to avoid danger, or realize their mistakes. Her heart wrenched for Draco, who sounded absolutely sickened with worry. He hadn't been in the best of shapes when she had left him, and had no doubt worsened since.
-x-
"My, you're certainly hungry, aren't you Angel?" Livy asked, laughing shallowly as she returned with her promised pot of tea. Draco had eaten as quickly as possible while she had been gone, hoping to end the awkward and uncomfortable conversation speedily and return to his search for Hermione. He smiled crookedly at her and slowed his rapid chewing. "You say you were Mina's friend? Well... are her friend?" Draco swallowed, nodding softly.
"Now, yes, but we never were in school. Had a few classes together, I remember. In fact, we were in class together when we were attacked. Paired as partners if I recall correctly. Never friendly, though, and that was mostly my fault."
"Why don't you tell me about yourself?" Livy prodded, placing her chin on the top of her hand and sipping at her freshly sugared tea.
"Well," Draco began, putting his fork down again, though his pancakes were only half finished. "I had a less than perfect childhood. Not a lot of love at home; mostly indifference. I learned to be self-sufficient, and its long-term result was a big head and attitude to match. That didn't change much when I went to Hogwarts. It was really only after the war that I saw how insane it was, to think like that. Life wasn't so easy anymore."
"I remember," Livy said, nodding. "Harry was miserable."
"I was one of those in his group of veterans. Still, there was very little amiability between us. It took a very long time to warm up."
"How is Harry?" she asked and Draco faltered.
"Harry... well, Harry's not good, to tell you the absolute truth," he said, frowning, and Livy joined him. When Draco hesitated from continuing, she prodded him.
"Angel?" He sighed.
"He's always been a bit down about Hermione... especially directly following her mention. He blamed himself for her death and was burdened with the grief of never being able to properly say goodbye, or tell her how much she meant to him. When he found out about her recovery, he was delirious with thrill and went absolutely mad trying to get her to safety. Now that she's gone again, he's hit an utter low," Draco explained, rubbing at his eyes. "Truth is, I'm worried about him as well."
"Oh, poor dear," Livy said, frowning and placing a hand on his arm. "I can't imagine it's ever an easy life for an angel." Draco looked up with a little smile, and didn't bother to correct her. Livy shared his expression for a moment, then patted his arm and stood again from her seat, bringing her half finished tea to the kitchen sink and starting again to make pancakes. "You just eat up now, Angel, and there's plenty more where that came from, don't you worry." Draco shook his head through another bite and swallowed.
"Really, Missus Granger, you've been more than generous. I should be on my way; I've to continue searching the surrounding area. I've promised to many, myself included, that I will find her, safe and well, and I plan to do just that."
"That won't be necessary," said a timid voice from the doorway and the occupants of the room turned to the speaker.
Draco stood so quickly that his chair scraped loudly against the tile floor and Livy emitted a high pitched scream before falling in a dead faint, directly into the spilt bowl of batter which preluded her. Clive, having heard his wife's scream and thinking immediately that Draco had harmed her in some way, rushed up behind the scene. A brown haired girl, standing teary-eyed and rumpled from sleep in the doorway, turned around to face him and, again, Clive's complexion matched his nightshirt.
"Mina."
-
A/N: Uncensored version available at http:tangledupinblue.