A Letter

How had Draco gotten himself into this situation? He had no fuckin' clue. But it was terrible. It was really bloody terrible. But he found it became less terrible once he drowned himself in firewhiskey. It was a rather simple life, staying in his hotel room all day, watching pointless television and having endless glasses of the strong alcohol.

But when he slept, he dreamt of her. He dreamt of her smile, her laugh, her peaceful, sleeping face, her playful roll of the eyes.

And that was fine, he liked that.

But then he would dream about that last God damn night when he left. And that was not fine, he did not like that. That was what motivated him to get shit-faced every day, all day.

In fact, that was what he was dreaming about when the first real human voice he'd heard in far too long a time boomed through his head. It rippled his dream-Hermione's broken face and he groaned, furrowing his brow.

"Draco! Draco. Malfoy. Hello? Merlin, he's really drunk."

"What the hell is that putrid fume?"

"What? Who says 'purtrid fume'? Really, Ron?"

"Will you two shut up? I'm trying to get the ferret to wake up!"

"I'm not a ferret." he mumbled, starting to wake up.

"Hey! I heard him mumble something!"

Draco sniffled and forced his eyes to open slightly, lifting his head. "Is that you, Weasley?"

"Yes." he heard two voices chorus.

"Great, it's both of you." he mumbled, letting his head fall back.

"Get up, Malfoy, we need to talk to you."

"Oh, and Potter's here, too," he grumbled, turning over to bury his face in the pillow. "Brilliant."

"Is anyone else getting a deje vu of when we woke up Hermione? They both look like shit!"

"Ron!" exclaimed both Harry and Ginny.

"Why, thank you, Ronald," Draco muttered, rolling back around and propping up his elbows behind him. He studied them for a minute and sighed, "Okay, what do you want?"

They exchanged readying glances and finally Ginny looked back to him determinedly.

"This is an intervention." she admitted.

Draco stared. "An intervention?"

"Yes," Ron said, "We were mad at you at first - actually, you're lucky we're not here to beat the shit out of you - but we talked it over, and it's obvious you two are perfect for each other. You and Hermione need each other, and we're not going to stand around while you just drink your life away and while she sleeps her life away. It's crazy, and we aren't going to stand for it when the answer's so simple."

Draco sighed again, rolling his eyes. "Look, guys," he drawled, putting on his best confident smirk, "You obviously don't know what you're - "

A 'pop' echoed through the room and suddenly Blaise Zabini was standing in the room with them, alarm written all over him.

"Draco - " he started, then saw the rest of them, "Oh, thank Merlin you guys are here, too. We couldn't find you. . . . Something's happened."

They all tensed, their backs straightening.

Blaise swallowed.

His hands were shaking.

"Hermione's missing."

XXX

They were looking through Hermione's apartment to indentify any signs of struggle or any clues as to where she could be. Some Aurors were around as well, and a couple reporters. It angered Draco that they were just waltzing around as if no one lived there anymore, but he didn't have the energy to argue. He walked into the kitchen, where it was empty, and sighed, leaning his palms on the counter and taking a deep breath. Her dishes were still in the sink and he still caught whiffs of her perfume every now and then. He shook his head curtly and turned, leaning agianst the cool granite.

A moment later, he heard the familiar pecking of an owl beak on the window, and he turns to see a sleek gray one there, clasping a letter with his name written on it. He frowned and opened the window, taking the letter from the owl. He would've given the him something, but Draco was distracted by the handwriting. He knew this handwriting. He knew exactly who this was.

Draco,

I belive by now you have realized that I have Hermione Granger being held with me. I would also hope you realize it is not her I want. It is you. If you come to me now willingly, I will not hurt her. However, if you do not show up on time or at all, she will be killed. I'm sure you know I'm not bluffing.

You will hear details of why you're needed when and if you arrive. Again, if you do not, she will be killed, and we will keep hunting you. Except this time, I'll give my men the permission to kill you as well.

Your time limit is four on the 17th. Don't be late. I'm sure you know where to go.

Time is ticking.

Draco held the letter so tight the paper ripped in some places.

He forced himself to calm down and sort out the facts. 1., This man was his father. 2., Even if he did show up, Hermione was going to die - which wasn't going to happen if he had anything to do with it. 3., There was no way in hell he wasn't going to show up. He'd never felt more sure about anything in his life.

He glanced at the clock and saw he had thirty minutes - it was the 17th today. How long had Hermione been suffering in Lucius' clutches?

He didn't want to know.