Chapter Eight: Fragmented

She didn't know what she was doing here or why she had allowed the one person she hated most in the world right at that moment drag her away from the people she loved. Well, alright, he had sort of caught her by surprise when he had apparated them to wherever they were now – but that didn't explain why she was still here.

She really didn't know why she hadn't apparated back to the burrow to try to convince Kingsley to help her rally up resources. She knew that she would eventually have won that battle, that Kingsley would help her – a war hero, best friends with Harry, Order member – over Malfoy. (With whom relations would eventually have been solved anyways).

So what was the damn hold up?

Perhaps it was because Malfoy had called her his client. Never in all of the cases he had taken had he labelled anyone as a client. That much she was sure of. He simply associated and aided the Auror department, and that was all. He was a "criminologist", loosely speaking. He was an expert on dark arts crime, even though the title was basically just a cover up for his vigilante services.

Maybe it was just that. She needed the experience he had under his belt. Her intuition told her that he was her safest bet. If baring her neck to this wolf of a man would bring her son back, then so be it. She was decidedly determined about her next course of action, wherever it would take her.

"And here we are again," Malfoy finally said, gesturing her to a seat in front of his desk. They were not in his main office, so she assumed that they were in the Manor.

"So we are," she managed to croak out. "You know why I'm here."

You know why I'm at your mercy.

"Oh, do I?" he questioned, raising a brow. The gesture was somehow familiar, but she couldn't place why. "I was under the impression that I dragged you here against your will." When she didn't respond, the corner of his mouth twitched as if he was fighting a smirk. "I'm actually rather surprised you haven't stormed out yet, or at the very least thrown a fit."

So she'd been a little immature with him in the past few hours. Surely he wouldn't hold it against her? She had been in a lot of stress and under a monumental amount of pressure, after all... and his ferrety face had just been the worst of her problems. Maybe he'd be a little bit decent and let it all go.

Or maybe he'd be like he always was and try his utter best to make her life absolutely miserable.

"Not going to yell at me, Granger?" he asked. She shook her head slightly, weakly. "No? Not going to throw things? Not going to hit me?" Well, alright. She'd be very immature with him in the past few hours and he was going to hold it all against her.

So she'd just have to work with that.

"I'm sorry for being immature," she said quietly, hoping that they'd end it at that.

He paused for a moment as if considering the validity of her words. Perhaps he believed her, believed that she really was sorry for being a hot headed brat – and she was, that really wasn't the way she normally acted – and maybe he'd even forgive her eventually. He leaned forwards, resting his chin in his hands. She realized he was the utter picture of poise.

"That's quite alright, Granger," he eventually responded. She could smell his breath from the short distance between their faces. It smelled of mint and chocolate. She wondered why that made her mind spin for a fraction of a moment... Had she remembered to eat?

"Thank you," she breathed, still a little dizzy.

"What's not alright is this perception of yours. Your attitude. I'd comment on your choice of friends and company, but that's got nothing to do with me." He paused, as if considering adding something. "No, actually, I shall comment. Your company is horrendous. Is that any way to treat a guest?"

"You weren't..."

"I wasn't what, Granger? A guest?" He began muttering something that sounded similar to obscenities under his breath while regarding her sitting slumped in his chair. She knew she'd gone white as a sheet at his comment. Why couldn't he just let it go and get on with the work? He'd said it himself, she was his client. Not them. Her.

"I don't know."

He rolled his eyes. "Get out of my home. I refuse to help," his eyes raked over her form from head to toe, "people that refuse to respect me under my own roof."

She almost groaned. Why was it always like this? Why did she always have to mess things up by opening her stupid mouth? Why couldn't she have just agreed with him instead of pissing him off? She didn't know. At this point, she honestly didn't care. She was a little bit too dizzy to process all of the thoughts that were running through her head. She felt nauseas... felt like she'd pass out at any second.

"Please, Malfoy," she implored, hoping he'd have some shred of humanity left in him.

"No. Please leave or I shall have to get someone to show you the way out." His tone never faltered from the neutral, polite tone that'd he'd had for the entire conversation. Malfoy was bloody strange. Since when was he ever polite?

But then she realized he'd been polite this entire time to her. He hadn't said one rude thing, at least not directly. The only time he'd actually said anything rude was when she'd slapped him, and that had been entirely her fault. She was the one at fault here and that really didn't make her feel any better.

"Please, Malfoy. I'm sorry. I'm sure we can work something out... I can compensate you." He looked strangely at her. What? It wasn't such a strange statement to make, after all. If he was going to help her, she could give him something he wanted in return. "What do you want?" she asked him airily.

"What makes you think I want anything?" was his immediate response.

She was stumped for a second, her brain a little bit too slow to come up with an adequate response. But it was clear enough to her after a second and she really didn't feel like dealing with this bullshit nonsense. They had work to do, right? So she had better just cut the chase and get straight to the point. That was the best way to go, she told herself.

"Of course you want something, Malfoy. Why else would you be doing this? Any of this?" she asked, gesturing around the bright, spacious office. It was quite a nice office.

He immediately got to his feet, an angry expression marring his features. She hadn't seen him that angry since... since Hogwarts.

"You think I do what I do for money?" he growled. She started to feel the slow spread of fear make its way through her limbs. She began to shake her head no, trying to persuade him to calm down by the gesture. "Fame? You think I run around catching devils for fucking attention?" She started to really panic then, realizing her mistake, only too late. "You're going to come in my home and insult me to my face, Granger, is that it? You lot disgust me, you do."

He walked around the desk and she cringed, thinking he was coming to hurt her or something. But when he ignored her completely and began removing wards on some cabinet, she was confused. What the hell was he doing?

Three minutes later he was in front of her again, dropping thick, heavy files right in front of her. They crashed onto his desk with a resounding bang that hurt her ears. He pressed his hands onto her shoulders and made her turn towards them, face them. She had absolutely no idea what was going on.

"You see these, Granger?" he asked her in a deathly low voice, his lips pressed right against her ear. She shivered, couldn't help the automatic reaction. Couldn't stop the gooseflesh from erupting all over her skin.

"Yes...?"

"That's everything the Aurors and I have managed to find about your little son." She gasped at his comment. "Mind you it was mostly me and my contacts, the Aurors are a bunch of idiots." She reached towards them to grab, no doubt, but he stopped her, restraining her to the chair. She was too weak to protest. That is until he snapped his fingers and bright blue flames began to eat up the files right before her eyes.

Then, she began to kick and scream.

But it appeared that she was too weak to manage anything but tire herself out. Then all she could do was sit there and cry as she watched the only clues of Hugo's location burn to crisp. When they finally turned to ashes, he let her go and she began to sob in earnest.

"How does it feel, hm?" he whispered to her. Then, without notice, he pulled her roughly out of her chair. "How does it feel!" he yelled this time.

All she could do was cry brokenly before him. She didn't notice his eyes soften a tiny bit.

He let go of her, allowing her to stand on her own and she began to sway on the spot. "Now I'm truly the only person who can help you," he said in a strangely grim voice. She stared up at him, tears still brimming from her eyes. He tapped at his temple. "All up here, doll."

And then she fell to her knees before him in a heap. It was partly from the light-headedness, the crying, and a little bit of a need to show him that he needn't push her any farther than he already had. She understood! Couldn't he just...get it all over with so she could just have her son back already? She'd do anything, anything at all.

"I'll do anything," she said, not even realizing what was coming out of her mouth, but knowing that whatever it was, it was true and she really meant it. "I'll do anything you want, just get me my son back in one piece. Please."

"You're not going to do anything at all, I know you. Now get up off my floor, it's unseemly."

He seemed to be waiting impatiently for her to follow his orders and she tried, she really did. But for some reason, her body seemed to be ignoring what her brain was telling it to do. Why wouldn't anything just work for her today? "I can't," she eventually said, frowning. This was a really inconvenient position to be in, honestly.

"Oh for God's sake!" he exclaimed before pulling her roughly up off the floor. Her eyes widened and she was barely able to utter a word before her world started to turn black and she began to fall back down again. "Hell – oh, what the hell, Granger?" he exclaimed once more, catching her in his arms.

"Dizzy, dizzy, stop fucking moving me," she tried to say, but she wasn't sure how much of it he was able to discern from her mumbles. She was able to recall him rolling his eyes, picking her up into his arms, and carrying her to an extravagantly large bed before all went black and her feelings faded into nothingness.

/

All of the children had instinctively known that with the presence of the pretty little redheaded girl, things were going to go downhill for them. It wasn't that they didn't like the girl, of course. She was nice enough, scared like the rest of them. But the man that had brought them all here was a little bit too gleeful at having added his newest addition to his collection of captives.

It was honestly really, very scary. They all could attest to that.

So it wasn't surprise that made them scream and yell when the man dragged two of the children away upstairs – a boy and a girl – it was just plain fear. They were afraid for their friends that had been taken, but mostly they were just afraid that they'd be next.

And so they sat there and cried and screamed.

Hugo wanted to scream, he really did. Mostly he just cried. Mostly, he just listened.

Hugo firmly believed that if he listened hard enough, if he truly put his mind to it, he could possibly try to stop what was happening to them. But as it was, the children were too loud and he just couldn't concentrate very well. He was afraid, just as afraid as the rest of them were. That didn't stop him from trying futilely, though.

There were many moments spent feeling absolutely terrorized and he just couldn't help it. His mother had always told him that if you really wanted to, you could overcome your emotions and be brave. But Hugo realized that either she had been wrong, or he just wasn't a really brave human being. And since his mother was never wrong about anything, he guessed it was because he was a chicken.

But if he was a chicken, who was going to save them all? He really didn't know, and he really didn't like the idea of it.

It didn't seem as if the man was ready to kill them completely yet. The worst he had done was been a little violent, beaten them with a stick. The little blank girl said this was because he wanted to keep them fresh for the plucking when their magic was ripe to take. He didn't know if he believed her anymore.

Because they all did eventually come back from the upstairs, wherever that was. Bruised and battered, yes. But at least they were alive and there was no blood. They were all scared, but Hugo thought if they stuck together, they might have a little time. Or at least a little warmth before their time ran out.

One of the girls, one that had helped hold him down when he had first arrived, couldn't stop crying when she was brought back downstairs by the evil man. He hadn't enjoyed her crying it seemed, had wanted to get rid of her. Even after hours had passed and the man showed no signs of coming back for a long while, she kept on crying.

Hugo offered her his sweater, hoping that the warmth would make her feel a little better. He let her sleep on his legs and stroked her dirty hair like his mother used to stroke his. It eventually helped her calm down and sleep. All of the other children gathered around them, forming a tangled group of limbs. They could ward off the cold this way, at least.

They could feel a little better about being completely clueless.

However, there were three things Hugo had learned, listening to the man dragging them upstairs by twos.

First, their ordeal involved pain and bruises. Pain, because he could hear them screaming. Bruises because Hugo knew the man was impatient and had a stick to use on them if they disobeyed.

Second, the man was conducting experiments. He could tell by what the other children who were dragged back told him. Experiments for what, he didn't know.

Third, Hugo knew he was next.

/

"Granger, don't tell me you're still sleeping in there!"

Hermione jolted straight up in her bed, gasping aloud.

Looking around, she realized that she wasn't in her bed. Not at all... This extravagant room looked nothing like her moderately humble abode. The walls looked to be made of pale silky greys and blues. The furniture was elegant, oversized, and black. That was good, she supposed. They adequately filled up the large room with high ceilings and still left the feeling of spaciousness.

Hermione knew she could never afford this kind of luxury in her life. She wasn't living in poverty, mind you. She was actually doing quite well for herself, financially speaking. But this, this was just something else. It was grandeur and she certainly didn't remember acquiring it.

It was old money.

In the seconds that followed, Hermione realized that she hadn't imagined Draco Malfoy yelling at her to wake up. She clearly wasn't imagining her surroundings so that had to mean that she was at the Malfoy manor... in one of their many rooms.

When Malfoy burst through the door to find her sitting confusedly on the bed, he just shook his head. But it really only confirmed all of her suspicions. She remembered him drag her here, to the manor...remembered him burning the documents and making her panic. And then nothing.

What the hell?

Had he poisoned her or something? Had he cursed her, jinxed her... knocked her out and forcibly put her to this bed? She nearly gasped and hyperventilated at the thought of Malfoy kidnapping her and forcing her to – what? Sleep?

"Look lively, Granger. It's already nine and we've got a lot of work to do." He walked through the room to a door, which he opened and walked right in. "We're already running late since your appearance clearly needs to be modified." He grumbled something to himself, but she couldn't make out the words from where she was sitting.

She wanted to move, she really did, but Hermione was still recovering from shock and her system hadn't quite rebuilt itself just yet. It was a rare moment in time – Hermione Weasley all undone. It didn't happen in many instances. Not when she had been petrified, not when Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her, and not when her husband had died.

A stranger had stolen her life away from her and now she was becoming undone in the bed of Draco Malfoy – the ferret who wanted to make her life miserable and/or wanted to help her? She was confused and a bit...of...a...mess...

"Hey woman, are you deaf?" Malfoy had emerged from the door that he had gone through, which appeared to be a closet. His trousers were undone, and he was shirtless, a fresh shirt thrown over his shoulder.

He looked sinful. She waited for the uncomfortable feelings of guilt and shame plague her for sitting/sleeping in Malfoy's bed – but they never came. It was only a lost, empty, nauseating fear that filled her belly. The same that had consumed her since Hugo had gone missing. Could it really only have been a few hours?

"You don't look so good." She jumped at the sound of his voice. She hadn't noticed that he had come to stand next to her. For some reason, the slight worried expression on his face just didn't sit right. "What's wrong? Still feeling dizzy?"

She frowned, trying to ascertain if she actually was dizzy. She began to vaguely remember collapsing in Malfoy's office and her cheeks began to redden. No, she decided, she was definitely not all that dizzy anymore. How awkward.

"I checked for the usual things before I let you sleep after you fainted. It all turned out normal." He casually took a seat next to her and pressed his hand to her forehead. "Doesn't look like a fever, but... can't be too safe," he muttered, almost to himself. She sat absolutely still as he began brandishing his wand over her, running several diagnostic spells.

It was bloody strange to see Malfoy act this way.

She was sure she was going to die of shock. Where were the insults or cruel exclamations? Why wasn't he making her life as difficult as possible? They were treading dangerously difficult territory here, but he seemed deceptively comfortable with it all.

She was in his bed after all...

"I'm fine, Malfoy, thanks," she finally said when the last diagnostic spell declared her fine. "Just, um... stressed and a little tired."

He paused as if determining the validity of her words. She wondered why he even cared how she was feeling, whether or not she was going to pass out or not. But then again, she was his client now, and she supposed that actually meant something to him. In the end, all he did was shrug, get up, and continued dressing himself as if her presence didn't even matter. Was he honestly that comfortable with his body?

He has no reason not to be comfortable, idiot. He's gorgeous.

Before she could admonish herself any further, he spoke up. "Then you ought to get up and start getting ready, Granger. We're going to have a wild night."

Judging the way that his muscles bulged deliciously in his shirt, she had no doubt that they would.

/

It had been hours, literally hours since they had left the manor and come here to this distastefully... horrendous club.

Hermione didn't know what was worse. The fact that Malfoy had forced her to get all dressed up to come to a place like this or that he actually believed that this was helping them. How the fuck was this useful at all? She didn't need to relax and party, she needed to bloody find her son! And this wasn't helping, not in the least bit. She was angry, but there was nothing she could do about it.

At least the Aurors had the green light to continue their investigation (courtesy of Malfoy no doubt now that she had crumbled in front of him) and she looked nothing like herself.

She blushed as she remembered him transfiguring her to something a little more "appropriate", as he'd put it.

It didn't matter in the end. She was trapped in this stifling room with shady characters and flashing lights until he decided that he was ready to leave. Judging by the way he was throwing his head back and laughing at the other end of the room, fucking drinking, that wasn't going to be any time soon. The music pounded in her ears and she felt like she'd be deaf before the night was over.

She glared at him, but he didn't notice. He was too busy getting drunk with a skank clinging to his arm. She wondered if this was his own personal way of torturing her. He had told her to blend in before he had gone to mingle with the freaking rats that roamed this place. What was she supposed to bloody do? Watch him fuck the almost naked girl that was now halfway into his lap and clearly high out of her mind?

Hermione did not think so. She was well beyond this sort of nonsense.

"And what did Malfoy do to make a beautiful girl like you so put out?" The oily voice and questionable hot breath that fanned her ear were attached to man that looked quite...dirty, if she were to be honest. He put his arm around her and gripped tightly at her waist. She felt disgusted as he pressed himself against her, swaying them with the music.

It took all of her energy and a well placed high heel to his foot to make him let go of her and he practically glared venom at her. She was afraid.

"Don't be like that, sugar," the man whispered disgustingly to her. Hermione noticed that his teeth were yellowing. "We all can have a good time tonight."

Before Hermione could even think to reach for her wand, he had clasped both her wrists in his hands and by then it was too late. There was nothing she could have done. No one was paying attention to them (this seemed to be a regular kind of occurrence around here) and the music was so loud that even if she screamed, no one would hear her. It was too dark for anyone to pay attention, anyhow.

So she was stuck.

That didn't stop her from trying to escape and screaming when his slimy tongue licked at her neck. Even a well placed knee to the groin seemed to hurt her more than it hurt him. The tears that streamed down her face only seemed to excite him more, rather than repulse him. And all she could do was wish for a miracle, anything that would just help her escape. A knight in shining armour.

And then suddenly, just as she was about to give up, the man was pulled roughly off of her and she heard a loud crack and a howl escape his lips, even over the blaring music. She looked up to find Malfoy's slightly hazy eyes staring down at her disoriented ones.

He got me away from the fucker...

She felt Malfoy drape his robe over her, but she couldn't look at the blond to thank him. She was too occupied at staring daggers at the person who had attempted to molest her. He lay grovelling on the floor, clutching his arm in pain and it pleased Hermione to no end.

So she went over and kicked the bastard in the arm and was about to do it again before Malfoy roughly grabbed her and took her out of the dark, smoky room. When she turned around to yell at him for disturbing her vengeance, she found him grinning at her.

"What?" she asked angrily.

"That was fucking brilliant, Granger!" he exclaimed.

"Why'd you bloody stop me then? Let me go back and crush his goddamn bollocks-"

"You were attracting too much attention, unfortunately," he cut her off, staring at her appreciatively. She suddenly realized if he hadn't come to save her when he did, she'd have been worse than dead and a shiver ran through her even though his coat was more than adequately warm. "Besides, we got what we needed."

"A couple of drinks and a sleazebag?" she blurted out without even thinking. When he raised a brow at her uncharacteristic remark, she blushed. The stress and damned craziness of the situation was finally getting to her, she supposed.

"Yes and a lead of where I can start looking for your son in a couple of hours."

A warm feeling spread through her and she managed to relax a little. He was going to look for her son. They'd had a purpose by coming here, after all. He hadn't just been messing with her head! And all of a sudden, she really didn't mind that he'd been drinking and letting questionable women come into the equation, so long as he got the job done. Because in the end, that's all that really mattered.

She hoped he would be able to get Hugo away in time.