A/N- Still alive out there? Sorry, real life has been nothing but busy as it's the end of the year and I have exams to pass and sports to play. There will be more frequent updates once June starts, I assure you. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't add anything more to this chapter. Nothing seemed to fit.

Thanks for the reviewers. And followers. And favoriters (is that a word? I don't think so.)

Chapter Seventeen

"Stop that!" Madam Quincie grabbed at the cigarette in Benjamin's hand but he stuck it in his mouth, turning away. The elderly woman rolled her eyes and turned back to the repetitive motion of wiping the counter off with a dish rag. Benjamin took a slow drag of the cigarette before tapping the ashes out of the open window above the sink.

"Where's Jasmine? She around here?" He asked after several moments. Madam Quincie shot him a weary look.

"Yes, she had the decency to stick around, unlike you," Suddenly, she appeared very, very old. Older than she'd ever looked before. Her face seemed to crumple in on itself, the wrinkles deepening, "You know she was always jealous of you,"

Benjamin nodded, looking out the window at the crystal clear blue sky. His sister had been resentful of him, of what he could do. She'd never gotten over it.

"Dad was the only one who understood," Benjamin muttered, avoiding his mother's eyes.

"That's not true and you know it," She bit out, managing not to sound hurt. Benjamin knew her voice patterns though, knew that soon the tones would be shaking with repressed tears.

"Mom… I know that you think that I've just abandoned you completely after school. But I had to get out of this town. It was suffocating," Benjamin pleaded, reaching for her weathered hands. Old memories swam to the front of his mind, memories that had been forgotten. Snippets of him, Jasmine, his mother and father in this kitchen making breakfast, arguing, rushing about before school, getting owls…

"You called me Madam Quincie," She whispered to the countertop. Benjamin startled, nearly dropping his cigarette.

"What?"

"You called me Madam Quincie a few moments ago, in the hall,"

"Mornin'," A feminine voice announced the entrance of another person in the room, "Anyone seen Orion about? I told him I was sleeping in because Andrew gave me the day off, but who knows what that boy has gotten into…"

Benjamin turned about, facing a thin woman with wild brown hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back. Her large brown eyes flickered about the room, locking on Madam Quincie. His mother was all but shaking now, her tiny shoulders trembling slightly. Benjamin turned to the mystery woman again and found himself staring at her, because she looked so familiar…

"Who're you?"

Her eyes shifted to meet his, an eyebrow raised. Something clicked in Benjamin's mind, it just clicked because he recognized that face, how many times had he seen it before in the paper? Hundreds, as a teenager, hundreds of times.

"I know you," Benjamin gasped, pointing at her. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but he didn't let her, "You're Hermione Granger,"

X

"Mr. McDermitt? There's a package for you,"

Draco nodded absently, closing the folder resting on his desk. His secretary was holding out a small, brown-paper wrapped box with numerous stamps littering the front. He stood, taking it from her. After the room was empty once more, Draco pulled his wand from his pants pocket, preforming several revealing charms on the package. They all came up negative, but Draco was still suspicious. He rarely got mail, much less packages with what appeared to be international stamps on it.

Glancing about the room, Draco hesitated in opening the package. He didn't know what to anticipate. Stop being ridiculous and open the package, Malfoy, an internal voice whispered. It sounded a lot like Granger.

Ripping open the thick outer shell, the blonde felt something heavy fall into his lap. It was an ornate, silver frame. Staring up at him from behind the glass were two familiar faces.

It sent chills down Draco's spine.

For the picture was of his father and him, taken just before fifth year. Draco could remember the picture being taken; the photographer was a stuffy man with three chins and a jacket that smelled like moldy cheese. Lucius had specifically asked that the picture be immobilized, though Draco never did find out why.

In the picture, his father was staring proudly into the camera, his features strong and eyes sharp. Draco was smirking in a cocky, teenage way, eyes shining with mirth. Or they would be, if they had not been scratched out.

Yes, scratched out. Little white lines crisscrossed over the upper half of fifteen-year-old Draco's eyes, erasing them from the picture completely. It looked like someone had taken an overly-sharp quill and dragged it across the glossy surface.

"Clara!" Draco shouted, willing his voice not to shake. The woman rushed back into his office, her high heels clicking on the tiled floors.

"Yes Mister McDermitt?" She asked politely, clutching several papers in her hands.

"Where… where did you get that package?" Draco demanded the information curtly. Clara gave him an 'are you serious?' look.

"The mail, sir. I got the package from the mail,"

What normal wizard sends things through the muggle mail system? It's ridiculously slow and abysmally costly.

"The mail," Draco answered flatly, staring into the piercing eyes of his photographic father, "The fucking mail,"

Clara's voice shot up an octave, "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir. The mail is the mail. The postal service, you know, stamps and letters? Packages?"

"I'm aware what the postal service is, I just don't understand…" Draco ground out, mostly to himself, "Why would he send me this now? Granted the Aurors didn't catch him but he could've contacted me sooner if he wanted to…"

"Mr. McDermitt, are you alright?" Clara's clear voice cut through his musings.

"Yes, yes, fine," Draco willed himself to look up, meeting her concerned eyes, "But I need you to tell Mr. Linney that I need to speak with him. Immediately,"

Clara nodded and rushed out the door.