A/N- Ok, so I FINALLY got this chapter figured out. It still feels a bit disjointed and weird to me but I can never write well when I'm stressed. And oh boy am I stressed.
On a side note, I've decided to surrender my life to Supernatural. I'm already on Season 2 and I started last weekend.
Thanks for the reviews. (I broke 50, woo!) And views in general. I think it's so cool that people actually enjoy my stories.
Chapter Eighteen
When she was five years old, Hermione's parents had taken her to the shore. Her mother had packed all of their things in the trunk and they'd driven until the sun was below the trees. Hermione had only been in the pool once or twice, and when they got to the beach it was like a dream come true. There was so much freedom to do whatever she wanted; swim, play in the sand, run for miles. Hermione's father had insisted that she only go out into the water with him, but the third morning they were there was particularly windy. So windy, in fact, that it swept their beach towels and umbrella down the sand. Hermione's parents had chased after it, telling the young child to stay put. Naturally, she didn't listen.
The water was cold and the waves were choppy. Hermione must've only been out a few feet but she was tiny and the squishy bottom seemed to disappear. She'd flailed several times, crying out. Then, a monstrous wave crashed down.
She was drowning. Water filled her nose, obliterated her every sense. She kicked, she tried to scream, her arms hit the water with loud splashes. Her lungs were slowly filling with water, the world darkening with spots. And then she was above water in the arms of a life guard, who took her back to her parents. She'd never been so relieved in her life.
Hermione was experiencing the same feeling as nearly drowning all those years ago. She couldn't breathe, and if she didn't escape surely she'd die.
"You know me," She managed to gasp out, her hands intertwining in her hair, giving a solid tug, "Wh…. Who're you?"
Madam Quincie gave her an odd look, "Julia, are you quite alright? You look like you've seen a ghost," The older woman moved closer, reaching for Hermione's shoulders. The young woman startled and leapt back, her eyes wide and mistrusting.
"You're one of them aren't you?" A million possibilities flew through Hermione's mind. They could be spies, providing information to remaining Death Eaters. They could be reporters who were assigned to spy on her. They could be ruthless assassins, sent to kill her and Orion.
Alright, perhaps the last one was a bit farfetched.
"Stay away from me!" Hermione shouted, her blood pounding in her ears. Her heart was going to expel from her chest any second if she didn't relax.
The brown-haired man, who'd been standing against the counter wordlessly, spoke up, "Listen, we're not going to hurt you. She's a muggle and I've never even been to Britain. It's all right,"
Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits, "Show me your left arm,"
Madam Quincie frowned, glancing back at the man. He nodded slowly, and held out his flawless forearm. Madam Quincie did the same. Well, they weren't Death Eaters.
"Alright. Well, at least that's cleared up," The brunette released a shaky breath. Before the others could respond, the telephone rang.
Madam Quincie picked it up.
"Hello? Oh hi Evan… What's wrong, boy? You… you what? What do you want? Ok, ok, keep your pants on," She turned, holding out the phone, "Julia?"
Taking the device with shaking hands, Hermione spoke into the receiver, "Hello?"
"Granger, I need you to come and meet me. I'm with Blaise in the pub off of Main Street. It's urgent, and if you think Orion might be harmed then bring him too, I don't want him to get—"
"Evan!" Hermione shouted, refraining from shouting out his real name, "Calm down. I can hardly understand you. Take a breath,"
She heard a sharp exhale from the other end, "Sorry," He spoke, sounding calmer. Hermione was in shock, because she'd never heard Malfoy get so frazzled. It was disturbing to think what had caused that anxiety.
"Now talk to me like a normal person please," Hermione commanded.
"I received some troubling news that I need your assistance with. Please bring yourself and your son down to the pub on Main Street so we can talk. Blaise is with me," He spoke with a cold indifference, but Hermione knew that beneath the façade was panic.
"Why?" She deserved more than just a request to meet him.
"I said that I received some troubling news and… Just… Just come and meet me, alright?!"
"Why should I…" She heard a huff of irritation from the other end, "Fine, fine!" Hermione agreed, trying to calm him, "What's gotten your nickers in a bunch?"
There was a pause. Then, "My father,"
The phone clattered to the floor. Hermione was left holding air.
"Oh," She whispered.
X
"These stamps are from somewhere in Germany, Evan," Mr. Linney said appraisingly, examining the package, "They are fairly recent, nothing special. But if I'd known you were interested in stamp collection I would've shown you the one's my grandfather had. Oh, they're so… cool…"
What's my father doing in Germany? Draco thought anxiously, ignoring his boss completely.
"What was that?" Mr. Linney stopped digging through his desk drawer, opting to give his employee a speculative look instead.
Realizing that he'd spoken aloud, Draco sighed, "Nothing it's just that…. The package was a picture,"
Mr. Linney's eyebrows rose, "Really. What kind of photo, Evan?"
Draco's lip curled, "A… childhood photograph. One that my… father took. I haven't spoken to him in years and for him to be contacting me now…" It's beyond unnerving.
His boss sighed, settling back in his chair, "Did you have problems with your father, Evan?"
"Loads," Draco responded without thinking, "Once I was so excited that he'd come home that I spilt tea that was meant for my mother all over the carpet," The ornate, hundreds-of-years-old carpet, "And…" He'd made me stand outside for an hour in the bitter cold. He'd then proceeded to lecture me and hired a tutor in manners, "He punished me,"
Mr. Linney nodded slowly, "Alright… may I see this picture?"
Draco squirmed in his seat, suddenly feeling like Mr. Linney was Professor Snape and he was back at Hogwarts.
"Er…"
"It's all right, Evan. I understand. Everyone deserves their privacy. I'll talk to you later, alright?" Mr. Linney gazed across the desk with knowing eyes. The blonde smiled faintly and took the wrappings back, tucking them into his pocket.
"I'm going out for lunch, Mr. Linney. I hope you don't mind,"
"Of course not," The older man smiled warmly.
Draco shut the door quietly, striding down the hallway with a purpose in mind.
He needed to contact Blaise.
X
"…So then I just called the hotel and asked them if a Mr. Zabini was there. And that's that, I suppose. I mean, I called you also but that was later,"
Hermione sat across from Draco and Blaise. The two were awaiting the young woman's response. She lifted an eyebrow.
"Why would your father send a picture in the muggle mail? It doesn't make sense!" Hermione was baffled. Lucius Malfoy hadn't been particularly evil before the war but after he went completely off the rails. Part of it probably had to do with losing his son. Being one of Voldemort's right hand men gave Malfoy Sr. a serious power trip. But this new method of threatening Draco didn't make sense. How did he find the address? Why was he in Germany? Why would he bother with the muggle system in the first place?
Draco nodded and sat back, "Yeah, well now that you know that my father is still out there, we need answers. Fast."
Draco and Hermione both twisted to face Blaise. The dark-haired man had been stirring his drink, but upon sensing their hopeful gazes, he stopped. Exhaling slowly, Blaise nodded begrudgingly.
"I can't believe you two. I'll look into it, alright. Keep in mind, however, that the Aurors that have been working for the Order are in a frenzy right now—"
"Yeah yeah, Blaise, whatever. Just figure out why the hell a madman who wants my son's blood on his hands has figured out our location," Draco snapped, rolling his eyes. Hermione, however, was suddenly struck with reality. A vengeful man whose brain had been twisted into something evil was after her son. He was after her.
"Granger?" Draco asked, reaching for Hermione's hands. They were shaking. He held them in his own until the young woman's eyes met his.
"He's after us,"
"I know, but we'll get to the bottom of it. I promise," Draco reassured, rubbing soothing circles into her soft skin. She had leant forward slightly, her brown eyes wide with anxiety.
Draco could count the almost unnoticeable freckles that littered her nose.
"Ahem," Blaise coughed, causing the two to separate rather quickly. Draco settled back, a mask of indifference on. Hermione had a light pink flush to her cheeks, and was avoiding looking at either of the men across from her for too long.
"If that's all, love birds, I'd like to get going. Looks like I'll be back in Britain sooner than expected,"
Orion, who'd been attempting to play pool at an old table in the back of the pub, ran over to his mother, smiling wildly.
"I g-got the eight b-ball in!" He cried excitably, grabbing at his mother's hand. Hermione smiled.
"Really now? Would you like me to come and see?" She asked, and Orion nodded. The young woman stood and allowed herself to be dragged back to the pool table. Orion stood on a chair and gestured to his mother, who was grinning wildly.
"Muggle sports. Useless if you ask me," Blaise muttered. Draco wasn't listening.
He was too busy admiring Hermione Granger.