Gerry's house
Gerry was already pacing the garden in front of her house when the Police car pulled up and Hermione slowly climbed out with a Constable's assistance. Gerry leapt forward and nearly crushed the girl in an enormous bear hug, chatting nineteen to the dozen, telling Hermione she made the right decision to stay here until 'it' was all over. She could stay in Emery's room, seeing that she moved out last week to live with her latest boyfriend. None of her relationships tended to last more than a couple of weeks, so Gerry was mostly certain Emery wouldn't be moving back in tonight.
Once the Police went on their merry way, Gerry hugged Hermione again, a gentler one, this time. "I can't believe it," she said, with a tiny wobble to her voice. "It was Draco all along. Blimey, but did he fool me good."
"Us both," Hermione said woodenly.
Gerry hunted around her cheerful kitchen for a couple of glasses and unearthed a bottle of vodka from beneath a pile of laundry. Pouring out two shots, she handed one to Hermione and ordered her to drink. "It'll put some colour back in you. You're whiter than a sheet of paper right now."
Later, Gerry decided that Hermione could probably do with a rest, despite her demurrals, so she escorted Hermione to Emery's bedroom door and said she'll check on her in a couple of hours. Her face was uncharacteristically sad as she turned away.
Hermione sat delicately on Emery's bed, vaguely taking in the room's décor of black, mixed with black and accentuated with dashes of black and red. Posters of Robert Smith featured on every wall. Emery's My Little Pony bedspread on Emery's single bed stood out like a dog's crooked hind leg, but Hermione was no judge.
Besides, she other things on her mind, and they were all called Draco.
Specifically: why Draco tortured her. And others, probably.
Then: why did he pretend to not know her and, later; make love to her?
These thoughts whirled and clashed in her head until she couldn't take it anymore. She stood up and headed to the window. She was on the ground floor.
Looking guiltily over her shoulder, because deceiving Gerry came hard to her, she pushed up the window and climbed out of the house.
Once outside, she started running.
Draco's house
Draco was worried.
He and Hermione had a standing arrangement that once he got home from work, he'd shower, change and head over to her place for the evening. Except today, her house was locked up tight and no one was answering the door. Or the phone.
So he went home and bit his lip and pushed his hands through his hair and worried. She didn't say she'd be late home; he was certain of that. He was slightly less sure that he hadn't pissed her off the evening before and didn't want to see him. But Hermione was the type of person who said her piece at the time. Even if it was something innocuous like his toenails were getting too long, she'd tell him.
He was dubiously eyeing up a frozen meal from the bowels of his freezer when there was an assertive knock on the door. He perked up.
"There you are!" he began with relief as he opened the door. Then the words died on his lips.
Instead of the welcome sight of lovely, petite Hermione, there were two burly, uniformed Police Officers. More Police stood at the gate.
"Is your name Draco Malfoy?" one of the policemen asked in a growly monotone.
"Um" –
"Answer the question."
"All right then, yes."
"Draco Malfoy, you are under arrest on suspicion of attempted murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?"
"No, I don't bloody understand!" Draco snapped. A dangerous fire smouldered behind his eyes, and he stood in an odd position – feet apart, one arm raised in front of him, hand closed in a fist. Like he should have been holding something in it. Both police officers reached for their batons.
A woman stepped out from behind one of the police officers. Draco presumed she was one of the police that didn't wear uniforms. "We're arresting you for being involved in the lengthy and brutal torture of the woman currently known as Henrienna Miller," the woman snapped.
Ah. That Draco (mostly) understood. His arm fell to his side, and his face turned pale. "I-I have talk to her," he stuttered, stumbling back. "This is nothing to do with you. Where is she?"
"Stay where you are! Turn around and stand with your arms behind your back!" the second uniform ordered, handcuffs at the ready.
Ignoring him, Draco turned on his heel and ran inside, hoping to shut the door behind him, but the uniforms were too quick and flattened him to the floor, knocking the wind out of him. They wrestled with his arms, yanking them behind his back, and shortly after he felt the snap of cold steel around his wrists. Eventually dragged upright, he was frogmarched outside for everyone to see.
There was a tidy little audience of neighbours, standing in their little gardens, watching the goings-on with wide eyes. Kids were spellbound, beside themselves at being able to watch the Police nab a baddie right on their doorstep.
"Draco!"
He whipped his head around at the sound of his name. It was Hermione, behind the Police line, looking winded, angry, betrayed and devastated at the same time. "Tell me why!" she cried, between pained gasps of breath.
He struggled towards her, but was pulled sharply back. He had no time to explain. Gods. He didn't want it to be like this.
"Your name is Hermione!" Draco shouted while the Police dragged him none-too-gently to a police car. "Hermione Granger! Try to remember! You don't belong here!"
Of all the participants in the melee, only Schiller saw Hermione's face change – her eyes opened wide, as did her mouth. Colour leached from her face in the space of a heartbeat and her knees buckled.
Schiller lurched towards the girl, shouting to get the attention of a police officer who was keeping the gawkers out of the way.
Hermione fell, unconscious, into the Constable's arms.
"Yoo-hoo? Are you decent?" Gerry called, tapping at Emery's door. Was she asleep? Gerry wondered upon not receiving an answer. Toying with the idea of leaving the poor girl to rest, she decided she'd quietly open the door a crack and make sure everything was okay.
When Gerry opened the door, everything was not okay.
Gerry clocked the open window and Henri-less room, swore like a nineteenth-century sailor and hurtled down the hallway to grab her car keys.
Maidstone Police Station
Draco found himself back at the same Police station where he'd been taken when Tara accused him of sexual assault. Same anonymous interview room, same weird box thing on the table, same chairs, same door with a large number of police officers behind it.
Except Gerry wasn't going to come to his rescue this time. In the back of the police car as it headed to the station, he saw Gerry's distinctive car screech to a halt, ignoring every parking law ever made. Then the good lady leapt out with the grace of a gazelle and ran towards Hermione while shoving her ID in the face of the police officer who dared approached her.
At least Hermione wasn't alone. For the moment.
Draco had been told to 'sit tight' while the interviewing Inspector got ready. Still cuffed, Draco barely heard him.
He wished he could be present for the interview, but he had a feeling he would shortly be AWOL. He'd (finally) fulfilled the condition for his return to temporary life, and soon he would be whisked back to the Afterlife as the gods intended.
The thought made him sick.
But what was he to do? Who was he to blame? He killed himself, after all.
Hermione would hopefully recover her memories, realise what a monumental shit he was and dance on his grave (or just outside the mausoleum if Lucius deigned to lump him in there with all the other Malfoys been and gone).
He rested his head on his hands. Merlin, he was pissed at himself. He went for years not giving a shit whether he lived or died – but now he's dead, he wants to keep living. He didn't know who Murphy was, nor had he heard of Murphy's Law, but if he'd known, he'd reckon that this Murphy chap was a pretty smart bloke.
But rules are rules. They could only be broken so many times.
All too soon, he felt the pull of the Afterlife draw him in.
Police Security
"What the hell?" sputtered a police officer, spitting out his coffee in shock as the camera feed to Interview Room #2 wobbled, then disappeared in a snow of static.
He pressed a few buttons. No improvement. Maybe it was a glitch, some odd mystery that only IT could solve?
Or it could be an attempt at escape. The room was occupied five seconds ago.
His finger dithered over the alarm button.
Best safe than sorry, he decided, and set the alarm bells clanging all over the station.
The custody suites were locked down, the station was locked down, and officers raced past each prisoner-occupied facility, checking their reluctant guests were still at home.
But sadly, one was missing. Malfoy, D. Vanished in a puff of smoke. Like one of those Criss Angel jobs on the telly, with not so much eyeliner.
As if his disappearance wasn't bad enough, the station discovered that every record relating to Malfoy, D. had also vanished. Paper and electronic records, the lot. It was like he never existed. The impossibility of it boggled the mind.
The longer the police pondered it, the fuzzier their minds became until eventually every concerted effort to recall Malfoy, D. in their minds led to urges to check the sports pages in the newspaper for something terribly important.
Flipping through her notebook in preparation for the interview with Mr Malfoy, DC Schiller was astounded to find chunks of blank space occupying page after page, instead of being crammed with her spidery scrawl. What the hell happened here? Which case had she been writing about? Was it mould? Was Putney taking the piss out of her?
She furrowed her brow and rubbed her temples. What was she looking for again? Someone's discarded newspaper caught her eye. Drawn to it, she turned the pages. My word, she thought to herself. The badminton championships are on!
She sat down and devoured the article, enthralled.
Medway Maritime Hospital
Gerry sat right on the ambulance's tail as it conveyed Hermione to hospital. When the ambulance headed to its special parking zone behind A&E, she peeled off and found a parking spot that was conveniently nearby. Of course, it was reserved for doctors' use only, but that didn't slow her down one bit. Leaving a business card on her dashboard, she raced into the A&E's reception and demanded that she be let into Triage so she could be with her very sick client.
However, the staff at reception, having dealt with thousands of people in varying states of drunkenness, surliness and entitlement were there to enforce the rules. And those rules were: no-one goes out back unless the doctor says so. And since the patient had literally this moment arrived, they were certain that entry was verboten. Even for a social worker.
So Gerry slumped in an uncomfortable metal seat that was bolted both to its neighbour and the floor, and thumbed dissolutely through a tattered Reader's Digest. After a little while, her vision went blurry but shortly corrected itself. Blinking two or three times and glancing at her watch, she was about to ditch the Digest when an article caught her eye. An eating disorder scandal has plagued college gymnastics! My word, that's awful!
When Gerry finished the article, she put the magazine down and looked around her in wonder. What on earth is she doing at the A&E? Has a client of hers come in? She scratched her head. Nah, couldn't be, surely. She'd remember the who and why, wouldn't she? Then she shot up. Oh, Lord! Is it her husband or daughter?
She hustled to reception and waited impatiently while the staff changed shift. However, neither of the names she gave the new reception staff registered at all.
Whew! Gerry thought to herself. Well, I suppose I should get dinner on then.
She trotted out of A&E and found her car, grabbed the parking ticket some git stuck under her windshield and tossed it on the back seat, and headed home.
A/N: there will be a happy ending, don't worry. Their paths diverge one more time before uniting.
