Chapter Text
It came to her in the night. Like a bolt of lightning, she gasped awake. Hermione sat up.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Malfoy grumbled against her skin.
He nuzzled into her side. His arm gripped around her hips to prevent her from leaving. Her hand shook as she pushed his hair away from his forehead, a scowl marring his handsome face.
“I need to use the loo, honey,” she hoarsely whispered.
One final, bone-crushing squeeze, before Malfoy released her. Hermione slid from under his loosened arms, scooting off the large bed. Her steps quickened. When she had stepped through the ensuite, she looked back at the unmoving giant lump on the bed before she closed the door.
Coordinates. She was sure of it now. The note from McLaggen’s memories was coded coordinates.
With unsteady hands, she dug through her overcoat. Thankful that the elves hadn’t gotten to her pile of stuff that she had thrown on the floor the night before.
“On this day (31 of March 1997)…” Hermione read off the slip of paper. “…the weather was nice in London, England. Though I heard in New York City it was far lovelier.”
The first part of the coordinates. She needed to look up the degrees from that day in New York City. Then there was the second part.
Closing her eyes, she could picture the weather from that day. It was a fair day. Slight breeze. She had to shield her eyes at one point when she walked out of King’s Crossing and onto the streets. Tom never picked her up on the platform. She had always taken to walking out onto Muggle London streets. She’d always wait at a dingy café with a gigantic clock on the back wall.
Like a well-oiled machine, Tom would always stroll into the café at exactly 7:20 PM every year since she’d start at Hogwarts.
Hermione opened her eyes again. Cupped within her hands, the parchment lit on fire. The physical evidence was no longer needed as she had it committed to memory. There was no returning from this. She needed to figure all this out before Tom left Azkaban. Thankfully, he had six months left on his sentence and was only allowed physical visits, no letters, no gifts.
“I missed you. Don’t ever leave again,” Malfoy mumbled as she pushed herself into his open arms, his eyes still shut tight with sleep.
The thrill of figuring out a quandary zipped through her brain. All she could do was hum in response. Her thoughts crowded her mind, making it impossible to sleep. Instead, she stared into the tall ceilings. There she would wait until an appropriate time for her to get up and go through the motions. Once she had a moment to herself, she’d have time to code break.
The fingers of light poke and prodded through the sheer curtains of Malfoy’s room, gently waking up the slumbering wizard next to her.
“Morning,” he croaked into her neck before leaving sweet kisses at her pulse point. His traveling hands caressed her waist, making it clear their destination. Mornings usually consisted of slow, careful affection, but not this morning.
A sharp knock at the door stilled him. A low growl emitted from deep within him.
“Ignore them, maybe they'll go away,” he said obstinately.
“Draco, I hope you’re not doing anything untoward to Miss Granger,” the elder Malfoy called as he opened the door. “You have two seconds to be decent.”
Hermione hitched the duvet over her head, sinking below the lush depths.
“Father!” Malfoy’s voice pressed through the thick material.
“Draco, you’re to take our business partners hunting,” his father said with a sigh.
“It’s the crack of dawn. Couldn’t I have until breakfast?”
Hermione stifled a giggle into her palm. The large wizard beside her was reduced to a child in the presence of his father within a few minutes. His large hand found her inner thigh, squeezing a warning into her flesh.
“No, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy sighed. “Lollygagging is for layabout sons with fathers who don’t care about them.”
“And you care about me?”
“You’re my heir.” A heavy pause fell upon them. “Now get up. Theo will be about soon.”
It took several muffled steps before Hermione heard the door shut. Suddenly, the duvet floated upwards, allowing Malfoy to hover his whole body over her. His sharp nose pressed into the tip of hers. His grey eyes filled with playful danger.
The duvet defused much of the bright morning light. It looked like they were in their own little world under there.
“What are you laughing about?” he growled. His hands found her waist.
“Hunting? Isn’t that a Muggle sport?” she asked innocently.
“Oh, it’s far more magical than you think.” A wolfish smile curved his lips. His body arched towards her.
“Shouldn’t you be getting ready? Daddy said you have to work.”
“Don’t call him that.” He pinched her chin upwards—a quick nip on her lip to show that he wasn’t to be trifled with.
“Who shall I call daddy?” Hermione asked innocently.
She watched with a heated gaze as his eyes dilated. His fingers made their way to her folds, claiming her. Roughly, he pressed into her clit. An unfettered moan fell out of her lips. He worked her until she couldn’t take it anymore. With a shaky push, Malfoy fell back. Hermione’s knees pressed into the mattress on either side of his hips. He easily slid into her, given how wet she was.
“Me,” Malfoy mumbled.
“What was that?” Hermione groaned as she rode him, her hand guiding his fingers back to their work.
Possessively, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down to be nose to nose. “I’m your daddy. No one else,” he growled.
With sugary-sweetness, Hermione smiled before kissing the tip of his nose. “Honey, you’re more like a cute pet.”
Hermione pulled away to find a confused look on his face. The sight of him ruffled beneath her made the orgasm all the sweeter. She finished with a moan, pulsing around his cock. She collapsed on top of him. He soon followed her. His hips jerked erratically upwards.
As a reward for being good, she lavished his lips with a long kiss. Her fingers played with the ends of his sweaty white-blond hair.
“I think you should go get ready, Draco. We don’t want your father stomping in here again,” she murmured against his jaw.
“Yes.” He swallowed thickly, reorienting himself.
Easing off of his cock, Hermione slid to her side beside him. He kissed her temple before escaping from under the duvet, leaving their little world.
The morning routine at the manor was the opposite of how she grew up. The Riddle home was never permanent, nor were the people who sat around the table for breakfast. Not even Yolanda, the woman bound to serve Tom, was the same.
“Hermione, dear.” Narcissa’s frail voice floated towards her.
“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy?” She wiped jam off of Louis’s face. He giggled as he avoided her serviette.
“Please, dear. Narcissa.” A gentle smile spread across her beautiful face. “I don’t want to overstep my bounds. But since you both have been staying with us for some time now, I would really like to watch over Louis for a day or two instead of him going to the childcare center.”
Louis’s bright eyes looked up at Hermione hopefully. “Pwease, mummy!”
Malfoy had mentioned that his parents went to Hogwarts and that both of them fell in love in the Slytherin common room. So, it was no wonder that she had asked Hermione in front of her child. Snake.
“Oh, Narcissa. I couldn’t possibly impose.”
“Nonsense. It’s just that I get so little time with him. The weekends aren’t simple enough for me.” A motherly expression softened her aristocratic features. The witch’s gaze lowered to the little boy. Clearly, this woman yearned to be a grandmother. “Besides, it would free up time for you and Draco to court like normal young people.”
There it was, the true intention. Narcissa Malfoy not only yearned to be a grandmother, but she also wanted to have biological ones as well.
Hermione smiled pleasantly. “Alright.”
“Yes!” Louis yelled, squirming out of his chair. He ran over to Narcissa and leaned onto her lap. They whispered conspiratorially to one another.
“But not today, Louis. We have to talk to Ms. Lavender first, and then we’ll figure it out.”
Dejection sagged the little boy’s shoulders. A forlorn sigh escaped his lips, causing Narcissa to giggle into the back of her hand.
“It’s alright, Louis. Your mother didn’t say no. She said soon,” the witch assured him. She looked up to her. “Draco acted the same when things didn’t go his way.”
“I don’t think he outgrew that.” Hermione tipped her black coffee into her mouth.
After dropping off Louis at the childcare center, who immediately told Lavender that he wouldn’t be in on Friday, leaving Hermione to just agree with the schedule change, she made her way to her office. Behind her locked and warded door, she pulled out a notepad and her burner phone.
“Steven, I need you to look up a few things for me. Could you get to a computer with internet?” she demanded.
“Erm, yes. One second.” Through the phone, she could hear the Muggle shift and move through the warehouse. After a moment, he settled into a loud chair. “Alright, Ms. Granger.”
“Look up what the weather was like in New York City on March 31st, 1997.”
She waited. Her nail tapped impatiently against the wooden surface of the table. Eventually, he came through with the weather, in both Celsius and Fahrenheit. Then she asked for the weather on January 4th, 2000, in Askham Bryan. She wrote the findings down.
“That is all, Steven,” she clipped before hanging up on him. Her eyes never left the notepad.
53°19'20.2" 3°47'49.6”
Staring at the coordinates, Hermione realized that she had four options. Either it was Northwest, Northeast, Southwest, or Southeast. She needed to get a map.
Hermione got up from her desk, shaking the thoughts away from her. She’d have to go to a shop during her lunch. The day meandered, with very little happening. No turf war to be had as the Malfoys were hosting the leaders of the pure-blood gangs on a hunt.
Eventually, Hermione got away for her lunch. She went to Tesco, buying a pre-made salad along with several maps. When she got back to her desk, she forgot the plastic container of browning lettuce altogether. Her attention was solely on the longitude and latitude lines of the maps spread out.
Following 53°19'20.2" S 3°47'49.6” E, her nail scraped along until she hit the middle of the ocean between South Africa and Antarctica. She frowned at the location. Even so, she marked it. The next marker was in the North Sea close to the Netherlands. Something told Hermione that Tom would never hide something of importance in either places.
With concentration, Hermione followed the lines until…
Her brows furrowed as the location dredged up memories.
“Where’s Yolanda going?” a young Hermione whined. Her eyes threatened to spill fat tears down her scrunched face.
“Liten vallmo...” Tom sighed as she folded himself to her level. He forced her gaze to be upon him as his men went in and out of Yolanda’s room, gathering her belongings.
“Why didn’t she say goodbye to me?” she whispered. Finally, a tear trickled down her round cheek.
“She’s not going to be far—”
Little Hermione’s body flung towards her father. Her arms wrapped around his neck, flushed face buried into his neck. “Can we visit her?”
“No, liten vallmo. You won’t like Wales.”
Wales. The last location that Hermione had traced to was at the tip of Wales.
Hermione shot up from her seat, swallowing thickly. The last time she had seen Yolanda, the witch had just come back. Only for Tom to send her away again. The painful memory faded over time to the point that she and her guardian never spoke of the woman again. But now, thoughts of the witch came full force back to her.
Tom Riddle was hiding her in a safehouse in Wales, and Hermione just discovered her location. With the elaborate way he had gone about it, it stood to reason that he didn’t even remember where he had stowed the witch away.
But the question was why?
When Hermione came into Tom’s life, Yolanda was already there. He had vaguely explained that the elderly witch was special to him.
“She will follow me until the end of time,” he had explained once.
A sharp knock at the door tore her away from her thoughts. Quickly, she pulled out a drawer to dump everything from the desk. Once cleared, she stood and walked to the door.
“Sorry… Malfoy?” Hermione queried.
“Hello, darling,” he said, stepping around her.
Her eyes couldn’t help but follow him. He was dressed in posh British hunting clothes. Underneath his brown-and-green tartan collared jacket, he wore a white button-up shirt with a red tie. His hunting trousers strained at the thickness of his thighs. Heavy boots thudded against the wood floor. His white-blond hair was pushed back, possibly due to wearing a cap all day.
Overall, he looked downright fit.
“I thought you were out hunting?” she asked slightly breathily.
Slowly, he turned around. An annoying, knowing smirk formed on his face. It was horrifyingly smug and a little dashing.
“Oh, Granger, do you like my outfit?” His hands pushed into the pockets of his trousers, making his chest puff out from under his jacket.
“It’s different,” she said dismissively, not wanting to play into his ego. “Why are you here? Your father made it seem like it was an all-day thing.”
“It should’ve been.” He paused, sorting his thoughts before continuing. “There was an accident.”
Mild alarm flooded her expression. “What happened?”
“My uncle got shot in the ass. He’s fine now that we’re here.”
Blinking up at him, Hermione allowed her features to contort into concern. She hoped her innocent persona would hide the calculation running through her mind. She could surmise that his uncle was at the hospital and Malfoy was the one who put him there. From what Hermione could tell that night at the strip club, he wasn’t above harming family.
“Oh, no,” she said softly. She frowned to convey her sympathy.
“None of that.” Malfoy reached out to smooth her brows. “I stopped by the childcare center, and Louis said that he and my mother have plans for Friday.”
“Oh, yes. The two have conspired to have a day together.”
“Well, why not?” He crossed his arms over his chest, tipping his head.
“I don’t want to burden your mother.” Hermione twisted her fingers. She also didn’t want Louis to get too attached to the Malfoy family, any more than he already was.
“She’ll be fine. In fact, she’s been glowing lately around him. Besides the elves and my father will be there, now that there’s no point in these business outings.” He leaned in closer, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Let’s do something this weekend. Just the two of us.”
The allegations in her mind became more solid as she stared into his hopeful eyes. He really was willing to do anything to be with her, including ruining some sort of peace talks between two leaders.
A thrill shot up and down her spine. As much as she knew giving in to his whims would be a bad idea, Hermione smiled pleasantly and nodded.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Wales.” She playfully kissed the tip of his nose.
Though Hermione could feel his muscles tense under her touch, she figured he wouldn’t question her motives. Like a good dog that he was, he nodded and pressed his lips against hers. After a rather nice snogging session on her guest chair, he left to check on his uncle.
Later that day, upon picking up Louis, she informed Lavender that, indeed, the boy would be spending time at home on Friday. Her son gave a little whoop before throwing himself against her legs in gratitude.
The days trickled by until it was Friday.
Hermione found herself looking at her open away bag. Her head was wrapped in a silk scarf, having blown out her hair that morning. She mentally categorized what she would need for the weekend. There was a lovely black dress, jeans, t-shirts, and cardigans neatly folded and tucked in. She slotted in a pair of runners and heels. Underneath all the mundane pieces was a small grimoire, one that she may need for this journey.
“Mummy, are you listening to me?” Louis pouted.
“Lovey, of course I am. You said you were going to have biscuits by the lake with Mrs. and Mr. Malfoy,” she cajoled.
“And?”
“And visit the abraxas in the stables.”
“Okay,” he said suspiciously. “You were listening.”
Hermione stared at her little boy. When did he become suspicious of anything she did? A small pang echoed in her chest. If she didn’t figure all of this out soon, then she wasn’t sure if she could take Louis away from this country. She needed to get through this weekend, find the safehouse Tom stowed Yolanda in, and get some answers from her.
The door opened.
“Are you ready, darling?” Malfoy’s warm hand landed on Hermione’s low back, pulling her out of her spiral.
“Mr. Dwaco! I’m going to feed the abraxas today!” Louis hopped off the bed.
“Be sure to give extra attention to the little foal that was born yesterday.” His other hand splayed over Louis’s head, compressing his bouncy curls.
“There’s a baby?” the little boy asked with an adorable head tilt upwards. His smile was luminous.
“Yep. And there’s no name yet.”
Louis’s large brown eyes doubled in size. “Can I name them?”
Nodding, a genuine, soft smile was displayed on Malfoy’s sharp face. He looked besotted with the boy. Hermione turned back to her bag. A sudden sickness twisted her stomach. She felt disgusted with herself.
With her away bag over Malfoy’s shoulder, the three of them made their way to the travel parlor. Louis gave them each a distracted hug before running after the elves to join the Malfoys outside, leaving the two of them.
“Hermione.”
Her shimmery eyes looked up at the wizard.
“He’ll be fine without us,” Malfoy promised.
Not fully able to give him a smile without crying, she nodded instead. He guided her to the floo. It took a twirl through green flames, a nauseating dimension-bending jaunt with a portkey, and a quick Apparition for them to end up at a stone castle. A green expanse of lawn surrounded it. The bluest of blue water encircled the structure.
“My family doesn’t own any property in Wales, so I had to call in a favor,” Malfoy said offhandedly.
“Who owns a castle in Wales?” she blurted out.
“Theo. His mother was Welsh.”
The two settled into their borrowed quarters. Though the castle was clearly from a different century, possibly built at the same time Hogwarts was, there were more modern amenities available to them. There was indoor plumbing and running water. Portraits from Theo’s mother’s side lined the walls. Curious family members watched them but didn't speak.
“Are there ghosts here? If so, Louis would be very sad to have missed this trip,” Hermione playfully asked as Malfoy set their bags down.
“No. Theo’s father is quite afraid of ghosts. Had them exorcised when they acquired the castle.” Malfoy sniffed himself before turning back to her. “I need a shower. International travel always makes me sweat. Join me?”
A strand of his white-blond hair shifted as he tilted his head. She pushed it back into place.
“Sorry, honey. I blew out my hair for the weekend.” Hermione touched the soft silk on her head. "It's a whole rigmarole for me to shower. But tomorrow."
“Alright.” A trace of sullenness leaked in his voice as he leaned in to kiss her.
As soon as the door clicked behind him, Hermione pulled out the small grimoire. It was a Gaunt family book. Twisted magic emitted from the pages as soon as she opened it. She flipped to the most important part of all: the soulbound magic.
Each Gaunt descendant since the time of the founders had a soulbound contract with someone from a family of foreign wizards. It was said that the family had lost everything and was on the brink of starvation. The wealthy and powerful Gaunt family offered a contract: the family would lose their name and identity but would have food and shelter for the rest of their lives if they bound their souls in servitude.
No matter if the person dies, their soul would be transferred to another younger family member. They would be compelled to return to their contractor, no matter where they were in the world.
Basically, the nameless wizarding family had signed away their souls to become slaves. But they had the last laugh as Tom Riddle was the only remaining Gaunt, and Yolanda was the last remaining soulbound slave.
Hermione had only seen Yolanda die and transfer to another body once. It was jarring upon meeting the younger version of her after having known the elderly, dying Yolanda for most of her young life. But the wide-eyed teenager who came to them two days after her passing knew everything about Hermione.
“You can’t be her. You’re not old,” she had said to the teen.
“I am, rabbit. I am her.” The supposed Yolanda’s accent was the same slow Eastern European. Yes, she may have known the nickname that was used for Hermione, but anyone could’ve guessed that. The little girl had large front teeth. “Remember when I healed your scraped knee. We did it the old way. The same way that I learned from my country with bark and earth.”
Little Hermione obstinately didn’t want to believe this girl, who was only a decade older than her, could be her beloved Yolanda.
“It is her, liten vallmo,” Tom said with an affectionate glint in his eye. He lifted his hand, and a small Gaunt grimoire appeared. He flipped through the pages before handing it off to Hermione.
There, on the page, were small portraits with lines connecting them. One of them was of present-day Tom. The portrait of the younger Yolanda was connected to him.
“See, rabbit. It is me.”
Presently, Hermione stared down at the grimoire. The older version of Tom winked at her. Unnervingly, the same Yolanda from her memories stared unsmilingly in her portrait. How had she not aged?
She shook the thought away. She needed to change before Malfoy emerged from the ensuite. Quickly, she sent out a text before burying the burner in her away bag.
Before their trip, Hermione had found a high-end Muggle restaurant that was close to where the coordinates were marked. She had casually mentioned the restaurant because another Muggleborn witch had told her about it. Knowing Malfoy's tendencies for romantic gestures, he would book the restaurant.
Quickly, Hermione slipped on a slinky black dress. It had finally started warming. Spring had arrived in the UK. Seated at the vanity, she reached up to pull off her silk scarf. Thick, smooth brown hair tumbled over her shoulders. She flicked her wand, conjuring her makeup kit.
“Wow,” Malfoy breathed. His hands held his wet towel at his waist. His grey eyes stared dumbly at her through the mirror. He had caught her mid-lipstick swipe. “Hermione, you’re beautiful on a normal day. But right now, you’re a temptress.”
With intention, she spun on her seat, kicking her feet out.
“Honey, could you put on my shoes?” she asked innocently. She pointed at the black slingback heels at the foot of the bed.
Malfoy smacked his lips together before reaching down, gathering the shoes in one hand. He crossed over to her before kneeling at her feet. Slowly, reverently, he wrapped his hand around her right ankle. The first shoe slipped onto her foot. He pressed the bottom onto his shoulder. The stiletto heel created an indentation in his pale skin. His long fingers, nibbly, wrapped the strap around her ankle.
Hermione bit the bottom of her lip, trying to control herself. The tension in the room was heavy as he looped the strap into place. The other shoe came on to her left foot in the same manner. The whole time, Malfoy’s darkened eyes stared at her.
In the end, both of her heels were pressed into either side of his shoulders with her knees slightly bent and slightly spread. His gaze dropped below her skirt. Malfoy’s pink tongue darted out, wetting his lips.
But before he could lean any further, Hermione’s heel moved from his shoulder to his face.
“Honey, I’m hungry,” Hermione said sweetly.
“I’m hungry too,” he grumbled before sighing. He got to his feet. “I’ll get ready.”
Hermione watched him go to the closet. When he was out of sight, she relaxed. She couldn’t allow things to get out of control again. Even though it was utterly delicious to see him on his knees for her, she had to go and find the safehouse. She had to talk to Yolanda to figure out why Tom had set this whole thing up in the first place.
She needed answers. And she wouldn’t get them by fucking Malfoy right now.
With one last determined look in the mirror, Hermione promised herself to keep her mind clear.
The restaurant was located a kilometer away from the coordinates. It was situated on a cliff, overlooking the crashing waves. It served fine dining by candlelight. Very romantic.
Malfoy opened the door for her to enter. Hermione stopped as she surveyed the dining room.
“Is it closed?” she asked, confused.
“I bought out the whole place,” he said easily. “This was our first trip away together. I wanted it to be special.”
The hostess materialized from behind a curtain. She guided them towards the center of the large room. He pulled out her chair. When she was firmly in her seat, Malfoy rounded the table to his chair. After unbuttoning his suit jacket, he sat down.
Damn him and his ability to look fuckable in anything, especially Muggle suits.
“Don’t worry about the food. I just ordered everything.”
“Why would you do that, Draco?” She tilted her head.
Leaning in, he reached out, wrapping his hand around hers. “I don’t want more distractions around us.”
“Oh, alright.”
The night unfurled organically between them. They held hands as the food came out one by one. The wine flowed, loosening the atmosphere even more. She spoke of her work recently. She mentioned the one day when the cafe had exploded. He didn't even flinch when listening to her. His indifferent but attentive mask was firmly in place. Even though she would ask about his work, he’d make a quick comment but then steer the conversation back to safer waters.
As he ordered a different wine, her mind wandered to Yolanda. It had been nearly two decades since she had seen the woman. But her portrait in the grimoire hadn’t aged. It was almost like she was suspended…
“Hermione?”
“Hm?” She looked up from her plate.
“What’s on your mind?”
“It’s such a lovely night out. Why don’t we walk after dinner?”
“Okay.”
The ocean breeze blew through her as she stepped out of the restaurant. Hermione huddled with her arms wrapped around her middle. Suddenly, a fine suit jacket hung around her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she said, batting her eyes up at Malfoy.
“Of course.” He leaned down to kiss her, hooking his arm around her waist. “Shall we?”
The two of them strolled down the path towards the bluffs. Hermione’s eyes roamed the landscape. Though she was on a mission currently, she couldn’t help but allow the thought of how wonderful the night had been. She had dated before Adrian. But no one could compare to the wizard wrapped around her waist. Malfoy was a consummate gentleman. Attentive. Loyal. Caring to the point of obsession.
She took a side-long look at him. The moonlight skimmed along his skin, making him almost ethereal.
“What?” he asked, a wolfish smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Hermione almost felt bad.
“Sorry,” she breathed.
Suddenly, a man in all black appeared from thin air. Malfoy’s eyes widened, almost crazed. He pushed Hermione behind him. His wand materialized in his other hand. But it was too late. The man in black shot the tranquilizer gun. Thirty CCs of sleeping draught surged through the wizard’s body.
She watched him slowly collapse onto his side. His final word before he succumbed to sleep was “Hermione…”
The man pulled off his ski mask. “Ms. Granger.”
“Garrett, store him somewhere, but you’d better get away before he wakes up. He’ll kill you,” she told the young wizard, one of Tom’s few magical underlings.
“Right. I’ll text you where I’ve stashed him.”
“Thank you,” she said before transfiguring her heels into trainers. She tied her hair out of the way.
With her wand gripped tight, she imagined the coordinates. Her body appeared in an open field on a cliff. She spun around, only finding the open air above and the ocean below. Hermione held out her hand.
“Veni ad me.”
The small grimoire appeared in her outstretched hand. Though she wasn’t bound to Yolanda, she was still able to call upon her as Tom’s adopted child. Her fingers glided through the pages. They landed on the wand motion and incantation.
“Anima mea, te clamō. Ostende te mihi.”
Hermione rounded the tip of her vinewood three-quarters of the way, stopping at the exact spot before rotating her wrist counterclockwise. A bright light shot out of her wand, hitting an invisible barrier. Slowly, she walked towards it. Her fingers reached out. As soon as she touched it, the invisible warding fell away.
In the middle of the open field stood a lone stone tower. The ominous building beckoned Hermione in. She looked around it, her eyes landing on the wooden door. She walked up to find it loose.
With hesitation, Hermione pushed it open. The first thing she noticed was a large spike in the middle of the otherwise empty round room. Then she realized. Her gaze shot up to find the young woman’s body suspended midair.
“Yolanda!”
Hermione’s wand rose quickly. The spell poised on her tongue. But she was too late. The magic dissipated, releasing the now-conscious body.
A cry ripped through Hermione as she watched the witch get impaled.
“Oh my god!” she sobbed. Her body lurched forward, falling to her knees. There was so much blood.
“Hermione, what are you doing here?” Yolanda gasped as she stared wide-eyed up at her.
“I-I need to stop the bleeding.” When did it become so hard to breathe?
Tears streaked down Hermione’s face as she began to panic. Her fingers stumbled with her wand, silently cursing herself. She was a bloody Healer. Why couldn’t she be calm enough to heal the witch? Why couldn’t she save Yolanda?
A shaky, wet hand stilled her. She looked back at her. Yolanda was so young, but still carried decades of wisdom and warmth towards her.
“I will return, Hermione.” She swallowed thickly, and blood continued to pool around them. “Capture me before I go to him.”
A breath seized in Hermione’s lungs, burning her with realization.
“Don’t… trust… him…” Yolanda’s eyes blinked rapidly, losing her train of thought. Then her consciousness was lost completely.
“Yolanda.” Hermione’s hands shook the witch. “Yolanda!”
A terrible scream ripped through her as she cradled the woman’s head. Memories of her youth returned to her. The woman was the closest maternal figure to her. The only truly kind person in her life was now gone.
A loud crack outside the tower barely registered to Hermione. The wooden door blew off the hinges.
“Hermione!” Malfoy’s alarmed voice echoed against the stone. His knees hit the ground, soiling his fine pants in blood. His hands frantically pulled Hermione towards him. “Are you alright?”
“Draco,” she sobbed, too exhausted to keep her mask on. “She’s gone.”
His grey eyes wildly searched her face. “Who?”
But she wasn’t truly gone. Hermione closed her eyes. She felt the small grimoire pressed against her ankle. Yolanda was going to return to Tom. The return would tell him that someone had found his secret. And he would know it was Hermione.
After taking in a calming breath, she realized that she had no other choice.
“Draco,” she started slowly. Her eyes found his. “I need your help.”