A/N: Sorry about the delay, a work-related injury in my shoulder kept me from writing for several weeks. But now I'm back, struggling to finish the last chapters plus epilogue. And thank you so much for the kind reviews, the comment about a hidden gem really made my day 😊

Chapter 50

Avada

The same day, a few hours earlier.

February 2003

Draco POV

Harry, Charlie and Draco apparated to Ottery St Catchpole and walked the short distance from the outskirts of the small town to the Burrow. Draco, who had never been there before, was rendered totally speechless, when he saw the crooked dwelling with all its spires and the added extra rooms.

"Not your style, I can tell," Charlie chuckled darkly.

"Well, it's quite… homey…" he said, struggling to find something, anything, nice to say.

"Truth be told, I haven't been home for a while, not since… you know… Cissa, and it's probably bound to be awkward," the Dragon tamer added, a line of worry etched between his brows.

Together they crossed the chaotic wilderness that was the garden and reached the front door, which was crudely opened, before they had the time to knock, by an irate Molly Weasley.

"What's HE doing here?" she spat, her brown eyes shooting daggers at Draco.

"Is that the proper way to greet visitors?" a gruff male voice chided in the background; Draco assumed it belonged to Arthur.

Molly had aged considerable since Draco last saw her back during the war. Her face was etched with lines of worry and the former red hair had faded to a dull grey. Draco remembered that she had lost a son during the war and felt sorry for her. If he lost Lyra now, he would be devastated, despite having known her for less than a week.

When Arthur spoke, her anger seemed to drift away like a deflating balloon.

With a weary sigh she said: "You heard my husband, step inside then. Charlie and Harry, it's been too long."

"It has indeed, mother," Charlie said, hugging her burly frame.

Despite its chaotic appearance, the house had a pleasant smell of good old-fashioned cooking, which reminded Draco of the large kitchen at the Manor, though it did not seem as if the Weasleys employed any house elves. His younger self would have looked down his nose at that, but now he had learned to appreciate the value of manual labour (or, in Molly's case, mostly manual, given the vast number of strange magical kitchenware he spotted).

The Weasley matriarch led the three of them to the large kitchen, where they seated around a large wooden table which was quickly scourgyfied.

"Coffee? Tea?" she asked in a dull voice.

All three of them politely declined and shortly after Arthur joined them and welcomed Draco with considerably more warmth.

"Welcome to our humble home, Mr Malfoy. It's about time, now that we're practically family. Rumour has it that you're doing business in the Muggle world?"

He nodded politely. "Thank you, Mr Weasley, and please call me Draco. And yes, the rumours speak the truth. I'm helping Muggles get rid of unwanted magical creatures and in return, they're paying for my services. It's been a curious journey that has taught me quite a lot about the differences and similarities between Muggles and Wizards."

"Very interesting! Have you become familiar with any mechanical Muggle devices? It's a subject that has interested me for years. I have several machines here at home, a coffee machine, a toaster, a lawnmower and perhaps you noticed the car in the garden?"

The older man's green eyes sparkled as he recounted his many gadgets and his enthusiasm was contagious. But though he had more in common with the eccentric Weasley patriarch than he initially expected, they had more important thing to discuss and there was no time to waste.

"A Muggle friend of mine have taught me how to use a computer and a mobile phone. You're most welcome to come by the office someday to see and try everything. But we came here for a whole other reason. Have you read the Daily Prophet lately?"

"We have and we know about the child," Molly hissed, her mouth set in a hard line.

"Then you probably also know that Hermione has returned," Charlie added.

"We do," Arthur said sombrely. "So sad she felt the need to leave in the first place."

Harry took over. "The thing is, she's been missing since yesterday, and we have reason to believe that someone has abducted her against her will. Draco found her purse containing her wand in a dumpster near her flat, which means that she's entirely defenceless. He also sensed traces of residual magic in the area."

Mrs Weasley let uttered a hoarse cry and the colour drained from her face, while she started muttering to herself a litany of "Oh no, sweet Merlin no, say it isn't so."

"Molly, if you know anything, now is the time to speak," Arthur said sternly.

The older woman had a haunted expression. "Our son Ronald has been… obsessed… with retrieving what he considers rightfully his, and sadly that includes Mrs Granger as well as his honoured position as a War Hero and former part of the golden trio, but as some of you probably already knows, he has destroyed much of that for himself over the last years."

She fidgeted with her apron, her eyes downcast, while they waited patiently for her to continue. Then she lifted her gaze towards Harry's.

"To begin with I blamed the amount of pressure he was under during the War, I blamed the Auror Division for the way they treated him and I even blamed Miss Granger for breaking up with him. But at some point, I realized that he brought many of those things upon himself. It's like he's stuck in the past and keeps blaming everyone else for his situation. I've tried to urge him to move on with his life, to let bygones be bygones, but to no avail. In fact, it has only gotten worse over the years."

"Could you tell us where to find him?" Draco prodded.

"I haven't seen him for more than a year, he won't let me. And I don't know exactly where he lives, though I'm quite sure its somewhere close to Hogsmeade. I usually send a bit of food and money to the Three Broomsticks Inn for him once every week."

Arthur harrumphed and was about to say something, but Draco cut him off.

"Thank you Mrs. Weasley. You've been very forthcoming. I really appreciate it."

She suddenly looked very old and weary. "My son, he is… there's something very wrong with him, probably something which started during the war. And it's getting worse. When you see him, could you please try not to harm him, he needs help."

"We won't hurt him, at least not if we can in any way avoid it," Harry replied.

Shortly after they took their leave and headed for Hogsmeade.

(*)

They arrived in front of the Three Broomsticks Inn a few minutes later. The air was considerably chillier here up north, and Draco suppressed a shiver, but he would much rather freeze than enter said Inn.

"Shall we?" Charlie said, as he walked towards the entrance.

"I can't go in there," Draco exclaimed. "Madam Rosmerta and I have a bit of a… history, from the time when I was a Death Eater."

Shame washed over him as he remembered his venture into unforgiveable's, poisoned food and cursed jewellery. He would forever be grateful that none of his murder attempts accidentally killed other students.

"Fine. Then wait outside and try to come up with some sort of plan," Harry huffed as the two Gryffindors entered the Pub.

To keep warm, Draco strode up and down the street, while trying to come up with some idea. How could it be, that Parvati, who had not seen Hermione for several years, could somehow envision her, albeit regrettably imprecisely? Yet he also felt that he had some connection to the witch, though he did not know whether it was because they had a child together or because of the things they went through. How else could he have seen her on that Christmas evening four years ago? It was as if she had somehow reached out for him.

He had decent skills in divination, though he had never really prioritised said subject and thus he was not half as skilled as someone like Parvati. His premonitions were of a more vague and unspecific kind and on the rare occasions that he ventured into the more specific subject of telekinesis when trying to locate a conscious being, for instance a deceased relative, he needed something to trace it with, some artefact, something to ground his thoughts. Like a piece of jewellery… Or a ring… If she still wore his ring, then maybe he could reach out for her. It would most likely be a waste of time, but it would not hurt to try.

His thoughts were interrupted as Charlie and Harry returned only a few moments later.

"Madam Rosmerta knows little more than Molly told us," Harry said darkly. "She sees him once a week, when he comes by to get the stuff Molly sends him."

The ginger wore a pained expression. "It turns out that he looks really ill and lives practically like a hermit."

Draco could not care less whether the weasel was ill or not, he just wanted Hermione back safely as soon as possible.

The Auror sighed deeply. "There's no way out of it then, we've got to search the entire town and its vicinity. I think we should summon the others; it's probably going to take a while."

"Wait a sec," Draco interrupted. "I want to try something first. It's just an idea and it probably won't work, but I think it's worth a try. I just need a few minutes."

Potter rubbed his hands together, pacing back and forth. "Damn it, Malfoy, its bloody cold out here. I need to get moving. What is it?"

"Are you a wizard or not? Use a Hot Air Charm!"

"Great! Here we go again about my Muggle inheritance. As if it's my own bloody fault that my parents were killed, and I was raised by my narrow-minded Muggle family?"

"Oh, for Salazar's sake, stop overreacting. If I still cared about Blood Purity, then would I have lived in the Muggle world for the last five years and worked for Muggles? Would I have befriended Muggles and embraced Muggle technology?"

The bespectacled wizard was turning crimson. "Forgive me for being sensitive about the topic, I wouldn't be if I hadn't been HARRASSED BY YOU LOT during my teenage years."

Draco was sick and tired of the never-ending prejudices that he was a pure blood bigot, when all he had done for the last five years was trying to bury that image. He had had it with playing nice and complacent whenever people felt the need to hang their shit on him.

Seething with fury he shot back: "You lot?! Whom exactly are you referring to? I don't see anyone here but me and Charlie. Let me remind you that my daughter is by no means a pureblood and I really couldn't care less."

"Whoa, take it easy! Both of you!" Charlie chided. "This is not helpful at all. Merlin, you sound like an old married couple. Draco, what Harry wants to know is what your plan is? Will you please tell us?"

He took a few calming breaths and continued more quietly. "She might be wearing a family heirloom of mine, a ring, that has magical properties which I don't fully know, but maybe I can reach her.

"Wait a second, are you engaged already?" Harry hissed, curling his hands into fists.

"No were not, about the ring, it's a long story."

"And of no importance right now. Harry please be quiet and let the man give it a try," the ginger interrupted.

He stepped away from the others and into a quiet back alley. He envisioned the ring, envisioned placing it on Hermione's slender finger. And with all his mind power he reached out Hermione are you there?

It felt strange just to reach out like that inside his mind as if he was one of those Muggle frauds, who pretended to talk to people's deceased relatives. Like he expected, there was nothing; no reply. And yet, he felt disappointed. He had hoped… but hope was a dangerous thing…

With increasing despair, he tried once more:

Please be there, please be alive!

He was about to give up when he heard her distinct reply:

I'm here!

His heart leapt with joy as he picked up her reply. It worked, they were able to communicate in this strange manner and just as soon as he could figure out where she was being kept, they would come to her rescue. But he did not care for how frail and slurred her voice sounded in his head. She was clearly in danger and there was not a second to waste.

As he learned what had happened to her, his blood started boiling. Ron that bloody bastard. It took all his self-control to answer Hermione in a calm and reassuring manner. And soon after, when he figured out where she was being kept, he rushed towards the other two, bellowing:

"The Shrieking Shack. But by Salazar we've got to hurry, she sounds really ill."

They rushed towards the abandoned building, running as fast as they could. The town around them was quiet, the only sound was their panting breaths and feet hitting the pavement.

Moments before they reached the door to the shack, Draco felt as if the ground disappeared under him. His knees buckled and as he staggered onward, he was hit by a wave of nausea. There was a short moment of intense panic followed by excruciating pain. And then nothing. Struggling to catch his breath, an ice-cold dread swept over him.

"Something's happening," he croaked. "Something bad! We need to get there NOW."

With a controlled confringo the bespectacled Auror blasted the wooden door to pieces and the three of them rushed inside just in time to see Hermione drop to the ground from a wooden staircase with a horrid thud, that would haunt Draco for the rest of his life. Apart from a small whimper as she hit the ground, she was eerily silent. And she made no movement at all as she lay sprawled onto the ground, her right leg and back bent in an unnatural position and a flower of blood starting to bloom on her thigh.

Draco felt his vision tunnelling as the déjà-vu hit him. Part of him was back at the Manor gazing at his mother's maimed body, part of him was here in this awful new reality, watching the lifeless form of the woman he loved bleeding out on the floor. So many feelings raced through his mind, he was barely holding himself together. This was the second time he failed to protect a woman he loved.

Then he became aware of movement upstairs, someone was shaking and whimpering. The world came back into focus as anger roared through him. It was Ronald Weasley, the one person who had caused this entire mess.

"You killed her!" he bellowed and rushed up the stairs, wand drawn.

His vision became white with rage and he was filled with an all-consuming desire to murder this pathetic excuse for a man, who had destroyed his change of happiness almost before it even began.

He had never been any good as a Death Eater, had never been able to cast an unforgiveable and truly mean it. For months her aunt had tried to teach him how to torture, maim and kill, and while he learned to cast a couple of half decent crucio's, he never actually managed to avada anyone. You had to mean it for it to work. You had to tap from a source of hatred and brutality inside your soul. And now, as anger thundered through him, he finally meant it, for the first time of his life, he knew for certain he would be able to cast the spell. He wanted to destroy this pathetic excuse for a person crumbling in front of him and rid the earth of his existence.

He raised his wand, towering over the trembling man on the floor, furious like an avenging god, and started thundering "AVADA…" pouring all his hatred and contempt into the words like his aunt Bellatrix had taught him.

But he was interrupted, when someone took a determined grip of his wand-arm and pointed it downwards. "DRACO, CALM DOWN RIGHT NOW!" a firm voice urged him. It was Harry.

"LET GO OF ME!" he growled at him, infuriated by the interruption.

The other wizard continued to hold his arm into an iron grip, not moving even an inch. The Auror was surprisingly strong for someone so lean. "Don't do something you'll regret later!" he said, through gritted teeth.

"I don't bloody care! He hurt Hermione. I want him to die," Draco fumed.

"Just do it!" Ron stuttered through convulsions.

"Your family need you. Lyra needs you. And you can't be much of a father to her, if you're in Azkaban."

Draco paused and slowly loosened the grip of his wand. He remembered when his own father was in Azkaban, which had led to the downfall of the Malfoy dynasty. To Draco it had been a time of misery and despair. The vast number of obligations had weighed heavily on him and he desperately needed the guidance of his father, especially when he was ordered by the Dark Lord to murder professor Dumbledore. If he was imprisoned, Lyra would practically become an orphan. The little strong-willed and talented Lyra with the blond chaotic curls and the sparkling grey eyes. His little girl, whom he had come to love so fiercely already. He had to be strong for her, he could not give into rage and despair and destroy everything. He took a couple of calming breaths; turned his head and said to Harry:

"It's okay, you can let go now. I won't kill him."

The trembling mess of a wizard on the floor looked worse for wear every passing second.

"Please, I know I've fucked up," the man whimpered. "I feel… awful… Something is very wrong. Just kill me, I don't… mind."

"Goddammit Ron, we used to be friends. I'll do no such thing," Harry huffed.

Cautiously he let go of Draco's arm, grabbed his wand and pointed it towards Ron with an "Incarcerous!"

Ropes shot out of his wand, moved towards Ron and bound him tightly.

"Go back to Hermione and let me deal with Ron!" Harry ordered in a no-nonsense voice.

"But what is there to do now that she's gone?" he said, closing his eyes in pain.

The rush of adrenaline had entirely left his body, and he felt like a deflated balloon, empty and without much hope.

"She's not gone."

"But I saw her just moments ago, she looked… she didn't… she didn't move at all?" he replied, wanting to believe, but not quite daring.

"I swear to you, she's still alive, though badly hurt. Charlie is tending to her wounds right now."

He was quiet for a while, letting the Auror's words sink in, and then he heard it, low murmuring noises downstairs, whimpering's from Hermione and the soothing rugged voice of the dragon tamer. Hope soared though him, as he turned around and went downstairs, anxious as to her condition yet immensely relieved that she was still alive.

Charlie had already stopped the bleeding on her thigh and was busy conjuring some sort of stretcher. When he heard Draco approach, he turned around with a weary expression.

"Good! She's asking for you!"

The metallic smell of fresh blood made Draco feel faint. Brazing himself, he stepped closer and squatted down next to the witch, taking her hand carefully, as if afraid to break it. She looked so broken, pale and trembling, with her back bent in an unnatural position and her jaw contorted in pain. For a moment part of him regretted not finishing off Ron Weasley when he had the chance.

"I'm here now!"

She turned her gaze towards him, her expression somewhat dazed, and whispered:

"You came!"

"Of course, I did," he said, giving her hand a small reassuring squeeze.

"I thought you hated me now."

It almost physically hurt Draco to witness the amount of pain Hermione was in and the silly fight they had a few days ago felt so utterly stupid and insignificant now. He swallowed back emotion and trailed her face with a slightly trembling caressing finger.

"I don't hate you in any way. In fact, I lo… like you a lot, just save your strength while we figure out a way to get you to St. Mungo's."

The witch looked paler by the second, and her lips had a bluish tint that had Draco severely worried.

"Ghosh it hurts," she croaked.

His gaze was caught by the vast amount of blood on Hermione's thigh. No wonder she was in pain. Even though the wound was not actively bleeding any longer, she had most likely lost a lot of blood. He started feeling faint again and tried to force his breathing to slow down. Now was not a good time to panic.

He turned towards Charlie, who was muttering incantations, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Tell me what to do," he asked the older wizard.

At the very same time, they were interrupted by Harry's panicky voice from upstairs.

"Charlie, I could use a little help up here. Something is seriously wrong with Ron."

"I'll be with you in a second," the ginger replied, finished the incantation with a circular movement of his wand. Then he got up and hurried towards the stairs.

"Wait! You can't just leave! We need to get Hermione to St. Mungo's as soon as possible. And I can't use my phone, there's way too much magic around here," Draco yelled after him.

"She's somewhat stabilized now. Just send a Patronus," Charlie replied hurriedly as he rushed up the stairs.

"If only I knew how to do that," he scowled to himself.

Even though the witch was supposed to be stabilised, he was still deeply worried. Judged by the way her jaw was clenched, her pains seemed to be getting worse. He had to make that bloody Patronus work because there was little else, he could do.

Desperate to get it right, he drew circles with his wand while trying to come up with a happy childhood memory. He settled for Christmas at the Manor while pronouncing Expecto Patronum as loud and clear as possible. But alas, he conjured nothing but a pathetic looking silvery mist from the tip of his wand.

Hermione reached for him, pain marring her features. "Draco I'm so sorry…"

"Don't worry about it. And for Salazar's sake, don't move. I'll get help as soon as possible. My friend Elena is an excellent healer. If only I could make this bloody patronus work…"

"I shouldn't have abandoned you like that, when Skeeter found us, it wasn't you fault."

He leaned over and place a chaste kiss on her forehead, which was cold and clammy.

"It doesn't matter now; the important thing is that you're alive."

He had to get help as soon as possible. But it was the same problem with that bloody Patronus every time, he could not find a truly happy memory to conjure from. Moving forward in time, he recalled the evening he was told that Lyra was his child. After the initial chock, he had been so proud that this special little girl was his. A warm feeling spread in his chest, just from the memory. And it appeared that she had inherited all the good personal traits from the Malfoy line, while the less favourable ones had ended with him.

Trying to hold onto those feelings, he roared: "Expecto Patronum" once more, and this time his wand produced a vague silvery shape.

"Almost there," he muttered through gritted teeth.

Somewhat embarrassed he turned his head and discovered, to his chagrin, that Hermione's eyes were shut.

Frantically, he shook her arm. "Wait! Wake up! You've got to stay with me."

"What," she mumbled, turning her head, eyes still closed.

"Come on, wake up! Don't leave me,"

"I'm so tired… I just want to close my eyes for a moment…"

Her voice slurred and her level of consciousness was rapidly declining. This was not good! He had to get help and soon.

Her eyes had opened slightly, but it looked as if she had trouble focusing.

"If I should… die… will you… look after Lyra?"

"You're not going to die; I won't let you!"

"But", she forced out, her voice only a faint whisper now, "will you promise?"

"She's my daughter! I'll always take care of her."

"Good," she breathed and closed her eyes.

"Wait! hold on! Don't leave me!"

He wanted to make one more attempt at the Patronus charm, and if it failed, he would march up the stairs and fetch Charlie again, no matter how this useless brother of his was faring.

This time he recalled walking with Hermione through a night lit city, he remembered kissing her and the relief he felt when she kissed him back. Holding on to those feelings, he lifted his wand once more, thundering "Expecto Patronum" with as much force as he could muster. To his surprise, a strong silvery cloud shot out from his wand and gradually shaped an animal, a little slender black and white predator.

"You've gotta be kidding," he murmured to himself, briefly angry with the gods, when he recognised the animal. It was, of course, a ferret.

But his irritation was soon replaced by triumph when he realized that he had managed to conjure his very first Corporeal Patronus. With a flick of his wand and a few incantations, he sent it towards Elena to come quickly and open the fireplace between St Mungo's and the Shrieking Shack.

In less than a minute, a flowery perfume hit his nostrils, and shortly after, Elena stepped out of the fireplace.

"Merlin am I glad to see you!" Draco exhaled.

Elene instantly switched into healer mode. With a business-like expression she strode towards Hermione.

"What happened? Is she breathing?"

"She's breathing, but barely. She was kept captive and sedated and fell down the stairs as she tried to escape."

Her mouth set in a firm line, she drew her wand and seemingly started to investigate Hermione. After a few seconds she stopped and addressed Draco.

"She's not in any danger now. You did a good job. She has a fractured back and she's had one too many calming- and sleeping draughts, but she's stable now, and with the right treatment, she'll be fine, though it will take some time to properly heal her fractures."

At the same time Ron let out an almost inhuman scream that immediately raised the fine hairs on Draco's neck and Elena's attention was instantly caught by the commotion upstairs.

"What happened to the wizard up there?" she asked in a brisk voice.

"Never mind him. He's the bastard who did this to her," he huffed.

Elena squared her shoulders. "No matter what he's done, he deserves proper treatment! And judged by his horrible screams, he's clearly unwell. Miss Granger is stabilized and in a stretcher; you can safely levitate her to the floo and directly to St Mungo's. In the meantime, I'll go check on the guy upstairs.

"Suit yourself," Draco spat and started to levitate Hermione towards the fireplace ever so slowly.

Elena rushed up the stairs and shortly after he heard her yell at Potter and Weasley.

"Dracu! He is showing the classical symptoms of late stage Devil's Mirror Curse! I'm shocked you didn't recognize the symptoms; he's probably had this curse in him for years. Aren't you supposed to be an experienced Auror?"

"Can you do anything to save him, he's my little brother?" Charlie croaked.

"I don't know, I've never tried anything like this before. But we must act now if he's going to have a shot at surviving. The curse has reached the end stage, which means that untreated he'll be dead within seconds or minutes."

"Oh, little brother how we failed you. Why didn't we see that you were suffering?"

"Quiet!" Draco heard Elena hiss. "Your guilt is not helping. We must focus at the task at hand. The two of you need to hold his arms and legs and hold them very tight. While you do that, I must cut his heart open while it's still beating. Even the tiniest movement could ruin everything."

Draco did not hear the rest of it, given that he disappeared through the fireplace at that very moment, and frankly he did not care a whole lot about the Weasel, the man could die for his sake for what he had done towards his new found family.