Chapter 33

Hermione liked to think she was a woman in control of her emotions. She didn't let anger or frustration get the better of her, and she really didn't like being petty or whiny.

So when she broke down for the third time since Lucius had left them, she was starting to think that maybe she didn't know herself as well as she'd thought.

Draco, of course, was perfectly lovely in his sort of clueless way, fumbling through comforting her and pretending that he wasn't in just as desperate need of comfort himself. But there was no use in keeping up pretences, and they both quickly realised that without Lucius to stabilise them, there was no way to keep on course. They were veering wildly without the balancing agent that was their third.

"I hate him," she whispered, face slick with tears and various other lubricants that Draco was a real champion to not balk at. "I love him, but I hate him so much right now."

"I'm not best pleased with him, myself," Draco said softly, running his hand through her slightly greasy hair. Once they'd realised their magic was suffering, they hadn't known what to do. Owls had been sent (by Hermione; Draco's memory of vengeful fowl was all too clear), inquiries made, but no one had seen Lucius.

Hermione hadn't even cared that the Daily Prophet had posted a missing person report on their front page. Lucius would be disappointed with their choice of photograph (the Azkaban one), but then again... he might never see it.

And that thought was enough to shatter Hermione's shoddily mended heart all over again.

"We'll find him. You said so yourself," Draco reminded her, kissing her temple and then her wet eyelashes.

"And I believed myself. But it's been three days and we can barely even leave the Manor, our magic is so bad. What do we do?"

But Draco had no brilliant ideas, no back-up plan. "Let's go have a bath," he suggested, running his hand self-consciously over his own hair.

Luckily there was one bathroom...attached to Draco's old nursery...that could be used without magic. After all, a child either couldn't control or wasn't permitted to use magic until they began their schooling, so the room was equipped with basic plumbing.

Undressing herself without fanfare, Hermione tested the water with one toe before stepping into the large soaker tub. Draco followed, and while her eyes travelled the length of his pale and slender body, there was no thrill between her thighs for him, no stirring or desperate need to have him.

It almost felt like cheating to want him.

He manoeuvred himself behind her and encouraged her to lean back against him. She did so gratefully; she wondered how any person ever got through a break-up on their own. Without Draco, she would surely have floundered.

Though neither was speaking of the elephant in the room, it was obviously second-most in their thoughts, right after how to find Lucius: what would happen if they couldn't find him?

Would they choose each other over their magic? Could they live as Muggles just to be together?

It wasn't something Hermione wanted to answer, and it certainly wasn't a question she was going to ask Draco. The only thing she wanted to think about was finding Lucius.

"We'll have to drive," she said suddenly, turning in Draco's arms to face him. "We'll drive to find him!"

"As in, a car? Are you kidding me? Do you even know how to drive?"

Hermione shrugged, water slopping over the edge of the porcelain. "It can't be that hard, billions of people do it."

"And even if you did miraculously learn," Draco continued as if she hadn't answered, "how would we even know where to start? You want to drive all over the country looking for him? I know my father. If he doesn't want to be found, he won't be."

"But," Hermione said, getting excited, "I know your father as well. We know him better than anyone. So we know something right out of the gate: he's not in England. I mean, not only would that be the smart thing to do, especially with the Daily Prophet acting like he'll be on death's door if someone doesn't report a sighting of him, don't you feel it? When he was here, in his room or in the study or even at the Ministry, it was like I could sense him. It was always there in the back of my mind: Lucius and Draco. Now there's mainly only you, but he's there as well, just out of reach. I doubt he's even in Europe."

Draco closed his eyes and seemed to concentrate. "I can't feel him," he whispered, frowning.

"Can you feel me? It's like a tickle, like remembering something you promised you wouldn't forget."

At length, Draco finally said, "No, I can't. I don't know. I don't think I ever could."

"Oh," Hermione said, worrying her lip with her teeth. "Well, that's all right. We'll just use me. We'll find him, I just know it now. And when we do..." She narrowed her eyes. "I'm going to hurt him."

Draco chuckled softly, holding her tightly against him, the cooling water lapping at their bodies. "You mean you're going to grab him and hug him and make sure he never does anything so stupid again."

Hermione's eyes welled. "Yeah, that, too."

Lucius dusted the sticky, wet snow off his behind. Brooms were plebeian, anyway. He handed the offensive artefact back to Kent.

"I appreciate the offer, but it appears that even brooms are too risky when one's magic is unstable." A year ago, Lucius would never have admitted...not even to his own child, let alone to a perfect stranger...that his magic wasn't in full form. Weakness was not to be borne, and discussing one's weakness... well, that was for Muggles.

But Lucius was learning that Canadians weren't as backwards as he'd thought...though the cheese and gravy on chips was completely uncalled for...and they were generally very kind.

Take Kent, for example. The man had offered...and followed through on his offer...to show Lucius around Ilsa, a tour that had taken all of ten minutes by lorry. But since then, he'd been acting as though Lucius were his best friend, and Lucius, despite his misgivings and private opinion that Canadian wizards were only a step away from Muggles, had allowed the familiarity because with the stormy snow and unforgiving cold, it was hard to remember what any sort of warmth felt like.

It was hardest at night when he swore he could smell Hermione on the cheap hotel pillow, or sense Draco in the shower, using up all the hot water.

He hoped they were happy, though he supposed they must be pretty upset with him. After that wore off, though, he did believe they'd be happy.

Though a part of him wished that they missed him terribly. It was selfish and cruel, but he didn't want them to get over him too quickly. Though he tried not to even admit that to himself.

"I don't know what you're running from, friend, but I can assure you, it's never better to leave when you can stay."

"What is that, some old Canadian proverb?" Lucius grumbled, hating the sensation of a wet arse.

Kent chuckled. "Not at all. It's some old Kent wisdom, actually. I get the feeling that you're running away, and I think it might be time you went home."

"In case you hadn't noticed, that is what I'm attempting to do." Lucius indicated the broom and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ah, but you don't plan to go home, " Kent said, nodding as if he were entirely right. "You're planning on leaving so you can run some more, preferably to a more hospitable climate, am I right?"

"You know nothing," Lucius snapped, turning on his heel and promptly slipping on some black ice on the pavement. He corrected himself immediately, but found it difficult to continue his haughty departure after the flub.

"I know who you are, Malfoy," Kent said suddenly, making Lucius halt in his tracks. Kent had only ever called him by his given name.

"Oh?" he asked in feigned politeness. He wondered if the butterbeer-bellied man would try to extort him.

"You're Lucius Malfoy," he said calmly, not looking away from Lucius' impassive gaze. "And you have two frantic people desperate to know where you've got off to."

"What are you talking about?" Lucius asked, narrowing his eyes. He'd said nothing about the life he'd left behind.

"I know you think we're all arse-backward here in the Great White North, but owls still come our way, and more than a few inhabitants of this town subscribe to the newspapers from your home. After all, we were caught with our pants down, so to speak, when it came to Voldemort, because we weren't kept abreast of the situation. We have to make sure nothing like that happens again. And it just so happened that a couple people get the Daily Prophet from London, and it just so followed that they knew exactly whose face looked out from its pages this very morning."

"My face? In the Prophet?" Lucius shook his head. "You must be mistaken."

"Follow me," Kent said brusquely, leading Lucius to his truck. He opened the door and grabbed up a newspaper, handing it to Lucius.

With cold fingertips, Lucius took the issue of the Daily Prophet. Sure enough, he saw his own face staring back him. Not his best picture, either. Why did those morons insist on using every horrible picture of him? It was beyond insulting.

He scanned the article and saw that neither Draco nor Hermione had actually consented to it. That meant they weren't really looking for him, just that Skeeter had gotten wind of his disappearance.

"And if that isn't enough to convince you," Kent said, reaching back into the truck. He handed Lucius another bundled paper.

Unfurling it, Lucius saw it was the Wizarding World News. A short article written by Franklin Triptenhoof revealed that Hermione and Draco were looking for him. They'd given a brief interview before leaving the country to find him. They implored him to return home, said they needed him... Even without Skeeter-style embellishment, Lucius could read between the lines enough to glean his son and lover were devastated. They also relayed their intention to, in Draco's words, 'Scour the Earth for that bastard and show him a thing or two about belonging.'

Though Draco had probably meant it as a threat, it sounded more like a promise.

"Now, I don't know much about what you wizards and witches get up to across the pond, but here in Canada, we call that sort of thing polyamory, and it's perfectly acceptable. I think...and I hope you don't mind me saying so, because I intend to anyway...you're being ridiculous. This young woman..." Kent jabbed a pointy finger at Hermione's pleading, pale face. "...She's the brightest witch of her age! She helped Harry Potter defeated Voldemort! You must be mad if you think you deserve her, let alone deserve to give her up! And that's not even to mention your son. I don't know much about him, but I do know you well enough to assume that you love him more than anything on this planet and all the rest. So what," Kent demanded, "are you doing here?"

Lucius traced his finger over the image of Hermione's tightly curled hair. Then he moved to stroke Draco's pointed chin.

"I don't know," he said honestly, frowning as the images of Draco and Hermione reached out as if to grab hold of his finger. "The right thing?" And it was no longer an answer, but a question.

"The right thing would be to get over yourself and your damn insecurities. And I'm sure you'd never thought you'd hear someone say that...a man like you with insecurities, indeed! But it's true. Let them love you, Lucius."

Lucius accepted the lift back to the hotel room. He stiffly thanked Kent for the loan of his broom and left him sitting in the lorry, shaking his head in dismay.

When Lucius was in the privacy of the dimly lit room, only then did he drop his head into his hands and wonder about how such a smart man had become so stupid.

"Well, I didn't expect to be able to drive all the way there," Hermione said as she and Draco boarded the plane.

Draco was taking very small steps. Hermione'd tried to keep him from watching the planes take off, but he'd caught sight of one through a huge window and promptly turned around.

As he'd walked away, Hermione noticed something strange. When Draco wasn't with her, she couldn't feel him or Lucius any longer. The closer she came to him as she chased after him, the stronger Lucius felt inside her mind. Strange, because before, it hadn't mattered if she were alone or with one or both of them. She'd always had that niggling sensation that they were nearby, though she hadn't even realised what it was until Lucius had left and one part was conspicuously absent.

"Draco, stop," she'd said, grabbing his arm. "I can't find him without you. I need you. Please."

Draco had looked out at the airplanes uncertainly, but he'd nodded and boarded with her.

Having met Harry before they'd left for the airport, they were both now owners of falsified passports. Then they'd sat in the airport lounge for hours while they'd decided where to go. When Hermione focused on that little feeling of Lucius in her head, she had flashes of images and sensations. He was cold. There was white. There were wands.

Lucius didn't speak Russian, so Draco had vetoed that. There were places in America that had snow this time of year, but none were wizarding communities, so the wands didn't fit.

When Hermione had said Canada aloud, it had just seemed right. Even though she very much doubted that Lucius would ever willingly go to what he assuredly believed was a wasteland, Hermione's own test-Apparition had failed miserably, and that had only been within the scope of the Manor, so it was safe to assume he hadn't meant to go there at all.

In any case, they had nothing to lose.

"They must use magic," Draco muttered, still talking about the planes as he settled himself into the luxurious first-class seat. He was nervously eyeing the other planes on the runway, jumping as a flight attendant announced that seatbelts were to be worn.

Hermione helped Draco with his, to the amusement of an older man across the aisle.

"Hush, Draco. I don't want to have to Oblivate anyone on this trip."

"Except me," he retorted. "When we land. I'll have nightmares if you don't."

"You'll wish for nightmares if I try to Obliviate you using my magic at this point." Damn Lucius for leaving them like this!

The flight wasn't overly long, but neither was used to sitting in one place. Draco fell asleep first, his hand curled tightly around Hermione's, his lips softly parted as his breath came in sweet puffs.

Hermione settled herself against him and closed her eyes, thinking about all the horrible and wonderful things she would do to Lucius when she got her hands on him.

"Can you just follow the directions as I say them?" Hermione asked the driver of the cab.

"Sure, sweetheart," the driver said, smiling into the rear-view mirror.

Draco glared at the man, but he didn't seem to notice, he simply called in the fare and told the person on the other end he didn't know when it would be over.

Hermione concentrated hard, but there was so much commotion around the airport pick-up area that she couldn't get a feel for Lucius.

"Just... go straight," she said, frowning.

It was another five minutes before she was able to focus enough to tell the cab driver to turn around and head farther north. He didn't make an objection, simply manoeuvred the cab around and began to drive in silence.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Draco whispered. "With our magic being messed up, there's no reason to believe that what you're sensing is really him."

But Hermione shook her head. "I think this is something deeper than magic, Draco. This feels real right down to my soul. I... I can't describe it, but I trust it. I have to."

After two hours, Hermione stopped watching the cab fare inch higher and higher. It was enough to give a girl with her frugal upbringing a heart attack, though Draco told her not to worry. They had enough Muggle money to live at least a week, more if they were careful.

"All right, go left here," Hermione said quietly, not wanting to wake Draco.

The cab driver obediently followed her direction. The snow on the ground was getting thicker, the air crisper even through the heated cab. The roads were a little rough, and the terrain wasn't as hilly and tree-covered as it had been just beyond the airport.

"Follow this road as long as you can," she said. Lucius was straight ahead; how close, she didn't exactly know. But if they kept going on this road, they would find him. The tingle in her head was getting stronger the closer they came. She never would have believed such a thing was possible, but Hermione had to trust that whatever she was doing was working.

For nearly another hour they drove until the cab was bouncing vigorously on the frozen-dirt road. It would be dark in another hour, and this far north, driving could be dangerous. She shivered.

"Dead end, miss," the driver said apologetically, slowing the vehicle to a stop.

Hermione gaped. She could clearly see the road continue for at least another mile.

"Sir, there's plenty road left," she protested, shaking Draco awake.

"There's not another foot of road to drive on. The snow's at least two feet deep here."

"Hold on," she said, opening the side door. Getting out, she could only shake her head. The road didn't stop. It was clear of excess snow and was easily passable. The mile ahead looked no different than the mile before.

She stepped in front of the cab to demonstrate this, but she only made it a metre ahead before she realised why the cab driver was so insistent about the road ending.

Hermione hurriedly opened Draco's door and hauled him out. He sleepily protested, but woke up quickly thanks to the chilly night air.

"Merlin, Granger, what the hell are you doing? My bloody balls will fall off in this cold!"

"Draco, come here and tell me what you feel."

He walked toward her sceptically, but his eyes widened when he realised what she was talking about.

"Wards," he whispered. "Strong ones. This is a wizarding area."

"Oh, Draco, we've found him! He's so close, I can feel it. Can you pay the driver? It's going to cost a small fortune. We probably should have rented a car."

But Draco was already gone, giving the driver a tip higher than the total cost of the trip. The driver waved and turned around, leaving Draco and Hermione in the middle of the street in the freezing cold with the sun setting in the bleak horizon.

Things had never looked better.

"Let's go, Malfoy," Hermione said cheerily, grabbing his hand and their scant luggage.

Draco held her tightly against his side as they began to walk down the street, slipping occasionally on the icy road.

"I'm going to have to hit him," Hermione mused, her anger at Lucius somewhat abating in light of their nearness to him.

"You're rather violent, aren't you?" Draco asked, laughing. He pulled her in for a kiss, and for the first time since Lucius had left them, Hermione didn't feel wrong about it. She indulged in the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him against her, stealing his warmth and sharing her own.

"I prefer to think of it as fierce," she retorted, biting his lower lip.

They walked for over an hour, the air cooling significantly once the sun had set. They spent most of the time deciding one what to do with or to Lucius once they found him, but they also reminisced about all the time they'd spent together, which made the plans for Lucius' punishment a little less interesting.

"I think I might hit him just because of this walk," Draco groused, rubbing his hands over his arms and then Hermione's, trying to create heat.

"Oh, lights!" she cried, pointing into the distance. She went to break into a run, but Draco held her back.

"You don't need to be breathing heavily in this type of cold. Merlin only knows what that'll do to your lungs."

"Right," she said, wringing her hands and trying to pace herself. "Draco..." she whispered, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

He seemed to understand what she was asking for and pulled her into a sideways hug as they hurried down the narrow street.

They eventually came upon a general store. It was the source of the lights, though all other lights in the town seemed to be off save for the streetlamps. It was an odd mixture of Muggle and wizarding worlds, with vehicles and electrical lamps juxtaposed against a tall turret that housed hundreds of owls and old-fashioned shops selling various wizarding items.

It was actually quite beautiful in its eccentricities.

"Let's see if they've something warm to eat or drink," Draco suggested, and Hermione eagerly agreed, desperate for some tea, though she was aware that Canadians were partial to coffee.

A bell over the door rang as they hurried in, bringing a heavyset wizard from the back room.

"Welcome to Ilsa, friends!" he cried, tapping his wand at a pot of coffee and gesturing for them to come in.

"Excuse me, sir?" Hermione said, gratefully taking the proffered cup of coffee and watching Draco do the same. He sniffed it, nose wrinkling, but he added copious amounts of sugar and milk before taking a cautious sip. He cleared his throat to cover his choking and put the coffee mug back on the counter.

Hermione was a little less obvious in her rejection of the drink, but she enjoyed the warmth in her hands even if she couldn't quite bear it in her belly.

"Have you seen an older wizard, looks remarkably like me?" Draco said, standing up straight to cover his fear that Lucius wasn't here after all.

The storeowner nodded slowly. "Lucius Malfoy. So you're Hermione and Draco, then. I thought I recognised your faces, but it's been a long day. I think old Lucius'll be happy to see you, though he might not act like it at first. Give him time, friends, he's almost made his decision, and I think your being here will push him over the edge. In a good way, of course."

Draco frowned. "You seem to know a lot about my father. Where is he?"

"Hold your horses, young man." The storeowner tried to sound stern, but his wide smile gave him away. Hermione liked him immediately. "You're an awful lot like him, you know. I know about him because he's had no one to talk to, and I happen to be a great listener, even if it does seem as though I talk an awful lot. He talked and I listened. And he's here, in Ilsa. I'll take you to him."

"Oh, thank Merlin," Hermione cried, grabbing Draco, who gripped her tightly and pressed his lips against her hair.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," he whispered.

"We found him. I knew we would, and we did. Everything's going to be okay. I won't even hit him, I swear. I swear." She was babbling and she knew it, but Draco didn't seem to mind. He was nodding and blinking rapidly.

The storeowner cleared his throat and smiled widely at him. "Glad to see I gave him the right advice. You're good kids. Let's get moving."

Hermione followed quickly and had to practically shove Draco into the truck, jumping in after him and shutting the door quickly.

Kent, who'd introduced himself after locking up his store, drove quickly and confidently along the slick roads until they reached a somewhat rundown hotel.

"There is no way my father is staying here," Draco said, sneering.

Kent laughed good-naturedly. "Think whatever you will, he's definitely there unless he's co-opted someone's house."

Draco laughed. "That sounds more like it, actually."

"Out you get," Kent said, ushering them out.

"Thank you so much," Hermione whispered, shaking Kent's hand solemnly.

"You're a good sort, Hermione. You take good care of that man. He might seem like he doesn't have a heart, but he does; he just doesn't know how to take care of it. Or use it. But I think he'll be more open to the idea now. Just... go easy on him."

"Not bloody likely," Draco drawled, shaking Kent's hand as well and then taking Hermione's.

"Room thirteen!" Kent called from the truck.

Draco looked at Hermione, who smiled tightly. She was excited and nervous and still quite angry.

But mostly she missed Lucius and needed to feel him in her arms.

Draco lifted his hand and knocked under the gilt number thirteen. The sound echoed around the dark and empty street, and Hermione held her breath.