Draco
In a matter of months, I went from living in a mansion to sleeping on a park bench. Well, I can't say I slept on this park bench at all; mostly, I just lay here with my eyes closed, trying not to let the few passersby see my shame.
Just as the sun rises, the bottom of the clouds seem to burst open. Tiny white snowflakes begin to fall slowly, getting gradually faster and heavier. As the bench gets colder, I decide to get up and move on. I look around to decide which direction I should go. Since Lucius and Narcissa rarely let me leave the mansion when I was young, I am not familiar with these streets. My best bet is to walk back to where I was last night, so I do.
The streets of London are unusually deserted this morning, causing an eerie silence. My stomach growls even though it has only been a few hours since I ate. The waitress at the diner invited me to come back if I needed anything, but because of my lingering ounce of pride, I can't bring myself to do so. I can't stand owing anything to anyone. Maybe this is why I'm alone, trudging through the cold snow without a coat: because I'm too proud to ask anyone for help.
The streets are dark, because the only light comes from the rising sun and the dim streetlights. However, this doesn't stop one couple from taking a morning stroll. I try to walk to the other side of the street so they don't feel like I am following them; but three bicycles whiz by, so I decide to simply keep my distance.
The man is middle-aged, but he has wrinkles, along with graying hair. It seems premature for him to be aging, but he must be under stress. His wife is holding his hand tightly. She has dark brown, frizzy hair, and a seemingly kind look on her face. Her eyes, from what I can see, are dark brown; everything- her hair, her stature, her eyes, her gait- reminds me of Hermione.
I like to imagine people's life stories by how they look and carry themselves. It's not much information, really, but I have always enjoyed letting my mind wander. As I observe them, their story comes together in my head; I imagine that they are in their forties, with two or three children, all of them under twelve. Perhaps one of them is on a school trip, so they decided to take a morning walk as the others sleep. Maybe their marriage has been rather stressful until recently, for they walk as if something has been lifted off of their shoulders. It's as if a new sense of hope had been ignited. I imagine that they know nothing of the Wizarding World, and I envy them for that. My life would be so much easier if magic didn't exist.
Due to my heavy thinking, I didn't even realize that they had stopped walking. I run into them.
"I'm sorry! I wasn't watching." I apologize, but the woman pats my shoulder.
"It's okay," She says in a small, sweet voice, "You seem familiar. Have we met before?"
"No, ma'am." I answer. The man's eyes fall to my left arm, and I hide the nasty scar.
"Blimey! What happened to your arm?" He asks.
"It was, uh... a lawnmower incident."
"A lawnmower incident?" The woman asks, "I think we believe that just as much as you do." I look down at my shoes. There is an awkward silence.
The man gasps. "Is your name Dragon, by any chance?" I chuckle slightly.
"Draco, yes." I nod.
"Draco! That's him!" He exclaims, looking at the woman enthusiastically.
"How do you know me?" I ask, feeling quite uneasy.
"You'll see. Follow us."
A few minutes later, we're sitting in the diner I was in last night. The same waitress is still here; it has only been five and a half hours since I was in here the first time. She smiles at me as she hands us a menu, along with three cups of coffee. When she leaves, the strangers who are buying me a meal reveal who they are.
"We're Hermione's parents. Hermione Granger, your lady friend." They admit. I manage a smile, but every nerve in my body stands on edge: do they know she is missing?
"Oh, yes. Pleased to finally meet you." I respond, masking my nervousness, "You look like her, Mrs. Granger."
She laughs, looking at Mr. Granger adoringly. "Everyone has always said she looks like her father," She pauses, and her sweet smile turns into a frown, "from what we can remember."
"Your daughter is a very bright girl. She accomplished with you what no other witch or wizard has done before, and only at the age of eighteen." I compliment.
"Yes, she is... Say, why aren't you at Hogwarts, with our daughter? We thought you were going to continue your seventh year there." Her mother asks. They're getting suspicious.
"And what is that scar really from?" Her father asks. I lean in closer to them and lower my voice.
"My father... he gave me this scar, then wiped my memory. My parents are upset because I don't walk a dark path like they do. They kicked me out of the house a few months ago once the war ended. This wound took off the Dark Mark that my parents had branded me with; the mark that tied me to Voldemort," I explain as they stare at me in shock.
"I am sorry... And Hogwarts? Why aren't you there?" Hermione's mother asks once again. Should I tell them the truth? Should I tell them that their daughter has been kidnapped? What are my other options?
"I withdrew from Hogwarts yesterday- well, early this morning. My father escaped from Azkaban, and there have been things happening that no one can explain." I stutter, and Hermione's father's eyes grow wide.
"Draco, where's our daughter?" He asks sternly.
"Sir, I'm sorry. I don't know, and neither does anyone else. On our trip to Hogsmeade, s-she disappeared. I looked- we all looked- for hours, but no one could find her." I explain. Mrs. Granger is in tears, leaning on her husband's shoulder.
"Do you not have any idea as to where she could be?" He's trying to be strong for his wife, I realize. But even the strongest people have a breaking point; for him, that breaking point is just when he remembers that he has a daughter, she gets taken away from him.
"Well, like I said, my father escaped.... He's very angry with me. He wants to hurt me- well, more than he already has. Somehow, he knows how important Hermione is to me. I don't know how he found out, but he knows. I think that he has taken her as a plan to get to me."
"So this is your fault?" To my dismay, a veil of anger seems to fall over his face.
"Yes, sir. I suppose so." I try to remain calm, but the fear I am beginning to feel is unbearable, and it grows when he knocks my hot coffee off of the table and into my lap. The pain is immediate.
"This is all because of you!" He exclaims, standing up abruptly. "If it weren't for you, our daughter would be happy, and she wouldn't be kidnapped by some freak wizard!" The old waitress stares at us, shocked, and picks up a telephone.
"I know, sir," My voice shakes along with my hands. "I am sorry. I have caused much more trouble than I'm worth."
"Yes, you have!" He yells while patting a sobbing Mrs. Granger on the back.
"D-Do you think she's alive?" The crying woman asks through her tears.
"Yes, madame, yes. I know so." My father wouldn't kill her without me being there to see it.
"Are you going to find her?" They both ask in unison, in two very different tones of voice.
"Yes, I was on my way when I ran into you. I'm going now. Goodbye." With that, I slip out of the doorway and run down the still-deserted streets.
* * *
Hermione
My headache is finally starting to subside, just as the sun appears through the window at the top of the tall ceiling.
Finally, I can see something in here, I think to myself. Although the light is dim, it provides just enough to know the size of the dark, damp room, and to locate the door. I stand to my feet only to fall back down; I haven't eaten in who knows how long. I crawl over to the door and run my hands across it, searching for a knob or a handle to open it. My hand reaches straight through it, and I realize that this is not a door: these are prison bars.
Just as I make the realization, something cold grabs my wrist, and forcefully pushes my arm back inside of the room. I cannot see who did it: everything beyond this room is pure darkness. When I turn back around, I see an old, cracked plate on the floor. On it, there is food, if you could call it that. It's a green, mushy substance which I think is blended vegetables, if I'm lucky. Reluctantly, I take a bite. I cringe at the taste, but out of my choices- eat this mush or starve to death- it is the better of the two.
The only sound I can hear from outside is the sound of waves crashing on a shore. So I'm in a prison surrounded by water...
Am I in Azkaban?