The Silver Envelope

A Taste of His own Medicine

His father had still not woken after another hour of waiting, but since he was stable and the test results looked optimistic, Draco decided to go home.
He was desperate for a scalding hot shower, a warm bed, and a drop of dreamless sleep potion. All of which, ot course, would be accompanied by Hermione. Every second he spent away from her, he craved her touch more. He would have likened it to addiction, but Draco had experienced that hollow, powerless feeling too many times to confuse it with the way he felt about Hermione. No, his need for her was more like oxygen. Rather than slowly poisoning him, she gave him life.
His mother had not been happy to hear that her son was so serious about a muggle-born girl, but Draco couldn't summon the energy to care. She would just have to get used to it. Nothing was going to change his mind.
He walked into his flat, surprised to find it dark. Flicking on a light, he wondered if Hermione had already gone to bed.
Draco searched her room. Then his. The bathroom.
Then he noticed that the door to his office was hanging open. Inside, the photos of Weasley were strewn across his desk.
His heart dropped.
She had left him. Without so much as a goodbye.
No, she couldn't leave. Not without allowing him to explain. Draco dashed out of his office, making for the door, unsure exactly where he was going. Then he spotted the note on the sitting room table.
He read it thrice.
Then a fourth time, just to be certain he hadn't hallucinated it.
The moment he could breathe again, Draco was at the phone.
It rang. And rang. And rang.
Potter's voice picked up, but it was just the machine.
He called again. And again, fighting the urge to slam the phone into the nearest wall.
Why hadn't he ever asked Hermione where Potter lived? If she didn't answer the phone, he would
have no way ot going to her.
She had to pick up. They needed to find Johanna--right now. If she had Ignoma, the witch would pay.
"Potter residence," a deep, surly voice said.
Draco's heart leaped.
"Is Hermione there?" he asked.
A pause. Then, "May I ask who's calling?"
"Draco Malfoy," he said impatiently. Who was he speaking with? That certainly wasn't Potter's
VOICe
"Ah, Master Malfoy," the voice said, brightening.
Draco was thoroughly put off. He hadn't been called "Master Malfoy" in years.
"Who am I speaking with?" he demanded.
"This is Kreacher, of the Noble House of Black, sir," the voice said. "Kreacher serves Mr. Potter
Draco recognized the deference in Kreacher's voice. He might be Potter's elf, but any house-elf who had been brought up to serve the house of Black would know exactly who Draco was. It
worked in his tavor.
"Where's Hermione?" he demanded again.
A pause. The elf wasn t sure it he was supposed to say anything.
"Granger told Kreacher to tell Mr. and Mrs. Potter where the Granger was, but not if he should tell others," the elf mumbled.
"Where is she, Kreacher?" Draco ground out acidly.

". the Granger has gone to visit Weasley," Kreacher finally said.
"Weasley's address, Kreacher. Now," Draco said, conjuring a pen from thin air.
Kreacher recited it and Draco jotted it down on his arm, recognizing a street in Hogsmeade. It would be easy to find then. Unceremoniously, he hung up the phone and bolted out the door.
The windows of Weasley's flat were dark when he arrived there, and the protective charms around the perimeter were absolutely pitiful. Draco easily blasted his way through the shield and walked straight through the front door without even breaking his stride. Thank god Hermione hadn't come
to hide here. She would have been dead by the very next morning.
Draco wrinkled his nose at the place. It was smelly and unkempt, not to mention empty of life.
Draco performed a quick spell to confirm that, then turned to examine the space.
A familiar-looking coat hung next to the front door.
Draco snatched it up, his blood going cold.
Why was Hermione's coat here, but not her? And where was Weasley?
Draco rummaged through the pockets of the coat, hopelessly searching for anything that might provide some kind of clue as to where she had gone. Inside an inner pocket, his fingers met something small and cold. He pulled it out to examine it.
The bottle of Veritaserum. The one Hermione had shown him, months ago now, after she'd broken
up with Weasley. She must have tucked it into her coat and forgotten about it. Intriguing as it was. however, it didn't provide him any answers about how to find her.
Draco began to poke around the rest of the flat, noting the too lived-in quality of the place. It was obvious Weasley had stopped bothering to keep his home clean once Hermione had gone.
The handle of the front door jiggled as someone entered. Swiftly, Draco hid himself around a corner, waiting for the door to close again before he made his move.
His stunning spell hit its mark, and Weasley collapsed onto the grimy floor.
Draco's plan formed almost without thought. It would be too easy.
Hauling Weasley's limp body to a chair with his wand, he bound the idiot's wrists, wrinkling his
nose as he noticed that Weasley smelled like the inside of a grimy pub, like beer and unwashed armpits. Once Draco had woken him, Weasley groggily opened his eyes and groaned, then
screamed when ne saw Draco standing over Dim
"Hello, Weasley," Draco said, his wand pointed at the redhead's nose.
"Malfoy? Whas going on?" He was obviously pissed. Perhaps his drunkenness would work in
Draco' stavor.
"I'm looking for Granger," Draco said lightly. "Have you seen her lately?"
Weasley gulped, shutting his mouth tightly. There was confusion in his eyes, warring with resistance.
"No," he said stoutly. "I haven't seen her since Valentine's Day."
Draco sneered at him, refusing to lower his wand as he raised Hermione's coat.
"I found this near your door," he said with a dangerous lilt to his voice. "So, you'll forgive me if I don't believe you."
Weasley's idiot face screwed up in bewilderment. It was just convincing enough to make Draco
pause.
"I don't know why that's here!" he said frantically. "I swear."
A humorless smile spread across Draco's face. He was going to enjoy this bit.
"I suppose it doesn't matter whether you're lying or not," he said. "Tell me, Weasley. Do you recognize this?"
Draco held up the small vial of clear liquid to show him. Weasley's eyes went wide with fear. He began to struggle then, trying to break free of the silver ropes binding him to the chair. Draco
rolled his eyes.